Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  Anne peeled the cans open and dumped them into the simmering water. She added a few spices to each, and let them heat up. Ray and Ulysses sat in the living room playing chess and Freddy had pulled out some of his toys he brought with him.

  Anne walked down the hallway to Kalen’s door. It was closed. She stood in front of the door for a moment, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. Her stomach was in knots. She let a slow breath then knocked on the door.

  “Kalen?” Anne asked.

  No answer. Anne opened the door slowly. Kalen was on her bed, lying on top of the sheets, her back facing the door.

  Anne shut the door behind her when she entered and softly sat herself down on the edge of Kalen’s bed. She stroked her daughter’s hair, letting the strands run through her fingertips.

  “Honey, dinner will be ready soon.”

  Kalen remained motionless. Anne brought her lips to Kalen’s ear.

  “If you need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

  Once dinner was ready, Freddy helped set the table and he, Anne, Ray, and Ulysses gathered around. Anne put together a separate plate and handed it to Freddy.

  “Go take that to your sister,” she said.

  Freddy grasped the plate with both hands and walked back down to his sister’s room. The door was cracked and he pushed it open with his shoulder.

  “Kalen?” Freddy asked.

  She was still curled up in a ball with her back to him. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out what was left of the fading sunlight.

  Freddy tiptoed into the room and placed the plate on the nightstand next to her, the steam rising from the piping hot plate.

  “Mom made you some dinner,” he said.

  Freddy stood there, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He slowly walked up to the edge of her bed.

  “I hope you feel better,” he said.

  Once Freddy was gone Kalen turned around. She didn’t touch her food. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had felt worse.

  ***

  The thunder crashed outside. The wind and rain battered the side of the cabin. Anne watched the rain smack against the window. The lighting flashed across the sky, reflecting in her eyes and illuminating the room.

  She paced back and forth in the bedroom. She couldn’t sit still. Every time she settled into one place she became uncomfortable and had to move somewhere else. In between the cracks of thunder she would close her eyes and see the red flames engulfing her home. She saw the faces of her neighbors, their eyes wild and crazy with rage and fear. She felt the warmth of Mike’s lips on hers before she ran to the garage. Then she started to feel hot. She could feel the flames ripping through her as if she was there with Mike. She wrapped both of her arms around herself and fell onto the bed, the tears falling from her eyes.

  Just when she felt exhausted the entire cabin rumbled and shook. She swung the bedroom door open and could hear the faint screams coming from the living room over the cracks of thunder and the howl of the wind. One of the ceiling beams fell and landed on the couch in the living room where Ray was sleeping.

  Anne rushed over to him. Blood gushed all over the couch and floor. Ray’s shin was bent inward, snapped in half.

  Ulysses came up from behind her and helped roll the log off Ray and it thudded on the floor. Blood poured from Ray’s leg onto the couch.

  “Ulysses, help me take him down stairs,” Anne said.

  Anne lifted Ray onto her shoulder supporting him. Ulysses came around and threw Ray’s other arm over his shoulder. The three of them hobbled over to the basement. On the way there Freddy poked his head out of his room.

  “Stay in your room and keep the door shut,” Anne yelled.

  Anne and Ulysses kept Ray steady bringing him down the steps of the basement. The lower half of his shin swung back and forth with each step, and with each swing Ray dug his hand harder into Anne’s shoulder.

  Once they made it all the way down the steps Anne cleared a table and lit a few lanterns while Ulysses helped Ray lay down. Ray kept glancing down at his mangled leg. Anne pushed his head back flat on the table.

  “Don’t look at it,” she said.

  “What do you need?” Ulysses asked.

  “Scissors,” Anne said.

  Ray’s breathing accelerated. His body was shaking. The muscle in his jaw flexed from grinding his teeth together.

  “You got anything for the pain?” Ray asked.

  “Are you allergic to anything?” Anne asked.

  “No.”

  Ulysses handed Anne a pair of scissors. She hurried over to one of the medicine shelves and she opened the box and pulled out a bottle of oxycodone. She tore a bottle of water out of the package holding it and fed Ray the pill. He choked a little bit, but managed to get it down.

  Anne ran the scissors across Ray’s jeans and ripped them apart from his knee to his ankle, exposing the wound. Bits of bone poked out through the skin, which was a deep shade of black and blue.

  “Ray, I’m going to have to push some of the bone back in and then try and set it. I don’t know if it’s a clean break or not, but the wound will get worse if I don’t try,” Anne said.

  “Give me… More drugs,” Ray said.

  “I can’t. You’ve lost a lot of blood and if you have too much oxy it could drop your blood pressure even further and put you in cardiac arrest. Ulysses, give him something to bite on.”

