After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  Back then, the golems weren't that much bigger than me; the largest was maybe twice my height, but only made from trees, and even when it did manage to hit me it didn't do much damage.

  Now, though, I'm facing four beasts made of concrete, metal, drywall, siding, and even fiberglass. The finger-joints of the skeletal machine-bodies are tools: long wrenches, sledgehammers, the occasional chainsaw. Arms and legs are metal and girder-like; bodies are stacked drums of tar and cement; heads are clusters of pink insulation material with chunks of glass set in the approximate locations of eyes.

  And the smallest of the four is two stories tall.

  Crap.

  I look around A-4; there's bound to be something here I can use to defend myself, right?

  Right?

  Wrong. Whoever these guys Roman and Benny were -- I swallow a mouthful of bile at the thought of their destroyed bodies -- they kept a clean workspace. Although, if I think about it, what would a single metal pole do against building-sized golems?

  No. I'm going to have to fight Chor'brap'guh -- that's the maker's name, but out loud it sounds like a twelve-year-old after he chugs a two-liter of soda and says "check this out" -- the same way I did last time: distraction, avoidance, and as much speed as I can muster. I really do not want to take a punch from something with a fist made of construction tools. Eventually I'll find him; he can only be so far away before his golems lose cohesion.

  Simple, right?

  Right?

  The biggest golem -- the one I decide to nickname Chainsaw because that's what makes up his fingers -- lunges at me, fist clenched, and I leap up and over it. My entire body comes down in a kick to his elbow, but I think it hurts me more than him; he barely seems to notice, but my feet feel like someone whacked both of them with a baseball bat.

  I grind my teeth and run up Chainsaw's arm, and when I get to his shoulder I leap off in a flying kick, aiming toward Tyvek, who I've named because some of the stuff makes up his torso; my foot hits the center of his chest and the material cracks, but it doesn't stop him. He makes a grab for me and I get hold of his huge wrist -- Chor'brap'guh's life-force makes my hands tingle, but I ignore that and try to rip away Tyvek's thumb.

  Yeah. That doesn't stop him either. He whips his hand downward, as if I'd given him a paper cut and he's shaking off the pain. He flings me off and it's too fast and I hit the hard ground with my left shoulder.

  The pain is unimaginable. I know instantly that the joint is dislocated, and I'm pretty sure something's cracked in there too; I cry out as I roll onto my back, which gives Danger -- the barrels comprising his body are covered in yellow triangles with exclamation-points on them -- the opportunity to fling some sort of metal disc in my direction. It's the lid of a barrel, and I barely get out of the way before he's flicking more of them at me. I have to scramble to my feet and run as fast as I can -- with a dislocated shoulder, it's almost not fast enough -- until I skid to a stop at the edge of the massive pit that marks the boundary of A-4.

  When I turn around, the four golems have already blocked any possible exit route. Either I fight them, or I jump in the pit and take my chances with the fall.

  Well, shit; if I'm going to die, I'm not going wherever dead people go with a broken shoulder. I bend my elbow and twist my arm, grunting as the joint pops back in place -- my healing power hasn't quite fixed the cracked bones, but at least I now I can use both arms if I power through the pain.

  Small comfort, but it's all I've got at the moment.

  The smallest golem, Sawhand -- one hand made of saws; I'm not really that creative under pressure -- feints my way, but I don't run. Not yet. Instead, I take a step backward to avoid it.

  A step backward onto empty air.

  "Oh, hell."

  I look down at the bottom of the pit...

  ...which is not rushing up to meet me.

  In a flash I remember that I first learned to fly when I was seventeen, long after I first fought Chor'brap'guh. If I couldn't fly, I'd probably be in a heap at the bottom of the pit, and one or more of these golems would be smashing me into Andrea-flavored salsa -- the chunky kind, at least at first.

  But I can fly now.

  I take a few more steps backward, then point at Chainsaw and laugh.

  Holy crap, golems are stupid. Chainsaw and Danger both come for me, and all I have to do is rise into the air at the last second. They tumble into the pit and I cover my ears as the metal and other parts making up the golems crash against each other.

