“She’s okay.”
“I didn’t see anyone else besides you and the other two guards. How extensive is your operation? I have no idea what I’m getting myself into here, but I’m tired of being on the road. Thought I’d join a group...break the monotony of my sojourn thus far.”
The man studied him over the flames. It was full dark now, and firelight reflected in the dilated pupils.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“True. I have an inquisitive nature.”
“I’m finished talking now. Don’t try anything tricky or I’ll kill you. I’m a light sleeper.”
With that, the man stretched out on top of his sleeping bag and closed his eyes.
Fergus sighed, then did the same. Soon after, he sent out his scythen to Amelia.
~~~
Fergus: Lots of goings-on in Club Terminator.
Amelia: Do tell.
Fergus: Zoey has been less than truthful in her descriptions. Currently in charge here is her twin sister.
Amelia: Oh my.
Fergus: I’m trying to get to the bottom of this. Keep an eye on her, my dear.
Amelia: That should be easy to do. Rosemary has assigned the young woman to me. I am to teach her all my medical knowledge.
Fergus: That’s perfect. You’ll be able to perform the tests on her, discover the extent of her langthal and any other talents she may have.
Amelia: Yes. Are you safe there?
Fergus: I’m bunking next to a giant at the moment. As long as I don’t piss him off, I’ll be fine. I will not be scaling any beanstalks, I can tell you that.
Amelia: Very well. Good night, my love.
Fergus: Good night, my darling. When I return, I intend to thoroughly ravish you.
Amelia: I would expect nothing less.
Chapter 16 – Anonymous
Dear Diary,
Oh, my. What a fuss my feral feline incident caused. Who would have thought anyone would be bothered by a skinned and disemboweled pussycat? Tee hee! Well, I couldn’t help myself. SomeONE or someTHING had to die. That should last me a few days, then I will have to add another trophy to my collection. I took one of the front fangs. What an enchanting object! So sharp and white and filled with memories of all its kills. Lucky kitty. He doesn’t get a bad rap for committing murder.
I don’t mind though. It makes the game even more interesting. I am an excellent killer but also a discreet one. Being an Angel of Death is the most fun there is to be had. It is such a pity that it took me so long to discover my purpose. There I was, miserable and misunderstood in my old life, shunned by a society that was so unremarkable. It took the end of the world to reveal my true nature. Billions of people are dead, a few million are scratching about on the surface of the earth trying to survive under horrific conditions, and yet I am thriving and happier than I have ever been. I was born from the apocalypse – not a phoenix rising from the ashes, but a cloaked, sickle-wielding monster clawing its way out of a dying womb.
And oh, Diary, I am magnificent!
In other news, we suffered a hailstorm that decimated most of our crops. People will become hungry, and that will make them testy. When people get testy, they will start picking at things they might not otherwise pick at. I envision our adorable little Colony as a tapestry...a work in progress...not nearly finished, nor will it ever be. Like a jagged fingernail, the hailstorm’s destruction will soon snag on a few crucial threads in our woven saga. It may be that the whole thing unravels over the next few weeks, and it will be fascinating to watch. I will bide my time, as I always do – I am nothing if not patient! – and let the epic tale continue. Will this charming community populated with so many Polly Anna do-gooders prevail, or will it implode? I cannot wait to find out.
Speaking of, I had a brilliant idea today. When it is time to leave this place, I shall go out with a bang. Not a literal bang; I would never resort to crude tools such as guns or bombs. No, by ‘bang’ I mean a massacre. How delightful to exterminate dozens of people at once! I doubt all those terrorists before Chicxulub acted because of some silly religious war; I imagine some were Death Angels, like me, and were drawn to extremist ideologies for the opportunity to slaughter people for the pleasure of it. But oh, such barbaric techniques! There’s no skill or finesse in driving a van into a throng of people or shooting off a gun in a crowded nightclub.
Sledgehammer versus scalpel. Get it?
