Earth's Survivors Apocalypse

by Unknown

  ”...You know, I think I am becoming a Bob clone. I guess I should get back to what I was saying before I started running at the mouth. Fairport looks like the best route in. We can get off at Webster and shoot across 250 straight into Fairport, and from there we have several routes to choose from. There are quite a few loops that surround the city, Can-of-Worms it's called. Most of the traffic would be there. They rebuilt the whole system just a few years back so it would be easier to get around the city. Almost all the old routes in and out were pretty much secondary after that, you know, really light traffic, but all of those routes in should be pretty well open.”

  Bob traced the route on the map as John spoke. “Looks good to me too,” he said. “Looks like we can get pretty much anywhere on the east side of the city from there.”

  “We can,” John agreed, “but don't let that map fool you. It's not as straight forward as it appears. I think we'll head out on East Avenue from Fairport. Try that first, and see.” Bob looked for East Avenue on the map, but couldn't find it.

  “Thirty-one,” John said.

  “Route 31?” Bob asked.

  “Yes, straight out of Fairport. It's really East Avenue still to me, but I think they list it as Route 31 on the map,” John said.

  “Got it,” Bob replied.

  “It doesn't go straight in anymore like the map shows,” John warned, “They changed it, but it goes far enough to hit Winton road.”

  “According to the map,” Bob said, “it'll take us north or south, and that opens a lot of ways in to the city.”

  “Sounds like a done deal,” Mike said, as he turned on the heater in the Jeep.

  “Hey,” Bob said, “don't you feel a little guilty driving around in a stolen Jeep?”

  “Nope, If you're gonna steal something make it something nice, I always say,” Mike replied, with a smug look on his face. “Besides, it's getting colder out again, isn't it?” he asked, turning the conversation back to something more serious. “I mean I'm from Watertown of course, and you never know what it's going to be like there. Cold in the mornings, usually, this time of year. Summer doesn't last for long, and I guess I expected it to stay cooler here too.”

  “It does stay cooler, or at least it did,” Bob said. “It can get hot in the summers, maybe edge up to the eighties, even low nineties on very rare occasions, but not as high as it was earlier. I really gotta believe that there's another reason for it. It seems to be swinging back to cold again though. Of course it's right back to the friggin' scientists you know,” he continued, “only time will tell on that one, I guess. Remember that Japanese island that had the quake about thirty, thirty five years ago?”

  Mike said. “Moved it, right?”

  “About six feet,” John said, “and that was just a quake, not a meteor blast. Who's to say what a large blast like that, coupled with a super quake, or whatever it was, would have caused? Or several large quakes, volcanoes for that matter? I don't pretend to know.”

  “I don't guess we'll be finding that out right away,” Candace said.

  “No... More wait and see,” Bob said. “I'd sure like to get my hands on a compass though, but who knows if a compass could tell us much? Probably not anymore, I'd guess. Shit, where the hell can you find a good scientist when you need one?” Everyone laughed, breaking the tension that had been building, as it always did, when the conversation turned serious.

  “Hey,” Mike said, as he thrust his open hand over the seat back, towards the rear. “You guys hogging all the beer back there? No wonder you're both starting to sound like a couple of fifth grade scientists.” Bob laughed as he passed Mike another beer. “Your license,” he said.

  “Guy's?” Candace asked. She waited until they looked at her. “Well, I was wondering, if, well... When we get to Oswego, if we could stop and get some clean clothes? I've been in these for two days now, and if there's no one there, in Oswego I mean, I'd like to stop and get some clean ones.”

  Mike looked down at his dirty shirt; he could use some clean clothes too. He had jumped into the same clothes he had been wearing the day before, everything started. That meant the same stuff for three days now, and he looked it. Come to think of it, he thought, we could all use some clean clothes. And a shower wouldn't be bad either. Aloud, he said, “I vote yes, does anyone know where there's a shopping center, a mall?”

  “There are a couple just inside the city limits,” John said, “They should have just about anything you'd want.”

  “It would probably be a good idea to stop,” Bob said. “It would give us all a chance to clean up too. Of course that's if there's running water.”

  “Even if there isn't,” Candace said, “there's the lake, right?”

  “True enough,” Bob replied, “but we may not be able to get close to it. I'll hope for running water myself.” A chorus of 'Me too' greeted Bob's last statement.

  Mike spread his fingers apart and looked from face to face. “Well, let's get this show on the road.”

  L.A: Billy Jingo

  Evening: March 9th

  He came up from sleep fast, Jamie's face above him, her voice a low, panicked whisper.

  “Wha... What... What?”

  “Downstairs... It's downstairs, people...” she didn't finish but she didn't need to. A crash came to his ears, but he could not tell if it was from the downstairs hallway. At least he hoped it was the downstairs hallway, not the stairs outside of their apartment, or, God forbid, even closer.

  He jumped from the tangle of blankets, started to pull his shoes on, and then reached for his machine pistol instead as another noise came from the hallway. This time it did sound like the downstairs hallway; the steel gate that closed off the lobby. Billy thumbed the safety off the machine pistol and ran for the apartment door.