  Ulysses took his belt off; folding it a few times, then slide it into Ray’s mouth. Ray’s hands gripped the side of the table until his knuckles turned white.

  Anne’s finger hovered over the bone. She pressed down. Ray’s body seized in tension on the table, his whole body shaking as the bone slid deeper into his leg until it disappeared. When the pressure from Anne’s finger stopped, Ray went limp on the table, passed out.

  The crack of the bone resetting into place triggered an unconscious spasm from Ray. Anne grabbed a splint from another first aid bag.

  “Get those straps at the top, Ulysses,” Anne instructed tying the splint firmly to Ray’s leg.

  Anne cleaned the wound, wiping the blood away and dumping hydrogen peroxide over the cuts. She applied fresh bandages and checked Ray’s pulse.

  “We’ll have to watch him through the night, make sure there wasn’t any internal bleeding,” Anne said.

  She placed the back of her hand to Ray’s forehead, checking his temperature. She took a rag and wiped the sweat from his face, padding him gently.

  “If his temperature spikes within the next twenty-four hours it means he has an infection. We should keep him down here tonight and move him as little as possible,” Anne said.

  Anne knew that Ray wouldn’t be able to walk without assistance for the rest of his life. She did what she could, but without professional medical help the bone wouldn’t set right. If Ray got an infection though it wouldn’t matter, they didn’t have any antibiotics in their medical stash to fight it.

  ***

  When Ulysses walked around the cabin the next morning he could see the full devastation from the storm. Multiple trees had toppled over throughout the forest. The tree that landed on the roof of the cabin was a thick pine.

  Ulysses spent most of the morning clearing out the smaller branches on the roof. He chopped them down and tossed them to the ground to be used as firewood for later. Trimming the tree would also make it easier to move. With one of the support beams from the roof already damaged he wasn’t sure how well the roof would hold, or if the tree would come crashing through at any moment.

  The afternoon heat was getting worse. Ulysses’ shirt was drenched in sweat. He swung the axe high, digging deeper into the thick trunk of the pine. He felt the wood handle of the axe slide through his hands with each blow. The strain on his face, the tightening of his back, his muscles fatigued from the exertion and hot summer sun. Finally, the massive trunk snapped in half.

  With half the tree now leaning at a more easily leveraged angle, Ulysses climbed up on the roof a
nd crept around the area where the rest of the tree still remained. His knees cracked as he bent low trying to put his body behind the lift. He strained, pushing the log from the roof to the ground.

  Just like the tree, Ulysses collapsed after the encounter. He lay on his back, sucking in air. His chest heaved up and down, the heat from the sun barreling down on him. He focused on slowing his breath to a steady rhythm and letting his heart rate come down.

  Once Ulysses felt he had controlled his breathing, he pushed himself up and took a look where the tree had crashed into the roof.

  It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Only one of the logs on the roof had been cracked from the weight of the pine and the only hole it created didn’t penetrate all the way through the roof.

  Ulysses climbed down the ladder and headed to the front of the cabin to grab some water. When he entered Anne was coming up from the basement, her bloody hands holding dirty gauze.

  “How’s he doing?” Ulysses asked.

  Anne tossed the old bandages into the waste bucket. The dark bags under her eyes dragged her face down.

  “He’s getting a little warm. I’ve been giving him Ibuprofen to help with the fever and I’ve been redoing the dressings on his wound, but it’s still too soon to tell. How’s the roof?”

  “Not as bad as I thought.”

  Ulysses walked into the kitchen with a slight limp. He tried to play it off, but Anne noticed.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Anne asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine, here, sit down,” she said pulling a chair out for him.

  Anne helped him into the chair and grabbed a bottle of water out of the cabinet. Ulysses gulped it down. She disappeared into the basement and came back holding two pills and extended her hand to him.

  Ulysses popped the pills into his mouth and leaned back in the chair gingerly.

  “Your back?” Anne asked.

  “Just tired,” Ulysses said.

  “Ulysses, now’s not the time to be a hero. I can’t have two seriously injured men to take care of. I need you to be careful.”

  Ulysses twirled the gold band around his finger. He smiled to himself.

  “You’re just like her you know.”

  “Like who?”

  “My late wife Margaret.”

  The chair creaked as Ulysses leaned forward. He rubbed his fingers along the callouses covering his palms, the flesh still pink from the friction of the wooden handle on the axe.

  “She was the strongest woman I ever met. I remember the first time I saw her. I had just started engineering school. The farm next to her family’s needed a new barn and called the construction company I worked for. We went on our first date that night. Sandwiches by the river.”