The timing is critical. It all must unfold on schedule to succeed. Just thinking about it is thrilling! I shan’t sleep much tonight. There are so many details to work out. Fortunately, my superb brain doesn’t require more than a few hours of slumber at a time. I might embark on another hunt. Nothing as overt as the pussycat; rather a light appetizer before the main course, which I’m planning even now.
I know, I know. I thought I would wait a week or two, but the mass murder epiphany has whetted my appetite...
Chapter 17 – Ingrid
“Giving away so much of your food was a generous act. Don’t try to pooh-pooh what you did,” Hector said, spooning peat moss and vermiculite into segmented plastic containers. Morning sunlight filtered in through the kitchen windows, highlighting the strands of silver in his dark hair.
“Pooh-pooh? What is the Spanish translation for that?” Ingrid followed behind him, pressing seeds into the rich mixture. It was July in Florida, which meant the best environment for seedlings to germinate and grow was indoors, away from the fierce sun and occasional hail.
Much depended on the success of the new crop. She would have to decide later if she would be willing to part with more of her secret cache of food if it failed. It wasn’t a matter of being selfish; it was about sustainability and self-reliance. If her rice and beans always came to the rescue, what would happen when it all ran out?
“Caca-caca?”
She laughed. “I doubt that.”
Seedling trays and peat moss were littered all about her granite countertops and marble floors. A scene such as this would never have happened before Chixculub. In some ways, she wished a few of her snooty neighbors had survived to see it. She smiled when she imagined sharing details of her illicit affair.
“You were moaning in your sleep last night,” he said, noticing the smile.
“I was? Interesting. I must have been dreaming about my boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “Now you’re being disingenuous. Was it one of...those?”
Ingrid hadn’t decided what to do about the hurricane dream. Like the precognitive dreams she’d had before the plague, it was frightening but murky. Was it a metaphor for something? Or was a monstrous storm literally going to destroy their home in the near future? She knew something dreadful was coming but could not identify what form it would take, just as she had not known in what guise the apocalypse would appear. Should she say something to Hector? To Rosemary? If she did, would the Colony leader think less of her? Most people didn’t accept the notion of precognition and thought little of those who claimed to have the ability. Poor Cassandra in Ancient Greece had the gift but had been cursed so no one would believe her warnings. Ingrid could relate. Her own lover looked at her askance when she spoke of such things.
She sighed. “I dreamt of a hurricane.”
“And you are worried it will come to pass?”
“Yes.”
“This place has endured hurricanes in the past. Your own house was built to withstand the most intense storms.”
“Winds, yes. We don’t know how it would handle the surge from an immense, slow-moving storm. Since I’ve been living here, the worst we’ve experienced was 120-mph winds from Hurricane Jeanne back in 2004. Jeanne was a category three. There was significant flooding that time, and it wasn’t even a direct hit. Jupiter Inlet Colony resides on a narrow strip of sand that barely rises above sea level. As a barrier island, we’re even more at risk than most. What happens if we’re in the center bullseye of a category five?”
“I’ve lived here only a decade, my dear. In
landlocked Torreón, I witnessed no hurricanes. I have no idea what to expect.”
Hector’s hometown was in central Mexico. After crossing the border into the United States, he had soon found his way to Florida. He told her that even as a boy, it had always been his desire to live near the ocean, just as it was hers as a young woman in Munich. They had so much in common, but it had taken a catastrophe of epic proportion to bring together a wealthy white woman of German descent and an illegal immigrant from Mexico. How sad that she would never have given such a man the time of day in her previous life.
“You remember I told you about my dreams of the apocalypse?”
“Yes. You said when you awoke from them, you felt an impending sense of doom on a monumental scale.”
“Exactly. I knew the end of the world was imminent, but I did not know what it would look like.”
“Compared to your dreams of Chixculub, how bad is this one?”
“You can’t compare a pandemic that killed almost seven billion people to a hurricane, but our tiny populace here on the island would be decimated. So they are similar in that regard.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Ingrid’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me.”
