The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers

by Michael R. Hicks

  Shawn huffed smoke from his nostrils. “We got aliens crawling around the hills blowing people up. I’m not exactly afraid of a few leftover bureaucrats huddled in a silo. If it turns out it’s a bunch of schoolteachers and auto mechanics in there, we’ll be on our merry way.”

  Ness rubbed the gunk from his eyes. “I wish we had coffee.”

  “You know where they’ll have coffee? The same place they’re building nuclear bombs.”

  They ate a breakfast of smoked pheasant, Tostitos, and a warm two-liter of Pepsi. Ness called in Volt. Shawn busted into the truck stop and returned with a map. The plant was across the river and twenty miles back the way they’d come; they’d have to drive through town and swing back. Ness was grateful for the breeze generated by the jeep. It had to be nearly ninety degrees already. He sweated steadily, underwear sticking to his crotch. Sage and weeds lined the highway into town. Tall brown hills rose to the south. Water towers and grain elevators rose from the sprawl of houses and strip malls. Spent brass glittered in the parking lot of the community college. Bodies matted the asphalt, limbs twisted, skin mummified by the endless sun.

  The highway turned west up a long hill. For two miles, the land was scorched black, fields barren, houses burned to the foundation. They crossed the Columbia, blue and steady, a cool draft rising from the mile-wide waters. The highway spit them onto a northbound main drag fronted by foreign-food restaurants, pubs, and gas stations. One of these was a blown-out crater that had strewn rubble and dirt across the road. Shawn detoured around it and continued north.

  Yellow yards gave way to yellow fields. Hot air tumbled through the open jeep. Ness saw no obvious signs of life. If there were people left, they were waiting out the worst of the day in basements and shade.

  The wasteland lasted for miles, a brown-yellow moonscape mocked by the blue river flowing a few hundred yards to the right. After a ways the road peeled from the river into a sea of broken black rock, clumped yellow grass, and crumbly gray dust. Ness could see why they’d built the plant here. If anything went wrong, there was nothing here to ruin.

  A tall rectangle rose from the desert, its top third white, its lower two-thirds gray. The jeep blew past a sign: “COLUMBIA GENERATING STATION.” After another mile, the road forked. The way to the plant was blocked by a chain link fence. A guard station waited beside the road. Dust grimed the dark windows. Shawn rolled to a stop, chuckling, and leaned past Ness.

  “Yeah, I’ll take two nukes and a side of unprocessed uranium. You want anything, Ness?”

  The station window swung open. An automatic rifle poked through, held by a man in slacks and a collared shirt. “Step out of the jeep.”

  “Whoa,” Shawn said. “We’re not here to—”

  The man raised the weapon to shoulder height and sighted down the barrel. “Out.”

  Shawn tightened his jaw. His eyes flicked toward the jeep-mounted machine gun. He popped the door and hopped out into the blazing sun. The jeep door scorched Ness’ hand. A rumble permeated the air, steady and deep, as if the desert itself were growling at the intruders. The guard opened a door in the side of the station and exited, gun trained on Shawn. He held a radio to his mouth.

  “I have two stray dogs here,” he said. “Should I escort them to the pound?”

  The radio futzed. “Affirmative.”

  “Come on,” the man said to Shawn.

  “Can I bring my cat?” Ness said. “It’s really hot.”

  The man frowned. Volt sprawled in Ness’ seat, blinking sleepily. The man raised his radio. “I got a cat, too. A literal one.”

  The radio was silent for a couple seconds. “Whatever, Cam. Just bring them in here.”

  Cam got a pad from his pocket and pushed a button. The chain link gate buzzed and separated. Ness smiled—it had been so long since he’d seen anything automated. Cam beckoned with his gun. Ness called to Volt, who licked her own ruff, then bounded over the side of the jeep and followed.

  Cam walked behind them, tersely guiding them through the outbuildings surrounding the power plant. Shoes scuffed the cracked asphalt. Cam halted them at a steel door and radioed inside. Another man opened the door, also in slacks and dress shirt. Frigid air raised the hair on Ness’ skin. For a moment, he completely forgot he was a prisoner.

