“Except, you know, right and wrong.”
Ness just shook his head. Insects chirped from the weeds, fucking and eating.
Kristin scuffed the dirt. “Okay, well logically speaking, if we’re not going to run back, then shouldn’t we run away—? Oh, holy shit!”
Thirty yards from shore, bubbles churned the current. A black tower broke the surface and climbed ten feet into the open air. A huge, shallowly curved oval emerged from the river, moonlit water streaming from its smooth top as it bobbed up and down.
“What is that?” she said.
Sebastian turned to Ness, tentacle waggling. “READY SWIM”
Ness took a deep breath. He nodded. The creature enfolded him in its ropy limbs.
“Ness?” Kristin’s voice climbed. “What’s going on? Ness!”
The alien trudged from the shore. Cold water climbed Ness’ legs.
“Ness! Where are you going?” A rock plunked into the water. “Drop him, you monster! Ness!”
Water swirled to Ness’ waist. He turned in the creature’s embrace, tapping its chitinous carapace. It stopped. The current tugged Ness’ pants and jacket. He stared across the black water at Kristin, wordless.
“You’re leaving,” she said. “Do you even know where you’re going? That thing’s not your friend. It could kill you. Ness! I love you!”
“Take care of Volt.”
He turned away and tapped the alien’s side. It strode toward the waiting vessel. Ness felt himself slip beneath the water.
36
Tristan slammed into the asphalt. Alden screamed. A warm tingle bloomed through her chest. Then the pain hit, and she screamed, too.
Hollister lowered the gun, tracking her fall. He stepped forward. “Hard choices, Alden. We all got to face them. Later on, you’ll regret your choice, no matter which way you made it. There’s no stopping it. You know what will save you?”
Alden drifted behind him, face bright with tears. Tristan squirmed, clutching her ribs. Her hands were warm and wet.
“The knowledge of your strength.” Hollister took another step. “That you have proven there is nothing you can’t do. That you will survive no matter what you must face. Including your own regrets.”
He straightened his arm, lining the barrel of the gun up with her eye. She kicked at the pavement, trying to scoot away. A fresh barb of pain lanced into her side.
“Watching this will make you stronger,” Hollister said. “In time, you’ll see.”
He thumbed the hammer. Alden screamed and, with perfectly practiced form—back foot maintaining contact with the ground even as he pivoted on his heel—he slammed a roundhouse into Hollister’s groin.
The man dropped to one knee, grabbing himself with his empty hand and catching himself on the road with the other, clacking his gun into the pavement. Tristan surged to her feet. Side searing, feeling as if it would split in half, she stomped her left heel on his gun hand, planted, and drove herself forward, spiking her right knee into Hollister’s face. He jerked back, hand grinding under her heel, and yanked free. She staggered back. He pointed the pistol again. Alden leapt on his arm, pushing it off-target. He shot, the bang bursting over the river. Alden flinched from the sound, then bit the man’s forearm as hard as he could.
Hollister screamed and dropped the gun. He swung a left hook into Alden’s temple. Alden groaned and fell away, mouth a crimson mess. Blood gleamed from Hollister’s arm and smashed nose. He crawled forward for the gun. Tristan rose up, ribs burning, wheeled her elbow over her head, and dropped her weight straight down.
The point of her elbow smashed into Hollister’s skull. Her arm went numb to the shoulder. He splayed his arms and fell, head conking against the asphalt. Tristan booted his face and flung herself at the gun, butt skidding over the road.
Alden got there first. He stood five feet from Hollister, feet planted, both hands gripping the pistol.
Hollister groaned, rolled onto his side, spat blood and teeth. He planted his palms and pushed himself upright. “Alden. I am your commanding officer. Put down the firearm and slide it to me.”
Alden’s elbows shook. His voice cracked. He lowered the pistol. “I can’t do it!”
Hollister grinned, blood webbing his face. He lurched toward Alden. Tristan stood, legs quivering, head going light. She took the gun.
“You don’t have to.” She aimed Hollister down. “Yet.”