  Ulysses could still smell the mud on the riverbank. He could feel his bare feet, squishing into the mud. His hand finding hers for the first time and remembering how warm her skin was. The moonlight danced off her hair and her green eyes glowed in darkness.

  “I wish I could have met her,” Anne said.

  “She would have liked you,” Ulysses answered.

  Freddy came into the kitchen, yawning.

  “Who would have liked you, Mom?” Freddy asked.

  “Grandma,” Anne said lifting Freddy into her arms and kissing his temple.

  “Do you think she would have liked me?” Freddy asked.

  “She would have loved you,” Ulysses replied.

  “Well, I would love some breakfast,” Freddy said.

  Anne set him down and he rushed over to the table behind Ulysses.

  “I think we all would. Ulysses?” Anne asked.

  “I’d love some,” Ulysses replied.

  Day 6 (Biker Gang)

  The motorcycles flew down the highway, scattered randomly along the road. Jake road in front, leading his men to whatever town came next. They’d left Cleveland behind to rot. They’d been riding for forty miles before they came across Carrollton, a small town just west of Pennsylvania in the middle of nowhere.

  Whatever cars the town had were parked right where they were when the EMP blast hit. Jake led the Diablos onto Carrollton’s Main Street, past some of their local stores, and the Sheriff’s office, to the motel. The bikers pulled into the motel’s parking lot side by side. The locals came out of their shops. The sight of working transportation caused a lot of jaws to drop.

  Jake cut the engine off and set the kickstand out, leaning the bike to the side. His face was red from the wind and his hair was blown back. His dark sunglasses reflected the townspeople moving toward him.

  “Afternoon, folks,” Hank Murth said.

  Hank Murth was an elderly man. He had walked out of the grocery store that bore his name. He had his apron on and the pistol hanging at his hip seemed out of place. He extended his hand to Jake, who ignored it.

  The crowd around them grew. None of Jake’s men moved until he did, so they followed his lead, just waiting. Questions flooded the air:

  “How did you guys get the bikes to work?”

  “Is the rest of the country in trouble?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Is help on the way?”

  Most of the townspeople were older. Their worn faces pleading for answers, worried about what the future would hold for them. Jake looked around and noticed more people leaving their stores, coming out in the street to meet them, but the only person he kept his eyes on was the Sheriff strutting down the sidewalk.

  Sheriff Barnes was a good’ol boy if Jake ever saw one, all the way from his cowboy hat to his boots, and that polished badge shining in the sun. Two deputies dressed in similar fashion followed closely behind him.

  “Well, I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be happy to have a group of bikers roll through my town,” Barnes said.

  Jake looked the officers up and down. Their bellies protruded over their waists, their gun holster straps still covering their pistols, slowing them down if they had to draw. They were kind. They were weak.

  “How many people do you have in town, Sheriff?” Jake asked.

  “Oh, I’d say there’s probably fifty of us here right now, more if you count some of the surrounding farms.”

  “You and your deputies have any trouble lately? Any shortages of anything?”

  “Well, no, so far we’ve been okay.”

  Jake pulled the knife from his side and jammed it into the Sheriff’s throat. The blood spurt over Jake’s arm as he dug the blade deeper. Jake pulled the blade out and the Sheriff dropped to the ground. The Sheriff’s blood drenched his shirt and dimmed the shine on his badge.

  Before the deputies could react Frankie blasted them through the eyes with his pistol. Hank reached for his gun, but Jake drew his own pistol and shot Hank through the gut.

  Hank barreled over to the ground and the rest of the crowd scattered. They ran for their stores, their homes, whatever cover they could find.

  With the town’s law at Jake’s feet, and their blood pooling on the street, Jake turned to his men, specks of the Sheriff’s blood still fresh on his face.

  “We take what we want, boys. This town is ours,” Jake said.

  The Diablos cheered and made their way down Main Street. Jake had his men hit the hunting store first. They smashed the windows, broke the glass cases housing the weapons, and horded all the ammo they could find.

  They all spread out, hunting down the townspeople like dogs. A few fought back, but there weren’t enough that did to cause any trouble. Jake and his club were twenty strong. They were hungry, vicious, and had nothing to lose.

  Gunshots and screams filled the town’s streets. Jake could see people running down the highway. He gathered six of his men around him.

  “You three take the north end and you three take the south. Anyone that tries to run for it you gun down, understand?” Jake asked.

  They nodded and took off toward the ends of town. Jake flagged down Frankie.

  “Clear out the motel,” Jake sa
id.

  Frankie ran through the small motel, smashing down doors. He cleared the first floor and made his way up to the second. Each room he checked was empty. He blasted the locks of the doors until he came across a family huddled in the corner of their room: a husband, wife, and three daughters.