Tails of the Apocalypse

by David Bruns

  I stood when I heard the sound of cheering from the center of the settlement. The Finding ceremony had started. A dull ache of loss settled in my chest when I heard the crowd noise. At this early point in the show, Shadow and I would be doing our mimicking bit designed to draw the children in.

  Sand shushed under my sandals as I made my way to Basr’s wagon and deactivated his alarms. The interior was as dim and messy as it had been the night before. I imagined I could smell traces of Dimah’s perfume from when she’d been there that afternoon.

  The Map of the Ancients was exactly where I’d last seen it. After removing a few screws, the map was mine. I snagged the sextant from the wall, draped a rug over the map, and hurried through the deserted streets of the settlement to the enclosure where I kept my wagon.

  The dark headlights glinted in the light of the stars but the interior of the tent covering my wagon was pitch black. In the distance, I heard the crowd laughing and clapping. It certainly sounded like Basr knew his stuff. Good for you, kid.

  “Dimah?” I hissed. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” She stepped out of the inky blackness in a gray silk dress that shimmered silver in the starlight. She had one hand on her belly as if to protect our child. “Do you have it?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” I dropped the rug and held the map up for her to see. The numbers on the ring and the star constellations were painted with some sort of glow-in-the-dark ink. “Look at that,” I breathed. There was no doubt now; this was definitely the Map of the Ancients.

  “It’s wonderful.” Dimah placed her hands on either side of my face and kissed me. Hard. When she backed away, she left a smear of moisture on my cheek.

  “Dimah—”

  They came at me from three sides. I tried to toss the map to Dimah but she let it fall to the sand. I took a hard right cross on the chin and went down. Two more men grabbed me and slammed my back against the ground.

  A halo of silver hung in the sky over my face.

  “No!” I shouted.

  But it was too late. The ring descended, rough hands lifted my shoulders off the sand, and I felt the chill of bare steel against the flesh of my neck.

  “Wait!” I screamed. “I want to talk to Tarkon.”

  The sound of the collar snapping shut was like a rifle shot in my ears.

  One of the men laughed. “Tarkon has another Finder. He doesn’t need—”

  Dimah pushed the man aside. “Our Finder said he wants to talk to Tarkon, so let’s take him to see Tarkon.” Her face was a mask in the darkness, just the glint of her eyes and the whiteness of her smile. Not a nice smile.

  “I never really loved you,” I said.

  She leaned into me until her breath tickled my ear. “I know. That’s why I made other arrangements.”

  Two of the men frog-marched me through the streets while the third ran ahead to let Tarkon know we were coming. The performance oval was silent when I was pushed inside. Tarkon occupied his normal place with Basr seated on the rug next to him. Fully aware that every eye was on her, Dimah sashayed her way across the sand, her silk dress flowing like a sheet of water. She folded both hands across her chest and bowed to her clan leader in a formal greeting. She even mustered up a tear. A murmur ran through the crowd at the sight of the moisture.

  “Tarkon, I bring you sad news. Polluk, my mate these last two years, has lost his Gift. I found him trying to flee your camp. He had stolen a map from Basr’s wagon.”

  “It’s a lie!” I said. “That map is an artifact from the Water Finder’s Temple—I was going to return it. He’s the thief!” I leveled a finger at Basr.

  “This is true?” Tarkon asked the new Finder.

  “No, that map was passed to me from my master. I didn’t steal any—“

  “Tarkon,” Dimah interrupted. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said Polluk, your Finder, has lost his Gift. He’s nothing but a slave now. We already collared him for you.”

  Tarkon’s eyes were a washed-out blue, like the sky when it’s filmed over with high cirrus clouds. He squinted at me. We’d never had much in common, but I sensed a hint of sympathy in his gaze. At least I thought I did.

  “The only thing I’ve lost is the trust of a woman who said she loved me,” I said in a loud voice. “Nothing more.”

