After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  I know it's a bad idea, of course -- I should've woken him up, should've told him to go home, should've put him in the guest room at the very least -- but I don't want to be alone right now either. If this is to be my last night on earth, I want to spend it with someone I care about.

  I get into bed and pull the comforter up over the two of us before sliding close enough to Jake that I can slip my arm over his stomach. His breathing seems to level out and grow calmer with me close to him like this, and I adjust my pillows so I can rest my head on his shoulder.

  Without waking up, he pulls me one-armed against him. I press close to his body, even though I absolutely should not in any way be doing this, even though it feels comfortable -- feels right -- to be with him like this.

  I stop worrying about it a couple of minutes later, mostly because that's when I fall asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  SHOWTIME

  +++++

  I blink awake and lazily roll over toward the left side, just like usual. Willow isn't there to greet me.

  That's odd, but it's not what makes me sit up in bed and bury my face in my hands.

  Jake's scent on the pillow, in the comforter, on the sheets... that gets me up the rest of the way.

  I know I didn't sleep with him -- it's not one of those movie scenes where the girl wakes up all regretful that she took the Next Step with her best guy friend. For one thing, I still have my clothes on.

  Buffy is sitting in the window seat, glaring at me. "You're an idiot."

  "I know." I sigh and get out of bed. When I come back from the bathroom, face washed and teeth brushed, she's still got that grumpy expression on her face. "What?"

  "You could die today."

  That phrase 'all the blood drained from my face' has never been more accurate than right now. "I..." I swallow hard. "I hope not."

  "So do I. But I have to get used to the idea."

  "Me too." I go to Buffy and scoop her up into my arms, and she lets me, without even digging her claws in just for the hell of it. "I don't want to die, but this is something I have to do. Something that I'm destined to do."

  "Destiny." She makes a little scoffing noise, halfway between a laugh and a sneeze. "Screw your destiny. Run away; fight another day."

  "I can't. I'm tired of running." I'm cradling Buffy on her back, gently rubbing her belly. Her tail is curled up protectively, but I don't blame her. I'd feel vulnerable in that position too. "This is the best plan we could come up with."

  Buffy paws at me and I let her down onto the chair. "Your plan sucks. You suck."

  "Real nice, cat."

  She blinks at me, once, slowly, and when she speaks again, all the sass has gone out of her voice, leaving her sounding like a frightened kitten. "Don't die, Andrea. Please?"

  "I'll do my best."

  But first I have to face the music, which is to say I have leave my bedroom and talk to Jake. I know he's out there; I can smell him cooking breakfast, and I think that's what woke me up. Plus, he has heavy footsteps.

  The bedroom door isn't latched shut; I pull it open and watch Jake's back as he stands at my range top. He's still wearing the polo shirt and khakis he had on last night, although his hair is messy, sticking up in weird wings.

  I decide to go in gently.

  "Don't freak out," I say, "but I'm right behind you."

  He jumps a bit anyway but doesn't drop anything. "Good morning," he says. "I hope you don't mind, but I opened a toothbrush from your medicine cabinet."

  "It's okay." I go into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and start taking out the ingredients to make one of my shakes. I'm going into today's fight as ready as possible, which means full energy and no flashy or unnecessary displays of power. "You sleep okay?"

  "Slept fine. You?"

  "Fine." Better than usual, actually, but I can tell in the set of his shoulders how uncomfortable he is and I don't want to force him into talking about it. "Thanks for taking care of breakfast."

  "Sure." He's making two omelets at the same time, one in each of my small frying pans. "Figured you'd be getting up soon. Heard you stirring around in there."

  "Oh." I really want to touch him, but I know it would be a mistake right now. "Um... anything I can do to help?"

  He shakes his head. "Potatoes are in the oven. These'll be done in a minute. I didn't know if you wanted... I mean, if you can even drink coffee now."

  "I can drink coffee. I don't have any decaf for you, though."

  "That's all right." He flips the omelets one at a time -- with a spatula, not in that cool jerk-of-the-wrist way I see sometimes at brunch places -- and sprinkles a pinch of something on top. "Can you set the table?"

  "Of course."

  There's a tense moment when I have to reach into the cabinet next to Jake to get the plates. If he looked down, he could probably catch a good amount of skin -- nothing indecent, but this is a tank top and it's pretty loose on me since I'm ninety pounds lighter than when I bought it -- but he doesn't. In fact, he's very careful not to, and I'm just as careful not to mention it.

  We eat breakfast in relative silence, except for me complimenting the omelet -- it's way better than anything I would make myself -- and the occasional "pass the juice." I think he's waiting for me to say something, and I know I'm waiting for him to say something. It's a very tense game of Alphonse and Gaston until we're washing up and I bump into him with my hip. He edges away quickly, and that hurts -- and he sees that it hurts, but doesn't do anything about it.

  "I'm going to get dressed," I tell him. "Can you drive me to the lab? I don't want to waste any energy."

  "Sure."

  Back in the bedroom, I want to rip something apart in frustration. Something expensive. Something that'll help me express this fucking powerless feeling I have.

  Tearing my tank-top in half doesn't help, and now I'm out a tank-top. Brilliant.