  I have exactly three seconds to enjoy my victory before Sawhand tosses another wire spool at me. It catches me in the stomach and my breath flies out in an explosive huff. Physics takes over and I'm flung backward, out of control, spinning off in a different direction as the wire spool falls toward the ground.

  I really should've been paying attention to my surroundings, because all of my force, mass, and acceleration is met by part of the skeleton of an office building and my helmeted head slams against a metal girder. It takes everything I have to catch myself on another girder instead of passing out and landing on the ground some twelve stories down -- which would be just another way to become a topping for whatever golems eat instead of tortilla chips.

  Even though I know golems don't eat, my brain refuses to let go of the vivid -- and disgusting -- metaphor.

  I take a few seconds to catch my breath, hoping that my healing power plus the helmet is powerful enough to keep me from getting a concussion, and when I think I can, I grab the girder I hit and start pulling myself to my feet. As soon as possible, I look down -- thank goodness the power of flight pretty much cured me of motion sickness -- and see Tyvek making a cradle of his hands.

  Oh, this does not look good. Neither does Sawhand, who's running in Tyvek's direction, his component parts clattering and clanking.

  I look around, trying to find a weapon, but there's nothing.

  No, wait; that's not quite right. There's plenty of cable, some of it as thick around as my wrist, and it looks like it's connected to a power source.

  I send a silent message of thanks to whatever made me want to wear a pair of construction gloves.

  Sawhand's foot crashes against Tyvek's hand and Tyvek flings him into the air.

  I jump across the open space at the center of what will someday be the twelfth floor of an office building and catch myself on a work platform. With one hand I smack the power switch -- energy hums along the cable, and when I tear it out of its socket, I can practically taste the electricity coming from the end.

  The golem flies upward, past my floor. I only have a few seconds before it stops at the top of its parabolic arc and is right in front of me. Better to catch it when it's not ready.

  I hold the cable in both hands and launch myself, full speed now, aimed directly at where Sawhand will be in about half a breath.

  Sawhand reaches out as if to smack me out of the sky, and I jam the cable against his palm. There's a terrific crack and a flash like lightning, and a screaming shitload of voltage tears through the life-force keeping him in one piece. The recoil throws me backward, and I smack against a beam. The pain jars me and I gulp in air, the too-clean scent of ozone and electricity making my nose ache.

  And, all the while, Sawhand is disintegrating into his component parts and raining down onto Tyvek, still standing on the ground.

  Of course, it was too much to hope that Tyvek would be affected too, but at least that's one down, two incapacitated -- I don't know how much longer I have before Chainsaw and Danger get out of that pit -- and only one more golem to fight.

  Tyvek begins climbing the bones of the building-to-be, and since he's already almost a third its height, it's not going to be long before he's within reach. I float upward and he climbs faster, clanging and crashing, metal on metal, until I realize that I'm actually above the building now, looking down on it. Apparently it's tall enough to justify one of those cranes that sits on top -- I've always wondered how they get those things up there, and how they
get them down afterward. Helicopters? Pulleys? Some sort of piecemeal thing that gets assembled on the proto-roof?

  I make a mental note to Google it when I get home -- and immediately forget said mental note, as usual -- before coming in closer to get a better look at the crane. It has the standard hook at the end of the long arm -- would it have been too much to hope for an electromagnet? -- and a little enclosed cockpit for the person who controls it.

  That's odd. Someone's in there. I'd think Jay would've told me if there was someone else working in A-4, wouldn't he?

  I move in to see if the crane operator is all right, but just before I get near enough to make out who's in there, a bird slams into my left shoulder and I lose my balance. When I was learning to fly, I never thought I could lose my balance in mid-air, but it's a whole different ball game up here and I'm left clutching my shoulder, hanging at an odd angle, trying to remember to stay afloat as the bird comes around for another pass.

  The first thing I notice about the bird is its size -- it's got to be at almost as big as me.