“I am trying, my dear, but it is not my nature to accept what I cannot see with my own eyes or touch with my own fingers. I am a skeptic. That has always been my way.”
“Precisely the reason I share this type of information with so few people.”
“Would you prefer that I lie to you? Pretend to be a believer when I am not?”
“Of course not.” She blew out a measured breath. “I’m sorry, Hector. It’s just that I’ve dealt with skepticism and ridicule my entire life. I can give many examples of how my precognitive dreams came to pass, but still people don’t want to believe.”
“Do they always come true? Every single time?”
“Not always.”
“Well, then. Perhaps this will be one that does not.”
“Unlikely. This is a ‘for sure’ one.”
Hector laughed, then abruptly stopped when he saw her frown. “Perhaps you should talk to Rosemary? Will that make you feel better? Or Tyler, whom you believe shares this talent with you?”
“Tyler doesn’t like to discuss his talents. He’s a scientist and a skeptic like you. And talking to Rosemary is a gamble. She is already one step away from usurping any authority I have here. She could use this as a way to discredit me.”
“I doubt that.”
“At the very least, she might think less of me.”
“Ah, I see now.”
“Damn it, Hector, don’t give me that look. I know what I’ll do. I’ll talk to Amelia. She seems like a person who would be open to such things.”
“Excellent idea. I like her, and Fergus too. They’re rather odd folks, but odd in a good way. Now that I think about it, there are many odd folks these days.”
“True.”
“I’ll finish up here. You go on over to Amelia’s house. I think it will make you feel better to discuss the dreams with someone besides an old Mexican Doubting Thomas like myself.”
Fifteen minutes later, she tapped on the front door of Amelia’s beachfront condo. Ingrid had always despised this building; thought of it as an eyesore during her daily beach walks. But at least there were fewer monstrosities like it here than in other parts of Florida, and for that she was thankful.
When Amelia opened the door, there were furrows between her brows which smoothed when she saw her visitor. Something about this woman made Ingrid feel as if they were connected somehow – kindred spirits. She knew Amelia had lived in Arizona and served as a midwife for her Native American tribe, the Hualapai. Her medical and anatomical knowledge was extensive for someone who was self-educated, and she always exuded patience and kindness. So there was very little commonality between the two women on the surface, but on a deeper level, she sensed a bond. She would test its limits now.
“Come in, my friend. I was just going over basic reproductive anatomy with our newest resident.”
Seeing Zoey sitting on a bright yellow sofa evoked a frisson of disdain; whether for the young woman or the garish furniture was unclear even to her. Perhaps both.
“Please, sit,” Amelia said. “Would you like some water? Or is this a tequila visit?”
Ingrid laughed. “Water would be lovely for now, thank you.”
She sat down in a chair opposite Zoey, trying to ignore the parrot-covered fabric on the armrests.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Amelia asked, setting three glasses of water on the coffee table. Next to the water, she placed a small bottle of Jose Cuervo.
“Can the girl go away? I need to talk to you in private.” Ingrid knew she was being rude and didn’t care. This young female was nothing to her.
Zoey smirked. “We haven’t been formally introduced.” She offered her hand across the coffee table.
Ingrid hesitated, then acquiesced. The hand felt warm; almost feverish. Young people were so hot-blooded.
The smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile. “I hear you’re the oldest resident here.”
“That is correct. Now run along, child. I have business with Amelia.” Two could play that game.
“You’re worried about a hurricane.”
Ingrid’s jaw dropped in a most undignified manner.
“I’m clairvoyant,” Zoey said with a blinding smile. “Just like you.”
Chapter 18 – Rosemary
“Come on, Rose. The old broad had a nightmare. Why are you so worked up about it?” Lucas was sprawled out naked on the bed. A smile played about the corners of his mouth. He knew how sexy he looked.
“She was credible. Gave me examples of dreams she’d had before that came to pass.”
“How do you know she was telling the truth?”
Rosemary had pondered Ingrid’s veracity. The two had been butting heads since the beginning, but despite the contrary disposition, Ingrid was honest. Besides, there was no benefit for her to lie. Or none that came to mind.