  I'm a little more careful taking off the pants, and I've got myself at least somewhat under control by the time I'm dressed and ready to go. The outfit is in a duffel bag; I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt under a loose-knit black sweater, flats, and a pair of jeans that's ten sizes too small for the woman I was ten weeks ago but right now doesn't stay up without a belt cinched tighter than I'd like. At least the clothes get Jake to really take a good look at me -- I'm not unaware of the fact that I'm much happier with my body the way it is now -- but he blushes when he realizes what he's doing and tells me he's going to use the bathroom before we go.

  That gives me time to talk to the cats privately.

  "If anything happens to me," I tell them, "you're going to live with Jake. Please try to be nice to him."

  "He's nice," Willow says. "He feeds us."

  "But he's not you." Buffy's tension is visible in her posture as she sits on the coffee table. Willow seems relaxed, but Buffy is obviously unhappy. "You can't die, Andrea. You... you just can't."

  "Tell her you love her," Willow says. "I love her." She walks along the couch to bump her head against my hand, and I pick her up and pull her into a hug. She purrs loudly and nuzzles my ear. "I don't want anything to happen to you," she tells me in a tiny voice, and I know that if she was a person she'd be fighting back tears. "Please come home to us."

  "I'll do my best," I say.

  Willow climbs carefully up my sweater and steps onto the back of the couch. I look expectantly at Buffy. "No," she finally says. "I won't say goodbye."

  "Fair enough." I reach for her and she lets me, my fingers stroking behind her ears. "I love you."

  She gives Willow a capital-L Look and then, in the softest voice possible, tells me she loves me. A second later she's bolting through the apartment, probably embarrassed. I guess she doesn't like revealing her feelings around her sister.

  The toilet flushes and, about half a minute later, Jake steps out. "Ready?"

  "As I'll ever be." I grab my bag, keys, phone, and wallet, and we head for the lab.

  Being at the lab with Jake, the Professor,
and Dr. Colibri isn't any less tense than when it was just me and Jake in the apartment. We sort of mill around until 10:30, when we all get in the car and head for the highway. The Professor, who's driving, pulls into an abandoned shopping center and everyone else gets out to let me change. Then I'm out there with them. I hug the Professor and then, before he can edge away, hug Jake too. It feels good to be this close to him.

  I whisper that I'm sorry. "I didn't mean for things to get weird between us."

  "It's... it's okay." He hugs me back. "Just be careful, okay?"

  "I promise." We separate and I reach for Dr. Colibri. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hug you."

  "I should hope not." She shakes my outstretched hand. "I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye on things, but I never wanted you to have to face this again. And I certainly don't want you to die."

  "That makes two of us." I give her a quick grin and then step back. "See you there."

  I can feel the crowd long before I see them: the power of their belief in me is like being wrapped in warm towels, fresh from the dryer. It fills me up, strengthening me, and I zoom around the track a few times on foot before launching back into the air, looping backward like a high-diver, and coming to a stop in front of the crowd, arms outstretched.

  They go wild and I bask in it. A chant starts up, a chant of my name, and when about a thousand people are chanting "Alexandra", there's nothing to do but wave and float down toward the little podium they set up for me. I raise my arms and they eventually quiet down.

  "Hi."

  Applause. Lots and lots of applause. I find myself blushing. Trying not to be obvious about it, I check the big display, which shows a countdown to the battle.

  Five minutes.

  When the noise gets down to a dull roar, I step up to the microphone again. "I want to thank you all for coming today. It means..." I pause and look out over the stands. "It means a lot to me."

  "We love you!" someone shouts, and there's a ripple of laughter and some more applause.

  "Thanks." I wink in the general direction of the person who said it. "Look, while I have a minute, I want to warn you guys to be careful, okay? I'm not sure what's going to happen, but the Dark King--" A smattering of boos, which makes me grin-- "The Dark King is extremely powerful, and he very easily could come after some of you before I can stop him. So, at the risk of sounding like a flight attendant, please make sure you know where the nearest exit is, keeping in mind that it may be behind you."

  That gets a good laugh.

  "Other than that... I got nothin'. Just... thank you again. From the bottom of my heart." I feel my eyes misting up and I do my damnedest to stop it. It means I have to allow the blue glow to shine at full-force, which I've found tends to creep people out, but they're pouring so much belief into me that I'm almost at diminishing returns trying to stop it. So I don't bother. "Oh, and one more thing: whatever happens, please, please stay out of the way. I know you might want to help, especially if it looks like things are going badly for me, but trust me on this -- it's a bad idea. There's every chance he can kill you faster than I can save you." They go quiet. "Sorry to end on such a downer, everyone. But... y'know... thanks." I wave, but it feels weird and forced. "See you in a couple of minutes."

  The applause as I step down off the podium isn't as loud as before, but it's okay; I can still feel the crowd's belief in me, and it's not like their worries are going to take away what they've already given.

  Behind me is a series of buildings. I don't know what goes on in most of them -- I'm not a NASCAR fan -- but I had the property manager show me where to find the nearest bathroom. I don't have to go that badly, but one thing I learned, both from my own fights and from the final episode of Buffy, is that Xander was totally right: once I picture what I'm about to face, I know it's better to go now.