She pulled the trigger. Hollister’s eye disappeared inside his skull. His head yanked back. Blood spouted the asphalt. He fell onto his side, air gurgling from his lungs.
Tristan sat down hard. The horizon spun. Her tongue felt thick. Alden knelt beside her, grabbed her shoulder.
“Tristan? Are you all right?”
She grunted. She felt very tired. Her ribs ached. It was hard to breathe, which annoyed her. You should always be able to breathe.
“Tristan, I think we should go.”
“Just a minute.”
“What if the truck comes back?”
“I’m tired,” she said. “Just a minute to rest.”
Blood seeped through her fingers. Silhouettes thrashed through the brush on the far bank. Something was wrong with one of them. It had too much of itself, legs poking this way and that. It was one of them, wasn’t it? Were they here to take her back to the orange? She tried to stand, but her arms could only shiver.
It was okay. Alden could still run. In a minute, she’d tell him to go.
Across from the three figures, a black column climbed from the river. She knew at once it was a submarine—the river was so big—but the underlying shape was all wrong, teardropped and fat.
Alden tugged at her arm. “There’s something coming out of the water. Can you get up?”
She shook her head. The woman on the bank screamed, but Tristan couldn’t make out the words. The creature grabbed up the other person and dragged him into the water. More screams. Didn’t the aliens know they’d lost? The fight was over. Time for them to leave.
The alien sank beneath the surface. Tristan tried to shake her head. The creature popped back up beside the sub, scrabbling at its slick sides, then disappeared inside the waiting column. The vessel slunk beneath the ripples. On the bank, the woman let loose a long and wordless scream.
“Tristan.”
“Just a minute,” she said.
The world went gray. Something shook her shoulder, but soon all she could feel was the beat of her heart. No pain. No words. No self.
* * *
She woke in an office. Sunlight shined from blank computer monitors. An ECG beeped beside her. Her eyes were gummy, sore, as dry as her mouth. She tried to sit up and search for a glass of water but pain stabbed her ribs. She shouted and collapsed into the sheets.
The door thumped open. A middle-aged woman bustled into the room, eyes widening at Tristan. “She lives!”
Tristan untensed her balled-up muscles. “Am I under arrest?”
“This is a hospital.”
“But the bridge.”
The woman frowned. “Your brother told us what happened. You’re not under arrest. Dr. Larsen’s put everything on hold while he sorts the whole mess out.”
“Dr. Larsen?”
“Speaking of holds, I’m going to flatline you now.” The woman grinned and unplugged the ECG. “Gotta preserve power.”
Tristan eased herself upright. “Am I still at the nuclear plant?”
“Yeah, but it’s sort of melted down at the moment.”
“Sort of?”
“I’m a vet tech, not a physicist. It’s safe. It’s off. That’s all I know.”
Tristan gazed at the ceiling; the lights were off, too. The only thing brightening the room was the sunlight through the window. “Is Alden okay?”
“Perfectly.” The woman went to the sink. “I’m guessing you’re thirsty.”
“Yeah.” She accepted the glass and drank it in one ongoing gulp. She sat back, belching, water dribbling to her chest. “But you still h
ave some power.”
“We’re running generators till the brains get the reactor back online. Mean, green ethanol, baby. Been keeping you alive for days.”
“Will I live?”
“Your spleen has seen better days.” The woman put her hands on her hips, considering Tristan’s bandaged torso. “Could be a problem down the road. For now, you’re awake, you’re alert, you’re looking good.”
“Where’s my brother?”
“Asleep. Next office over. Want me to grab him?”
“Please.”
The woman winked and went out the door. Murmurs filtered through the wall. A minute later, feet pounded to her door. Alden flew inside, face open with worry.
“Tristan!” He ran to her, arms spread, but halted just before he crushed her up. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Give me a hug. Be gentle.” She grinned. He leaned in, touching her shoulders. She smelled his hair and his skin. She hugged back with her right hand, keeping her left at her side. “I should be fine. But I doubt I’ll be going anywhere soon. We may be stuck here for a while.”