  “Have you searched them?” the man asked Cam. Cam shook his head. The man raised his eyebrows at Shawn. “Spread them.”

  “Spread them?” Shawn said. “What are you guys, accountants?”

  “We’re the guys who you do what we say.”

  “Got it. Accountants who watch too many movies.”

  The man pressed his lips together and leveled his pistol. “Spread your arms and legs. Cam, pat him down.”

  Shawn gave the man a sharky stare and lifted his arms from his sides. Cam’s search produced a Swiss army knife and three jackknives. The other man turned the gun on Ness.

  “Your turn.”

  Shawn went still. “Why don’t you point that gun away from my brother before I double-windsor it around your throat?”

  The man swung the weapon at Shawn. “You’re trespassing.”

  “This is your nuclear power plant, is it? Mind if I see your deed?”

  “It’s okay,” Ness said.

  The man gestured with his gun. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  “Maybe you misplaced it,” Shawn said. Ness’ stomach churned. He wanted to run. Shawn took a step forward, leering. “You got it stashed at the bank? Should we take your car or mine?”

  “Turn around, shut up, and put your hands behind your back.”

  “What happens when I don’t?”

  The man centered the pistol between Shawn’s eyes. “Then we get a real good look at what’s wrong with your brain.”

  Shawn took another step forward. The man’s hand flinched.

  “Earth has been invaded by aliens,” Ness blurted.

  The man didn’t glance over. “Count of three, kid.”

  “One.” Shawn took another step, his head inches from the gun. “Two.”

  “They look like lobsters,” Ness said. “Or octopuses. Octopodes. They’re the ones who brought the virus. They wanted our planet and didn’t want to have to fight us for it. That’s my guess. It’s not like I’ve Skyped with them.”

  “Stop,” Cam said. Worms of doubt crawled beneath his face. “Are you serious?”

  “We’re from where it started. Moscow.”

  Cam’s eyes widened. “Are you spies?”

  Shawn rolled his eyes. “Idaho, dumbass. And last time we saw it, it was crawling with space-lobsters.”

  “Oh, stop it,” the other man said.

  Cam’s brows darkened. “It’s plausible, isn’t it, Leonard?”

  “Plausible? Do you know how long it would take an alien species to reach Earth?”

  “If they started from the nearest star? A minimum of roughly four years and three months. There are 135 known stars and star-like objects within a twenty light-year trip to Earth. I’ve had dogs live longer than that.”

  “Really?” Ness said. “I knew cats lived that long, but—”

  “That’s enough!” Leonard said. “This is nothing but a ruse, Cam. Cuff them and call in Roan.”

  Cam frowned. Ness’ skin crawled. He had no way to prove it. He would just sound like a fool. A liar or a maniac. He crossed his wrists behind his back and stared into nothing.

  “They’re flying these vee-shaped jets,” Shawn said. “But they got VTOL capability. We watched one touch straight down on the neighbor’s farm. Ness, you know why they were there. Tell ‘em.”

  Ness blinked. “Well, I don’t know.”

  “You sure as hell knew when you were telling me. Come on, who cares if they think you’re a nutsack? You might be the only one on the planet who knows the score—leastways, the only human.”

  Ness’ mouth was dry. “A few months ago, I found a canister. It was made of this weird metal and it had all these scorch marks on
it. I think they were burns from atmospheric entry. I think it spread the virus to the water supply. I don’t know if it was on a timed release, or if it landed in the mountains and got flushed down with the meltwater. But the aliens came back for it.”

  Leonard’s pistol drooped. “This is patently absurd.”

  “No one ever discovered where the Panhandler originated, did they?” Cam said.

  “It was the flu. A hog farm. Excessive proximity of livestock.”

  “Oh please. That was entirely speculative. The tests I saw indicated no genetic link between porcine flu and the Panhandler.”

  Leonard rolled his eyes. “Yet it still strikes me as more plausible than some yokel’s claim that it was the opening salvo in a campaign of interstellar warfare.”

  Cam turned to Ness. “When did these beings arrive?”