  It's far less glamorous than what happens before a fight in the movies, and it's a royal pain to get the costume in a position where I can actually do what needs doing, but I manage it and then spend several seconds staring at myself in the mirror. My glowing eyes stare right back. I want to give myself a pep-talk, want to say something that's going to make it all right, but there's nothing I can do.

  Nothing except face the King.

  I start hearing the voices of the crowd counting down. Thirty... twenty-nine... twenty-eight...

  This is really going to happen.

  Twenty-one... twenty... nineteen...

  My heart is pounding. I try to take some deep breaths, but it doesn't help.

  Thirteen... twelve... eleven...

  Fuck. "Fuck." I am out of time. Too late to call it off now. Too late to do anything but--

  Four...

  --clench my fists, turn, and--

  Three...

  --speed out into the open, where the--

  Two...

  --crowd and the cameras are waiting for me, waiting for the Dark King, waiting for--

  One...

  --showtime.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SEEING RED

  +++++

  I get to the racetrack just in time for the clock to hit all-zeroes. There's a brief rush of applause which peters out into silence as I stand on the pavement, waiting.

  And waiting.

  And waiting.

  Nothing happens. At least, nothing evil-related. The audience starts to stir, first whispering and then muttering. And they're right to, because I don't feel anything -- no pain in my stomach, no tingling in my neck. Just a blush creeping up my cheeks and behind my mask as I realize that I fucked up.

  Big time.

  By now the Professor, Dr. Colibri, and Jake must be wondering what went wrong. To be honest, I don't know either. I wish I did.

  I move to the podium and wait for the audience to notice me. The closest ones are either staring accusingly or holding up cell phones, taking video of Alexandra's big failure.

  "I..." My voice is unsure at first; I swallow hard and continue. "I'm going to take a look around, make sure he got the right address." I give them my best Alexandra smile. "These things happen, right?"

  It gets a smattering of laughs, but I can already feel the belief waning. They don't think I can get him here, not anymore.

  I lift off straight from the podium and rise to a height where I can see the entire Speedway. I don't feel any evil, except for my own frustration and anger. Still, just to make sure, I do a quick flyover of the entire area, a ten-mile radius.

  Nothing at all.

  Well, at least I'm not twiddling my thumbs here while the Dark King goes off and raises hell. Small favors, I know, but it's all I can cling to.

  I start down toward the Speedway, but only fly a few seconds before I stop myself. I pull my phone out of the pocket at my back and dial the Professor. He answers on the first ring. "How bad is it?"

  "It's not good," he says. I hear a commotion through the connection; even from up here I can tell that people are pissed. "You can come back if you want, or you can stay away. At this point I don't know which is worse."

  "I think..." I pause and consider. "I think I need to say something to them. Even if it's only an apology."

  "I don't know if they'll listen."

  "I have to try."

  I imagine him nodding. "Just be ready to move if they decide to come after you. You know what mobs are like."

  "I do." A few seconds of relative silence. "I'm sorry," I finally say. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

  "It's not your fault."

  "Doesn't make it any better."

  "I know."

  I hit the end button and put the phone away before orienting myself on the Speedway and starting my descent.

  This is really going to suck.

  Buffy's right: I'm an idiot. Here I thought I could goad the Dark King into fighting me on my terms, but I conveniently forgot who I was dealing with. The guy's been battling humanity for five thousand of our years and five million of his. I don't know how I thought I could fool him.
>
  I'm the one who looks like a fool now. The news cameras and countless cell phones capture my apology to the audience, and I can barely get two sentences out before the roar of the crowd starts to overcome my words on the PA system.

  I end with a simple "I'm sorry" and take off again. I'm pissed off, and I'm overpowered thanks to all the belief the audience fed me before everything went horribly wrong, and I can't feel any evil whatsoever.

  No... wait... that's not right. There's something out there. I just have to concentrate and--

  Got it.

  I ignore the acid in my stomach and fly faster than I've flown in a while, rocketing northwest through the sky, not paying attention to birds or anything else. I barely remember to skirt around the airport on my way, but at this point I don't care if I get in the flight path. I'd probably survive being hit by a 747, and anyway I'd deserve it for screwing this up so badly.

  That doesn't happen, though, and soon enough I'm in sight of Kennesaw Mountain. That's where the evil is coming from; I can feel it, and my sixth sense or whatever it is is acting like a homing beacon.

  I don't even slow down. I just extend one fist forward and, the moment I see the creature, I slam into it with as much force as I can muster.

  My arm goes through it and the momentum carries us until we hit a tree, my fist crushing halfway through the trunk and pinning the thing to it. It roars and tries to snap at me with its huge slavering jaws, but I've already pulled my arm out and am holding its mouth open, the top in my left hand and the bottom on my right.

  It screeches in fright and tries to get away, but it has no strength -- I don't know what I destroyed with that punch, but this thing is going to be dead whether I keep fighting it or not. I can tell.

  Doesn't matter, though. With one savage twist, I shove its jaws in opposite directions. There's a double-cracking noise and it goes limp, falling out of my hands into a heap on the ground.