He withdrew, tears brimming. He turned and tried to wipe them away, as if she hadn’t seen. “I don’t care where we are. So long as we’re there together.”
She moved her throat, but she found herself unable to speak.
* * *
Spring turned into summer, long hot days that left her sweating in bed. There was no air conditioning; the plant remained off, and while the workers had cannibalized some of the solar panels from town, their meager output was dedicated to essential plant operations. So she gathered from her doctor’s gossip, anyway. As the heat climbed, they were allowed to run fans through the worst three hours of the day, but Tristan had had enough. She asked for and received permission to move from ongoing care to her own room in the basement.
Dr. Larsen called a meeting at the farm across the river. Tristan went with Alden, who helped her into the back of the turreted U-Haul, which had been recommissioned as a bus, complete with foam benches. The farm looked strangely naked: the fences had been torn down.
Dr. Larsen sat on a chair mounted on one of the picnic tables, a tall umbrella shielding him from the killing sun. He had heavily hooded eyes that seemed to be set in a shelf in his wind-chapped cheeks. There was a gravity to him, a hidden wound he seemed to remember each time he paused his choppy speech.
“First thing,” he said. “Our army’s done. Don’t need it. Not unless someone wants to pick a fight. I don’t see that happening.” He paused, staring flatly at the crowd of hundreds. “We will need a sheriff. Two deputies. That should be enough. Draw up some laws. Simple stuff.
“Former members of the army can stay. Everyone can stay. Anyone who stays will have to work. Plenty to go around. We need to get proper housing over here. More running water. Husband some animals. Get us some meat.”
This drew more than a few cheers. Larsen glanced up, surprised, then went on. “Maybe a lot of meat. Anyway, you want to stay, line up and come talk to me. We’ll get you enrolled as a citizen. Anyone who wants to leave will be given food, water, and a ride into town. Ready to choose, line up now, but you don’t have to decide right away.”
A heavyset Hispanic man raised his hand. Larsen’s lips widened; he seemed uncomfortable accepting the gesture. “Yeah.”
“When will the plant be back online?”
“Don’t know,” Larsen said. “Suffered some damage in the incident. May never get it back online. If we do, it’ll be a few months before we’ve got things safe enough to fire it up.” He raised his eyebrows. “Other questions?”
“How is this going to work?” a young and brown-haired woman called out. “Like, are we going to have popular votes? Representatives? Or are you our new dictator for life?”
“Hell if I know.” Larsen stood, knees popping, and clambered down from the table. “We’ll figure it out. Now come on.”
Tristan elbowed Alden. Her ribs twinged. “What do you think? Want to be a deputy?”
Alden shook his head. “No way. Those guys were all so weird.”
“Well, you want to stay? Doesn’t have to be forever.”
His gaze drifted to the U-Haul parked at the edge of the gravel. “That thing is so cool. How do you think they got the turret on it?”
“I don’t know,” Tristan said. “Bet they’d teach you if you asked.”
She signed them up for citizenship. There was no contract or commitment beyond two week’s notice if they decided to leave. The sun baked the dust, shimmering off the wide blue river. The plant vents sat silent, steam-less.
Alden fell in with the mechanics at the garage on the other side of the river, riding with them as they scoured town for as many scraps and spares as they could salvage. Each night at dinner, he filled Tristan in on what they’d shown him that day. He could never get the black crescents of grease out from under his nails.
Guessing she should pick up something useful of her own, Tristan signed on for the fermentation program, which was spearheaded by an eager if flighty young woman named Kristin. The process of creating usable fuel was shockingly simple; once you got used to dealing with the flames needed to boil the big metal stills, it was just a matter of running a few tests and spending a lot of time stomping corn and apples down into mash. Within two weeks, Tristan could have done it by herself.
She was fully recovered by mid summer. Alden seemed happy enough, so she made no plans to leave. In her free time, she gathered equipment from town and made two small stills of her own: one for fuel, one for vodka. Kristin signed off on both, granting her use of some of the lab’s more esoteric materials in exchange for a cut of the output.