  The second thing I notice is that it's made of metal -- tools, building materials, whatever Chor'brap'guh could find up here, I guess.

  The third thing I notice is that, for all its impressive wingspan, it has a narrow body and not much of a beak.

  I play possum a little as the golem-bird dives at me, impressively fast, but up here there's three dimensions to move around in and I shoot myself down and forward as it slices through the air where I'd been. It lets out a creaky metal scream, just like what I imagine a real pterodactyl might sound like if it was made of steel. My ears hurt from it, but it doesn't throw me off or anything. I wonder if that was its intent. I roll my shoulder around -- it didn't dislocate this time, but I'm going to have one hell of a bruise for a few hours -- and turn to face it. Another dive-bomb; another swing-and-a-miss. But this time, I made sure to fly in the direction of the crane.

  Yup. Chor'brap'guh. Just as small and yellow-skinned and ugly as the last time I met him.

  I tap on the door of the crane cockpit and give him an evil little smile. His chartreuse eyes widen in terror.

  "Would you care to step outside?"

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHECKPOINT

  +++++

  I land on the rough ground of A-4 and bend over, hands on my knees, taking a moment to breathe. I may have killed dozens of assorted evil creatures in my time as Alexandra, but the feel of something's neck snapping in my hands is a sensation I never want to get used to. And I had to do it -- I had to make sure Chor'brap'guh was dead before I dropped him; didn't want him using his magic to make a golem that could save him before he hit bottom.

  When I kill one of the Dark King's minions, its essence goes back to wherever they live. The Professor told me that back when I was Alexandra the last time; I didn't think much on it then, but knowing what I know now, it probably explains how he was so quick to tell me what I was fighting and how to kill it. Long before Chor'brap'guh landed in an unceremonious heap amid the ruins of Tyvek and Sawhand, their parts making salsa out of him -- or possibly pico de gallo; I didn't stop to measure the chunks -- his essence had departed the earthly form he'd been inhabiting. I saw it go, rising like a cloud of yellow smoke and quickly dispersing.

  I'm thinking that the entire fight took maybe five minutes; when I look up, Jay is standing there with a few other guys from his crew. I straighten up, adjust my blouse and skirt -- both of which are noticeably looser than before -- and run my fingers over my mask where it presses against my cheeks. It's a nervous habit, one that I never managed to break the last time. "I'm sorry," I say. "Roman and Benny..." I gesture at the spool of wire that hides their bodies. "You don't want to see."

  Jay nods, his broad face pale under his blue helmet. "Thanks," he says. "For saving us, I mean. The rest of us."

  I nod. "It's what I do." I catch him checking out Chor'brap'guh's body. "You might want to burn that. Insurance will cover an accident, but I think anything that looks like a demon qualifies you for the acts-of-God clause."

  "Yeah." I hear sirens and give him a hard look. "Sorry," he says, "but I called 911 after I sent you to A-4. I guess I was hoping..."

  I step closer to him and put my hand on his arm. "I understand. I would've done the same. Do you want me to..." I incline my head at the wire.

  "Yeah. I think you'd better."

  "Okay. But don't look. Trust me."

  Jay nods, but I feel him watching me as I walk to the murder scene. At least I'm out of range in case he loses his lunch.

  Lifting the wire spool is difficult, not because it's heavy but because it's unwieldy. I do it with my eyes closed, pushing it up from the side until it's resting on its edge and then rolling it away. When I find a big enough open space, I tip it over and it clunks on the gravel.

  To Jay's credit, he doesn't throw up, but I can see him wavering where he stands. I'm at his side in an instant, supporting him, turning him so his back is to his murdered men. "I had to," he says. "I had to see."

  "I know," I say. And the sad thing is that I really do know. It's just one of those things about people; we have to look at the disgusting things -- the car crashes, the medical mysteries, the scenes in horror movies when the bad guy is slicing open someone's eyeballs... I make a face, but only for an instant, and then help Jay over to where he can sit down. "Look, I should go. I'm just going to check in with the paramedics."