  The hallway was nearly completely black. The hallway windows let in the light from outside, but it was very little. No more streetlights, safety, just roving gangs of rapists and murderers. He slowed and felt his way to the staircase. He sensed her before his hand brushed against her.

  “Don't you fuckin' shoot me, Billy Jingo.” Beth whispered tightly. A small penlight clicked on and he could see her leaning against the wall from the upstairs apartment.

  “No,” Billy said. It was stupid, but he could think of nothing else to say. “Going down,” he told her. He made the stairs and headed down toward the lobby. Behind him Beth had turned out the light, but he could feel her following behind him.

  The noise became louder as they made their way downward. Billy tried to count the steps as he went. Fifteen to the landing, turn to the right, feel for the banister. Fifteen more to the bottom, but he missed the last step. He had made himself count the steps just earlier that day in case he had to navigate them in the blackness.

  He nearly fell before his foot found the floor and he regained his balance. He could hear them breathing now though, smell them. Just fifteen or so feet across the lobby. He felt Beth’s hand brush against his back. A second later she pressed up against him and whispered in his ear.

  “When I flick the light on them, just shoot!”

  “But what if...”

  “Fuck 'What if'... Just shoot. Who do you think it would be, the fuckin' Avon lady?” Silence fell. The noise stopped. “Goddammit,” Beth muttered.

  A second later the penlight came on. It was like a floodlight in the narrow hallway. The gate was broken, forced part way open at the top. Another few minutes and they would have been through. Six men and one woman were illuminated by the beam. Two turned to run, the others seemed transfixed in the beam from the penlight, then three of them suddenly went for their rifles where they had left them by the door, one simply raised his pistol and pointed it at Billy.

  His rifle was in his hands, but it was like the beam had frozen him too. He did not begin to fire until after Beth's pistol began to fire. The noise was huge, everything in the closed in space. All six of the men fell, thrashing on the floor, one began yelling, but a quick burst from Billy's
rifle silenced the yelling. It was over fast. So fast that Billy had not even thought to breath.

  He stood frozen, looking at the dead. Two still moved. He walked forward and shot both of them in the head, one by one. The beam left them and moved to the doorway.

  The aluminum door frame was buckled in the doorway. The safety glass had been smashed out and lay on the floor in one spider webbed sheet. Two heavy sledge hammers lay just outside the doorway. Another three were scattered among the dead by the steel gate.

  “Son of a bitch,” Beth breathed.

  “Jesus. You don't think they would've gotten in, do you?”

  “Are you fuckin' kidding me?” Beth asked. She shone the light up and down the door frame. “We'll need a steel door and a welder to fix that,” She said.

  Billy nodded, realized she couldn't see it, and then spoke. “We can get one tomorrow.”

  She brushed against him as she squeezed past and walked toward the gate. His arm felt on fire from the softness of her breast as she had slipped past him. She turned and looked back at him. “They almost got in.” She shone the light on the steel collapsible burglar door. It had been there for as long as she could remember, and she had lived in the building for several years. The top was nearly separated from the steel bracket that held the hinge mechanism. Billy got his feet moving, walked over and examined the top of the door.

  They had hit it with the sledge hammer repeatedly. The steel had finally split, and it looked as though they had been trying to use sheer force to rip the rest of the bracket away from the wall where it was mounted. Billy stepped back.

  “I think,” he began, and that was when two more stepped through the shattered aluminum door frame and stared in at the steel gate.

  “Oh, hey, man,” one began. The other didn't even try for pretense, but just lifted her rifle and began to fire into the narrow hallway.

  It lasted less than a full second as both Billy's and Beth’s weapons roared. The woman's head blew apart in the narrow hallway, black blood running down the walls in the flickering light of the penlight where it had fallen to the floor. Beth squatted and picked the flashlight back up.

  “Got you? Got you?” Beth asked.

  “No... No... No, I …” Billy couldn't find the words. Something moved outside the door, and he opened up on it. A second later the sound of running came through the door. None of them made it to the gate, tripping over the other dead, and both Billy and Beth were firing immediately. One made it back out the door, his hand gone, the rifle he had been carrying clattered to the floor. Billy could not believe he was still able to move, he was sure he had shot him in the chest as well as the hand. He ran once he hit the sidewalk, canted to one side, one leg dragging as he ran, causing him to lurch from side to side. He disappeared into the darkness before either of them could get another shot in. The silence came back full.

  “You have got to get your shit together,” Beth said quietly.

  “I got my shit together,” Billy shot back.

  “You never saw that guy coming through the door: If I hadn't shot him...”

  “Well, fuck! If you hadn't... Never mind... Okay... I'll get my shit together.”

  She said nothing.

  “Okay... Okay... Does us no good to get on each other... None at all... We can fix this tomorrow.” He looked around the lobby.

  “Help me for a moment?” he asked. He headed for a length of chain they had bought back to use for something. It was about to be re-purposed, he thought. As Beth held the light he wound the chain through the separated sections of the gate, pulled it tight and ran a short length of nylon rope through the eyes, tying it tightly.