“She’s being truthful. I feel it. Amelia agrees with me.”
The two women had left an hour ago after a lengthy discussion about the hurricane dream. Lucas had come home just as they were leaving, evoking identical expressions of distaste on both women’s faces. Ingrid didn’t even try to hide it.
What should that tell her? These women whose intellect she respected couldn’t stand her boyfriend. Did it matter? Should it matter?
“I didn’t realize Amelia was a human lie detector.”
“I like her, and I think she’s trustworthy.”
“And why is that? She’s only been here a few months. You vetted her less thoroughly than anyone else so far, myself included.”
He had a point. There was something about the petite Native American woman that had resonated with Rosemary. Her gut instincts about people had served her well her entire life, so why second guess them now?
“I can’t explain it. You’ll have to trust me.”
“You’re the only person here I do trust,” he said, his handsome face open and candid.
“That’s because you assume everyone is lying to you.”
“That’s because they usually are.”
“Says the former police officer.”
“Former homicide detective. There’s a difference, you know. And I was damn good at it because I could sniff out deception, just like you. Chicxulub didn’t change the nature of people in general, you know. There are fewer liars in the world because there are fewer human beings now. Most people are shitty. The end. Some of them try to come across as goody-two-shoes, like they give a rat’s ass about others, but when the chips are down, they’re going to look out for number one.”
“You’re so jaded.”
“Not jaded. Realistic. When you don’t expect much from people, they can’t disappoint you. So what are you going to do?” he said, pulling her down onto the bed. He began kissing her neck while unbuttoning h
er cotton sundress.
“I have no idea. I have to think about it. Even if it’s nonsense, there is always the possibility of destructive storms...even worse than what we just had. We have to come up with contingency plans. These people depend on me, and I don’t intend to let them down. We need evacuation protocols. Hurricane season has begun.”
“Yes, I know. I lived in New Orleans, remember? I was there during Katrina.”
“I bet that was horrible,” she said, closing her eyes as his tongue flicked first the right nipple, then the left. He was making it harder to think.
“It was bad,” he murmured against her belly. When his tongue found its way between her legs, she put aside worrisome thoughts and gave in to the fleeting diversion of sexual pleasure.
An hour later when he was snoring beside her, she booted up her mental hard drive.
A wave of guilt washed over her. Of all the people in the Colony, Lucas trusted only her. There was some irony. Before the plague, it had been her job to deceive people so she could steal from them. Yet so many people here liked and admired her while barely tolerating him. Maybe it was the cop thing; because he exuded distrust, people distrusted him in return. Both his old job and his current one were about protecting people...keeping them safe. Why didn’t the Colonists appreciate that?
It wasn’t fair, and it bothered her even more because she felt unworthy of the esteem in which people held her. This post-apocalyptic world provided the perfect environment to make restitutions for her past, to make amends for transgressions that went well beyond ripping off a few old farts who had more money than they knew what to do with. Leading these people – assuring their safety, happiness, and well-being – was how she would pave the path to redemption. It was the only way she could live with what she had done.
She felt the familiar white-hot fingers of remorse clutch at her stomach as memories flooded in.
“You’re so beautiful,” the short man said, his voice trembling with emotion.
From her vantage a foot above – courtesy of her height and the five-inch stilettos she wore – she could see her reflection on the shiny bald pate. The little man was correct: she was beautiful. Gilbert, a paunchy middle-aged accountant, was neither handsome nor interesting, but he had skills. In particular, he excelled at finding tax loopholes for the wealthy. His clientele were some of the richest residents of Palm Beach; Rosemary had been cultivating his friendship for months. He would be her entree to those gilded circles in which she would make her fortune. It would be easy for a cultured, articulate black woman to breach the walls of their privileged world because all those white people wanted everyone else to believe they weren’t racist. ‘Look...I have a black friend!’ She would be less vetted than a white woman in a similar position. She just needed Gilbert’s help to open a few doors.
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