  "Okay." As I'm walking away, he calls my name. "Alexandra?"

  I look back. His face is hard, full of sadness... and something else. "What is it?"

  "It's all happening again," he says. "Isn't it."

  It's not a question. Not really. "Yes, it is. But at least this time I have some experience. I'm not a little girl anymore."

  He catches my eyes and nods once, sharply. "Kick some ass."

  "Count on it."

  As I finish my chat with the paramedics -- all of whom are suitably impressed -- I get a text from the Professor: Please come back. We need to talk.

  I already did an interview. You can't put me back in the box this time.

  The pause is longer; I can just imagine the argument between the Professor and Dr. Colibri. Finally he replies: Just come back. I'll deal with the doctor.

  Now that's a surprise. It's hard to judge tone from a simple text message, but he actually sounds like he's on my side this time. Good thing, too, because I'm not the obedient teenager I used to be. No, this Alexandra is going to stand up for herself.

  It's a short flight back to the Midtown house with the door that leads down to Dr. Colibri's lab. I hear hushed voices arguing as I step around the corner and into the main room. It's a bit less messy than it was -- two new guys in black suits, who I guess I'll call Goon #3 and Goon #4, are putting books back on the shelves and sweeping up broken equipment. They wisely ignore me.

  "Alexandra," the Professor says, indicating a stool with one hand, "please, have a seat."

  "As long as those two stay within sight."

  "They're not here for you," he says. "I promise."

  Well, he hasn't ever broken a promise to me; I doubt he's going to start now. Still, I sit at sort of an angle so I can at least keep the goons in my peripheral vision. "All right. I came back. What is it?"

  "Ever since this morning, we've been monitoring police frequencies," Dr. Colibri says, her voice soft and dull. She sounds defeated, which gives me a little charge. I know it's petty, but I really despise this woman. "We heard about the fight at the construction site."

  "Chor'brap'guh," I choke out, and then clear my throat. "Earthly body destroyed, golems dead, two people killed before I could take him out." A pained expression flits across the Professor's face; I'm only able to see it because I've known him so long. "He's just the first, isn't he." It's a question, but I don't say it as such, because I already know the answer.

  "The problem is two-fold," Dr. Colibri says. Nice of her to congratulate me on a win, right? Like I should've expected any
thing from her. "First of all, there's the people who know you're back. Once the construction site story gets out, the interview you did -- CNN, of course--"

  "Of course."

  She looks pained, but continues. "It's going to get out there. People will start believing in you again, and you know that'll give you a power boost. Maybe more, since you're older and you're at a higher level anyway."

  I smile at that; the first time I won a big fight in view of a lot of people, their faith in my ability to save them made me feel like I could walk on water -- but since this was before I could fly, when I tried it out of curiosity I just ended up with wet feet. "So I'll get stronger and faster, and heal more quickly. And maybe I'll get some new powers too?"

  "We just don't know," he says, though he looks bemused at the idea. "If you do, will you tell me? We'd like to record the information for posterity, and in case this happens again."

  I nod. "Fair enough. So people are going to know who I am, and they'll expect me to save them. Well, fine, I can handle that."

  "I'm sure you can." The Professor's confidence in me, even after all these years, is reassuringly familiar. "Just know that you're going to be called upon not only to fight evil but also to help those in need. It's going to be a lot of difficult work, even with Dr. Colibri and her team--"

  "Wait," I interrupt. "She has a team? How does that work?"

  "Not now, Alexandra," he says, and doesn't wait for my response -- and damn him for using the 'misbehaving child' tone of voice on me, which by the way affects me totally differently at twenty-nine than it did at sixteen. I don't think he wants to know that, though. Instead, he just keeps talking. "We think it would be best if you left your job -- a leave of absence if you can; otherwise, you may have to resign. Dr. Colibri is preparing some medical documentation for you in case your supervisor requires it."

  I shrug. "I'm not married to the job. I can always get another one."

  "Very well."

  "Although I was kind of looking forward to showing off a bit."

  "Showing off?" he asks.