  “A few days ago,” Ness said. “They came to our cabin yesterday. That’s why we ran.”

  “I don’t know what to make of this,” Cam said to Leonard. “But it isn’t impossible. On the off chance the fate of mankind is at stake, I, for one, would feel more comfortable passing that decision on to Roan.”

  Leonard narrowed his eyes. He smiled wryly. “I suppose she can’t think any less of us.”

  “There’s that, too.”

  Leonard beckoned down the hall. “This way. No more talk. Any talking will be answered with shooting.”

  Ness looked to Shawn, who shrugged and followed Cam down the beige hallway. Ness scooped up Volt. Cam opened a door to a windowless office. Monitors and computer towers hummed from desks.

  Ness stopped four feet inside the room and stared in wonder. “Do these have internet?”

  “Oh sure,” Cam said. “It’s the rest of the world that isn’t hooked up too well.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Leonard said. “We’ll be back.”

  The door closed and locked. Shawn slung himself into an office chair, spinning himself in circles. Ness bent over a keyboard. Volt climbed up the slope of his shoulders and came to a rest at the base of his neck, purring. Ness booted up Chrome, which kicked back a connection error, but the local network showed dozens of links.

  “These things have power.”

  “Sweet,” Shawn said. “They got Minesweeper?”

  “This can’t be the only part of the world that’s still running. If they’ve got their own servers, we could get news from outside.”

  “Great. You’ll be hit on by fifty-year-old men again in no time.”

  Ness straightened. Shawn dug something from between his front teeth and scraped it back off into his mouth. Ness turned away. “You don’t seem very concerned.”

  Shawn didn’t look up. “Should I be?”

  “Men with guns have locked us in a room a few hundred yards from an active nuclear fission reaction.”

  “Yeah, but they’re pussies.”

  “They have guns!”

  “They could have a Sherman tank. There’d still be a pussy in the turret.”

  “You are so stupid.” Ness’ pulse thundered. He wanted to pace, but he had to sit down or risk toppling over. “You appear genuinely unconcerned about our imprisonment. There are no laws anymore. We could be shot! Shot and buried in the desert. They wouldn’t even have to leave their back yard to do it.”

  “Save some of that aggression for them,” Shawn laughed. He kicked his legs, spinning his chair. “We have a shootout with the army and you’re worried about getting locked in a cubicle farm by a pair of office boners? If I kick down that door, will you quit hyperventilating?”

  Ness was too frustrated to speak. He stewed instead, glaring at the geometric screensaver bouncing between the monitor’s corners. Why had Shawn acted like a jerk at the gate? If they’d announced themselves officially, they probably wouldn’t even be in trouble. And now he thought it meant nothing that they were locked up here. Ness wanted to die and melt from the earth. He didn’t want to follow Shawn, but he didn’t know where else he could go. The serene green mountains felt very far away.

  Roan arrived twenty minutes later, a woman in late youth or early middle age, brown hair ponytailed behind her head. She had the shoulders of a pole-vaulter, the gait of a leopard, and a face as incapable of expression as an iguana. She wore jeans and a tank top and carried no guns and no papers. She gave one look at Ness and honed in on Shawn.

  “Why did you come to Hanford?”

  Shawn slung his boots up on the desk. “I wanted to glow in the dark.”

  “You drove straight to the gates in a US Army jeep. Do you represent the US Army?”

  “I won the car in a drinking contest.”

  Her expression remained as flat as a tile. “Is your name Shawn Hook?”

  “Nuh uh,” Shawn said. “I want to talk to your boss.”

  “I am the boss.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “Yes, that’s his name,” Ness said. “And I’m—”

  Shawn whirled on him. “Don’t you tell her that. Don’t you tell her my name.”

  “Who cares? I thought we came here to help.”

  “Well, that was before they started acting like dicks.”

  Roan had remained inscrutable as they talked. “You say you left Moscow, Idaho after you were attacked by aliens.”

  Shawn leaned back, springy chair creaking. “We never said that.”

  She nodded. “There were no aliens.”

  “Oh, there were aliens. But they never attacked us.”