  Another whisper murmured through the crowd. This was more excitement than these people had seen in years. As one, they crowded closer.

  Dimah stamped her foot and crossed the sand with her hand raised.

  “Enough!” Tarkon was on his feet. The old man moved faster than I would’ve expected. “There’s an easy way to solve this. You say your Gift is intact? Wonderful, then give us a new Find, Polluk, and you can be on your way with my blessing. As for the map business, you Finders can sort that out on your own.”

  I shook off the men holding my arms and drew myself up to my full height. “Two conditions, Tarkon.” I touched the collar at my neck. Even now, I was having a hard time breathing—not because it was too tight, just because it was there. “One: take this off me now.”

  I stepped closer to Dimah. Her cheeks were flush with color and her eyes widened as I drew near. Her hand slid across her belly. “And two: if—when—I make this Find, you put the collar on her.”

  Tarkon’s eyes shifted from my face to Dimah’s and the crowd leaned in, holding its collective breath. Tarkon nodded. “Take off his collar.”

  The sting of steel left my skin and I drew a deep, cleansing breath of the night air. Normally, at the beginning of the Finding ceremony, I would feel a tingle of anticipation, a sense of where the water was hiding. But I felt nothing. I knelt and washed my hands with sand, pretending to whisper a prayer but really stalling for time. Sweat broke out on my neck.

  “We don’t have all night, Finder.” Dimah’s voice prodded me with all the venom a scorned woman could muster. I bit my lip. I should’ve run when I had the chance.

  I stood and smiled with a confidence I did not feel. I nodded at a few of the clansmen, who averted their eyes. So that’s how it was. Only Roseth, the bartender’s slave, met my gaze. I winked at her, and she forced a smile across her pale face.

  There would be no shtick tonight—this was life or death. My life or death. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, they were never putting that collar back on me. I walked to the center of the oval and spread my arms. I let my eyes close and forced myself to relax. Just one more Find, that’s all I needed, and then I’d drive off into the desert alone.

  A hush settled over the crowd, the tension in the chill air like the frayed string of an instrument about to snap. I let them fade away, melt into the background. It was just me and the water, searching for each other. The words of the Finder’s Prayer slipped from my lips as I turned.

  Nothing. Not even a tingle in the soles of my feet. Fighting the panic, I kept turning, repeating the chant:

  Mother Earth, the Source of all,

  From your bosom flows Life.

  I call on you to show me—

  A burst of laughter interrupted my meditation. I opened my eyes. “Tarkon, how can I perform a—“

  Some joker had thrown a dog into the ring. No more than a pup, it was all legs and ribs. A steel collar had worn an open sore onto the back of her neck. “You forgot your dog, Finder,” someone called. The crowd laughed. I’d played audiences my entire adult life, and that wasn’t the kind of laugh that portended good things for me or the dog.

  A rock the size of a hen’s egg sailed into the ring and struck the dog in the side with a dull thud. The animal whimpered and slumped to the ground.

  “That’s enough!” I strode to the side of the creature and knelt down. The dog couldn’t have been more different from my Shadow. He’d been short and squat with a waddle to his step; she was tall and thin with long legs that made her appear to be moving even while standing still. Shadow had long silky ears and a squat nose, while she had a long, tapered muzzle and short, pert ears. She was bone-white, but when I
brushed my hand across her flank a thick layer of white dust sloughed off. Underneath her coat was the color of sand.

  Her molten brown eyes pleaded with me. I saw another missile flying in, and I blocked it with my back. I scarcely felt the sting of the stone.

  I gathered the dog into my arms. She was light, like lifting a pile of sticks. I pressed her against my chest. “You’re safe with me.”

  And that’s when it happened.

  The call of water roared up from the earth and into my body. My knees burned like they were on fire and I nearly dropped the dog from the overwhelming sensation. Another rock clipped my shoulder as I staggered to my feet.