  He stepped back and looked it over. It would have to do until morning, her flashlight was dimming faster, causing shadows to jump and fall on the walls. Batteries were getting tougher and tougher to find. He looked at his wrist and cursed low. Old habits died hard. Watches were worthless now. He hadn't worn one in a few days.

  “I don't know either... I think a few hours 'til dawn,” Beth said. “That should hold for a few hours, at least slow them down enough to shoot them if they do try to get through it.”

  “Well I'll sit here and wait for it... All we can do,” Billy said. “Go on back up and get some sleep. I got this.” He settled back onto the step, sitting with his back to the upstairs.

  Beth stayed silent for a moment and then came and sat next to him. “Got it with you,” she said. She sat next to him, and he immediately lost his words. Her arm pressed against his own. The flashlight snapped off, and the heat of her arm became everything.

  “Billy?” His name whispered from the upstairs hallway: Jamie.

  “I'm here until daybreak,” Billy whispered back.

  Silence. And then... “It's safe?”

  “They won't get past us,” Billy said.

  She said nothing, but a few seconds later the door slammed upstairs. Billy sighed.

  “Sorry,” Beth said. She was aware how Jamie felt about her. Jamie and Billy were not really together, but Jamie felt she owned him. Billy didn't help matters by staying with her, sleeping with her, yet not making it official, and Jamie knew Billy was hung up on her too, Beth knew. For that matter, so was Scotty. She wasn't interested in either of them. She didn't feel like she absolutely had to have a man to protect her, define her. Yet ironically, she reminded herself, she was doing the same thing with Scotty. Staying when she didn't feel the same, couldn't feel the same. “I better go up... keep the peace.” Beth said quietly.

  “Yeah... I'm good here,” Billy said. He wasn't though. He wanted her to stay; he just didn't know what he could do to get her to stay. Nothing, he supposed. “I'll be good. Morning's not far away.” Her arm pulled away, and a moment later he heard her soft footfalls on the stairs as she ascended them. Billy sat quietly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his machine pistol in his hands.

  New York: Park Avenue

  March 9th: 618 Park Avenue: Seventh floor. 2B

  Tosh's Notebook. March 9th (Afternoon): Warming up, days longer. Nothing works, so I can't track the hours, but I know the days are longer.

  Tosh folded the cover back on her notebook and slipped it into her pocket. She stood on the balcony that overlooked the city, watching the fires that still burned here and there. It was ironic to her that the balcony faced west. Like she had never really left that world, only acquired a different view of it.

  This was so much different from their own place. The west side, even the other side of the river over in Jersey, was almost entirely in flames now. Across the river, the same west side she was looking over at now, still burned brightly. And Harlem was strange. The gangs had taken over. First fighting among themselves, then taking over the streets. The drug infested blocks just off the interchanges where the white folks had sometimes driven down into, pretending to be lost so they could buy their shit, take it back to their cozy, safe neighborhoods - probably a place just like this, Tosh thought - and get high with their friends, closed down. The whole area blocked off, city buses pulled across the streets. They had tried to go there. She knew first hand what it was like.

  She and Adam had left that area after just a few hours of wandering the streets, ducking in and out of the alleys to stay hidden, hearing the gunfire. The dead bodies everywhere were one thing to have to deal with. The living would be the other thing everyone would have to contend with there. Tosh tried to put it into context, but she couldn't. There was no context. It made no sense. Over there, if disease didn't get you, the gangs would. It was a no win situation. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she took a short breath involuntarily. Little angel wings flapping against her rib cage. It was what always came to mind when it happened, always. It was a heart condition she had had for most of her life. A heart condition that seemed, ironically, as though it would kill her long before the gangs or diseases got her.

  She sighed. The smell of fire was everywhere. Not the smell of wood smoke but that smell of house fire, something e
veryone remembered once they had smelled it once. Burned plastic, hot steel, bodies burning. It was horrible.

  Fires burned over on the west side too now. Nothing like Jersey though. There seemed to be a concerted effort, behind those barricades of buses, to get the fires out. It had been just over a week now since the city had collapsed. She and Adam had come here two days before. She thought back on it, playing the scene over in her head as she watched the fires burn across the river. Cliffside, North Bergen, Union City. She couldn't tell where the fires burned and where they left off. Maybe all of Jersey was on fire.

  Two days prior...

  They had walked right down the middle of the street, looking up at the buildings as they walked. Park Avenue looked bad, but nowhere near as bad as Harlem had looked.

  618 rested above the door of this building in two foot tall brass letters. The door had been partly open. They had seen that from the street and walked closer.

  The doorman, an elderly white haired man, had been dead, lying in the doorway preventing the door from closing and locking. They had dug in, shifted him outside the door. Adam had dragged him to the gutter as she had held the door. They had used the elevator, taken it to the top of the building. There had still been electric in the building that first day. Now the elevator was dead, wedged open on their floor. There had been an old lady in the apartment across the hall. She had come and stared as Adam had forced the handset and let them into the apartment.