Tristan didn’t plan to hoard it anyway. Mostly, she wanted the vodka around for use as a crude medicine. That and to have something to share at the harvest fair.
The day after the farmhands finished hauling in the last of the corn, Hanford’s whole population gathered on the eastern bank of the river. The engineers tethered a barge to one of the small islands near the center of the water. While the crowd waited, drinking vodka mixed with apple juice, eating fresh corn and bacon served over sliced apples with bread, men futzed about on the barge, their orders and curses hanging over the cool water. The sun hid itself in the hills.
A spark launched from the barge. It climbed higher and higher into the twilight, a silver star carving across the purples and reds and navy blues of the sunset’s last seconds. The star wavered through its apex and disappeared. The crowd groaned.
It burst so brightly Tristan had to look away. The bang shot through the night. The men and women around her laughed in surprise, then lifted their hands above their head to applaud, cheering the men on the distant barge, who raised their hands and waved back.
“That’s awesome!” Alden yelled in Tristan’s ear. He’d actually asked if he could drink; Tristan had laughed and nodded, willing to let him tuck into her vodka until he vomited. He had to learn sometime.
He pounded on her shoulder each time a new star popped against the backdrop of the universe. Within five minutes, her shoulder was so sore she caught his hand mid-punch.
“So the student has become the master,” Alden said. His grin softened. “This is cool, isn’t it? Do you like it here?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“But?”
“But I wonder what else is out there.”
“Some good, some bad.” She rubbed her sore shoulder. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”
“Somewhere warm,” Alden said. “Sunny.”
“It’s warm and sunny here.”
He peered at her over his red plastic cup. He smelled of juice and liquor. “Somewhere so warm and sunny the girls have to wear bikinis.”
Tristan rolled her eyes. “Lesson one of drinking: you’re not half as cool as you think you are.”
“Half of my cool is still all the cool.”
“We’ll talk later. You’re missing the
fireworks.”
Colors streaked the sky. Smoke streamed on the wind. She smelled spent gunpowder. Five minutes later, they sent up the finale, a blistering set that crackled like a machine gun and glowed like lava. The crowd clapped and hugged and cheered.
Tristan stood on the banks a long time after the others had left. The old stars shimmered in the sky. She wanted to believe it was over. She glanced around to make sure she was alone, then spoke her parents’ names. The words tasted foreign, the language of a place long lost to the careless jungle of time.
She turned from the river to find Alden before he made a fool of himself with the girls.
EPILOGUE
He rarely knew where they were going. The submarine ran largely on water; when he pressed how that was possible, Sebastian explained it needed combustible fuel, too—oil worked well enough—but it could roam for weeks between fill-ups. They only stopped at night, when it was too dark to make out the skyscrapers or the coast. Sometimes it was warm. Sometimes it was cold. Sometimes they let him come with them as they scuttled over the docks. The shore felt funny beneath his feet. Too still. Too silent. If he focused hard enough, he thought he could hear it asking to live.
Sebastian thumped his tentacle on the spongy wall. Ness glanced up.
“Landing tomorrow,” Sebastian signed with two tentacles. For simpler subjects, they no longer had to use writing at all. “Come with?”
“Yes,” Ness signed back. He grinned. “Fresh air. You smell.”
“You worse,” Sebastian gestured back. He turned and disappeared through the oval door.
The engines whispered through the moist floor. Ness let them lull him to sleep.
* * *
The ship was all loaded up. Food. Water. Guns. Clothes. Fishing rods. Plenty of homemade fuel. She untied from the dock and turned over the engine. Alden grinned against the sunlight bouncing from the bay.
A crew of freebooters had taken over Alcatraz and claimed possession of all waters in sight, but she’d bribed them weeks ago with equal quantities of gas and liquor. As she motored toward the red spires of the Golden Gate Bridge, the pirates shot rifles straight up in the air in salute. Alden stripped off his shirt, letting it flutter behind him in the wind. He’d put on some muscle.
The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers Page 144