  With no apparent anger, Roan drove her heel into Shawn’s unbalanced chair, tipping it. He dropped straight to the hard, tight carpet.

  “What the hell was that?” he spat.

  She didn’t stand. “To help you focus and respect our time together.”

  Shawn’s mouth pulled toward his ears in something that wasn’t a smile. It was an expression Ness had seen many times before, too often from far too close, and he wanted to call out, to warn the woman. Instead, he froze, watching as closely as if he were a rolling camera, as if his recording the memory were a vital act, as important as if he had actually interceded.

  Shawn rocked to his feet, cocked his elbow, and swung at Roan’s face.

  For the first time, her expression changed. She grimaced, eyes narrowing in a flinch. She spun her chair to her right, rotating her head away from Shawn’s incoming fist; simultaneously, she raised her left hand to intercept, fingers pointed straight up, the back of her hand facing Shawn. As their wrists met, she pulled her hand back as if brushing her hair, guiding his fist past her head. She hooked her hand around his wrist and yanked.

  Shawn’s momentum plowed him straight into the floor. He groaned. Still holding his wrist, Roan wrestled his arm behind him, dropped her knee into his back, and punched his turned face three times. He shrieked, groaned, went silent.

  She stood, chest rising shallowly, and turned on Ness. “Your name.”

  “Ness. Ness Hook.”

  “Why did you come to Hanford?”

  “Because we saw the steam.”

  “That’s it? I will advise you to stay away from Yellowstone.”

  Ness blushed. “I don’t know what our plan was. I guess to tell you what’s happening and see if you wanted to fight back. Shawn knew this place builds bombs.”

  She stared at him, reptilian. “What do you say these aliens look like?”

  “Spiders. Or octopuses. They have all these sharp, pointy legs and a lot of rubber, eely arms. Big heads.”

  “Have you fought one of them?”

  He shook his head. “They’re bigger than us. All we’ve done is run and hide.”

  Wordless, Roan turned for the door.

  “What happens next?” Ness said. “What if Shawn’s hurt?”

  “Pound on the door if he dies.”

  She locked the door with a click. Computers hummed. Ness sat there, head awhirl, then crouched beside Shawn. He couldn’t bring himself to reach for a pulse. He tilted
his ear to listen for breathing. Shawn’s breath was the damp, shallow huff of someone breathing around a thick tongue. Ness immediately felt stupid. Of course he was alive. He’d only been punched. With a fist, not a chainsaw. Ness sat in a chair and waited.

  Shawn stirred. He pushed himself to his knees and cried out. He drew his right arm to his chest and held it there as he sat up. “Where’d she go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “She walked out that door a couple minutes back. For all I know, she hijacked an alien jet to Pluto.”

  Shawn stood, wincing, breath hissing between his teeth. “Why didn’t you do something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Fucking hit her! You’re supposed to have my back, Ness.”

  “Did you see how fast she moved? Probably not, considering she was making an omelette of your brains.”

  Shawn scowled at him, shoulders bunching, then grimaced, his face draining of color. He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. “Well, that’s great. How am I supposed to get out of here when I got a busted arm? How you gonna just let that happen?”

  Ness glared at the floor. “Quit whining.”

  “What?”

  “I said quit whining.” Adrenaline flooded from Ness’ center. “I’m sick of it. You’re always trying to start fights. Well, this time someone fought back. That’s why your arm’s hurt. Deal with it.”

  “Look at you,” Shawn sneered. “Pretty easy to be tough when I can’t hardly walk.”

  “Oh, did she hurt your leg, too?”

  “Why don’t you shut up and let me think.”

  “About what?” Ness said. “Your daring escape?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Okay. You let me know once you’ve got a plan.”

  Shawn smirked and shook his head at the floor. Footsteps shuffled down the hall. A chair scraped outside the door. A man coughed. Lights buzzed. After a while, Ness curled up on the floor beneath a desk. Volt padded over, purring, and stretched out across his neck.

  The door clicked hollowly, awakening him. A well-built man stood in the doorway. A machine gun hung from his neck.