  “Stop!” I roared. “And follow me.” I waded into the crowd, kicking bodies that didn’t get out of the way soon enough. I used no pretense, no showmanship. No shtick. The call of water was like a string pulling me forward. I marched out of the camp and into the desert, carrying the dog, heedless of whether anyone followed. The moon rode high in the night sky, casting a silvery sheen across the landscape as I strode up and down the dunes.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whispered to the dog. She tucked her long nose into my armpit and fell asleep.

  I stopped and turned. My would-be judges came staggering and out of breath behind me.

  “Dig here,” I said.

  * * *

  I named the dog Honey.

  After her collar was removed and she was given a bath, her coat was revealed as a rich, amber color. Given the size of the Find I’d made, Tarkon didn’t argue about giving a dog a bath. To his credit, he didn’t say much of anything at all.

  He found his voice at the feast, though, when he begged me to stay. I looked around at the same clansmen who only hours before had been ready to stone a defenseless dog to death and sell me to the slavers. Now they toasted me with full glasses of clear water.

  I told Tarkon to eat sand.

  In the euphoria following my huge Find, Dimah and Basr fled in his wagon. Still trying to curry favor, Tarkon offered to send a hunting party after them, but I said no. They deserved each other. Besides, they left the Map of the Ancients and the sextant behind. That was more than a fair trade for the likes of Dimah.

  The next morning, only Roseth, the barmaid, was there to see me off. I lifted Honey into the wagon, laying her carefully on a bed I’d prepared for her.

  As I settled into the driver’s seat, the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Roseth tapped on the window and I rolled it down. The scar on her cheek twisted when she smiled up at me.

  “Where will you go, Polluk?”

  My bruised ribs ached whenever I drew a breath. I thought about the Map of the Ancients hidden under the floorboards and Shadow’s grave somewhere out there in the sand. My hand automatically dropped to the place where Shadow used to lay when I drove the wagon. Honey licked the inside of my wrist. I put the wagon in gear.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  A Word from David Bruns

  David with Lucy and Sydney.

  There’s no better feeling in the world than being greeted at the door by a four-legged friend who’s bubbling over with excitement to see you. Whether you’ve been gone four minutes or four days, the joyous welcome is the same. With the exception of four years at the Naval Academy and two years in nuclear power training, I’ve always had a dog in my home. Part furniture, part family, dogs have always been part of my life. Always.

  But the awful truth is that our canine friends don’t live as long as we do, and every pet owner knows the feeling of making that last, lonely trip home from the vet with nothing but an empty collar and a heavy heart. In the days and weeks leading up to that final moment, you suffer right alongside your friend and there is nothing—nothing—you wouldn’t do to make his time with you just a little less painful.

  That’s the moment I wanted to capture in “The Water Finder’s Shadow”—those final days when you would do anything, say anything, risk anything to ease your friend’s passing. Set in a post-apocalyptic world of desertification and tribes, Polluk is waiting for his friend Shadow to pass—and not making good choices about whom to trust.

  If you enjoyed “The Water Finder’s Shadow,” come visit me at www.davidbruns.com, where you can download a free Starter Library. You’ll find some other short fiction titles as well as my sci-fi series, The Dream Guild Chronicles. I also write military thrillers with another Navy veteran. Our most recent book is Weapons of Mass Deception, a novel of modern-day nuclear terrorism that looks less like fiction every time I open the newspaper.

  When You Open the Cages for Those Who Can’t

  (a Breakers short story)

  by Edward W. Robertson

  Exhaust blew down the street, choking and putrid. She wouldn’t miss it when it was gone.

  Raina waited until there were too many cars for any of them to move, then darted across the six lanes of PCH to the gray building on the other side. The parking lot smelled like sun-warmed pee, but that meant she was right where she wanted to be.

  She snuck up the back stairs and poked her head around the corner. Her mom was behind the front desk talking about cats to a rich lady. Raina waited for her mom to disappear into the filing racks behind the desk, then scooted across the lobby to the door to the back.

  There, men were hosing down small dogs in countertop tubs. The dogs didn’t look happy, but their baths would be done soon and then they’d be fine. But the ones in the cages would still be locked up with their sadness. Raina went to them, closing the door behind her. It smelled like dog fur and kibbles. The big dogs were in big kennels on the ground, while the small ones were shut up in two rows of cages stacked on top of each other. Half of them were barking at her. Others wiggled at the front of their cages, asking to be let out.

  They had names clipped to their cages: Betsy. Mango. Chief. But those names were stupid, so Raina gave them names to suit them: Bellow, Snaps, Wasp. She let them lick her hand. A woman in scrubs entered and gazed at Raina but said nothing.

  The door opened again. Her mom stopped in her tracks. “Raina?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “Because I hate it,” Raina said.

  “You still have to go.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Her mom pressed her lips tight. “How did you get here?”

  “At recess, the other girls were making fun of me. So I left. I walked here.”

  “Raina, that’s like five miles! You can’t walk that far on your own.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nobody knew where you were. You could have been hurt. You’re too young to be running around on your own.”

  “I’m ten years old,” Raina said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh really? Then maybe it’s time for you to start buying your own food. And clothes. And games.” Her mom sighed. “I can’t take you home right now. Your dad’s at work, too. So I guess you get to stay here until I’m done.”

  That was fine with Raina. She sat in the room with the dogs, scratching their ears and asking them questions. She knew their owners would be back for them soon, but there in their cages, they acted like the kids whose parents were late picking them up from school. Some sat still like the saddest things, while others paced like their stomachs hurt.

  After a few hours, her mom came into the back to get her. As they headed for the front doors, Marisa walked in, dressed in her scrubs. She stopped, swung her mouth into the crook of her elbow, and coughed hard, shoulders jumping.

  “That sounds terrible,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you call in?”

  Marisa shook her head, voice strained. “Lydia told me if I don’t make it in and I’m not dying, I’m fired.”

  “So next week, instead of one sick person up front, she’ll have three.”

  “I tried. You know how she is.”

  “A load of shit from above?” Her mom spun toward Raina. “You didn’t hear that.”

  * * *


  They didn’t talk much on the ride to their home in Gardena. Raina’s dad was still at work, so her mom started preparing chicken thighs for dinner. Raina cut the peppers and onions.

  Her dad got home. They ate. After, her mom pulled her dad to their room and shut the door. A few minutes later, he came to Raina’s room and knocked on the door frame.

  “Hey, killer.” He walked in and sat on the bed. “Hear you want to be a ten-year-old dropout.”

  She looked him in the eye. “School’s stupid. It doesn’t teach you what you need.”

  “But you need it if you want a job. Or to go to college.”

  “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “No one does. I go to work every day, and every day, someone tells me what to do. Same goes for your mom. That’s life.”

  “Why do people put up with that?”

  He laughed, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “Most of us don’t got a choice. Bills to pay. Mouths to feed. But you know what? If you don’t want that to be you, you better do good in school. Or else you’ll have someone telling you what to do until the day you retire.”

  Raina watched a singing contest on TV with her parents, then went to bed. She could hear the cars outside. She thought about walking away, following PCH until there was no city around her at all. Until the only voice she had to listen to was the wind in the grass.

  * * *

  Her mother’s coughing woke Raina the next morning. It was a Wednesday and Raina got ready for the bus as usual. At school, the other children sat quietly as the teachers taught them things about the division of numbers and books of made-up stories. At recess, the kids split into packs, seeking out those who didn’t have groups and teasing them. They coughed as they ran, eyes watering.

  On Friday, both her parents called in sick. Even though they were staying home, they still made Raina go to school. As the bus groaned down the street, Raina hid behind the neighbor’s agaves until it was gone. As the diesel fumes faded, she smiled.