Mega Post-Apocalyptic Double Bill

by Mark Gillespie

  “Thank God,” Eda said. “At the very least I get to feel dry land under my feet again. If only I had time to get out of this goddamn suit. It’s soaking wet.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got time to change,” Becky said.

  “Yeah,” Eda said. “I know. I’ll settle for finding Frankie Boy. God, I hope he’s alright.”

  Becky steered the boat towards the water’s edge. Although she was sweating and breathing hard, her eyes were bright. She’d needed that boost of finding the harbor. Eda felt the same. And although they still had a lot of running to do before they found the Two Bridges Road, they were at least a long way from the rim of Uncle Sam’s crater.

  “Listen,” Becky said, jumping out of the boat first. She turned around and offered a hand to Eda. “We gotta be careful. Your friends stole the Children’s costumes but we don’t know if they killed everyone. Some of them might be on the loose around here.”

  “My bet?” Eda said, taking Becky’s hand and stepping onto dry land. “They’re all dead. Lex and the warriors wouldn’t leave any prisoners behind, not if they could help it. Mercy isn’t exactly their style, you know?”

  Eda and Becky hurried through the swamp back to the Children’s camp. When they got there they found bodies lying everywhere. It wasn’t a surprise but that didn’t make looking at the bloody aftermath any easier. The corpses were scattered throughout camp, their camouflage clothes stained with patches of dark blood. As well as men and women, Eda saw one dark-haired little boy of about eleven lying in a grotesque pose, limbs pointing in a multitude of directions. He looked like a doll that an angry child had tried to break. Cloudy pale blue eyes stared lifelessly up at the sky.

  “Oh shit,” Becky said. She was staring intently at the dead boy.

  Eda clamped a hand over her nose and mouth as if the air was toxic.

  “These bitches are savages,” Becky said, creeping closer to the boy. An army of flies danced gleefully around his fresh corpse. “Fucking heartless savages. Look what they did to him.”

  “They’ll do the same to us,” Eda said in a flat voice. “If they find us. Frankie Boy! C’mere dog.”

  A strange, high-pitched barking noise from deep inside the swamp stopped both women in their tracks. It wasn’t Frankie Boy, but whatever it was it didn’t sound welcoming.

  “What the hell was that?” Becky said. “That wasn’t a dog, was it?”

  “No,” Eda said. “That’s not Frankie Boy. God knows what else is out there.”

  Looking around, Eda crouched down beside a small pile of bodies. She gagged on the foul odor of decaying flesh and with a grimace, picked up two short swords lying next to the death mound. Then she stood up and offered one of the swords to Becky.

  “You any good with one of these?” she asked.

  “I’m good with a paddle,” Becky said. There was a reluctant look on her face.

  “Take it anyway,” Eda said, forcing the weapon into the woman’s hands. The swords were heavier than they looked and the weight would take some getting used to. “We might need it if we run into whatever’s barking out there. And if we miss that, we’ve always got the warriors and the Children to worry about. At the very least, you’ll look more frightening with a sword than with a paddle.”

  They heard voices in the swamp. Somewhere close by.

  Becky’s face was as white as snow. “We have to find that road,” she said.

  Eda nodded. “I know.”

  A sudden snapping noise to Eda’s right made her jump. Something was coming towards them, stalking them across fallen branches on light feet. For a second, she thought they’d blown it – that they’d waited too long and now the warriors or the Children had caught up with them and that was it – game over. It was either back to New York or throat slit and tossed into the Fairfield crater. Little wonder then that Eda almost cried out with relief when the beautiful sight of Frankie Boy came bounding through a wall of bushes.

  “Frankie!”

  When he saw Eda, the German Shepherd ran across the clearing towards her, ears down and tail wagging. He looked as overjoyed as Eda felt.

  “Thank God,” she said, kneeling down and burying her face in the black and tan coat. It was damp and yet it smelled divine.

  “Eda for Christ’s sake!” Becky said. She was looking across the clearing towards the happy reunion. Her eyes ballooned with fear, as if she was expecting a horde of murderous, sword wielding women to barge through the foliage at any second.

  “Right,” Eda said. “C’mon Frankie.”

  They moved fast.

  It wasn’t easy going, making their escape through the Meadows. On multiple occasions, their feet became weighed down in the black oozy mud. At times Eda felt like she was running on the spot. The landscape was rugged and the swamp, very much a living thing, wanted them to fail. Eda pushed through. She saw the empty road in her mind and felt the joy of standing there with the world and all its doors wide open. The road was opportunity and freedom.

  Surely it was only a matter of time. It was just ahead of her, always.

  The odd chink of sunlight stole past the clouds and it made the grass look like long strands of white crystal. Now and then, Eda and Becky would stumble upon the remains of a dirt path, forged by feet from the old world. These disappearing pathways were a reminder that people, such as Baldilocks and his father, had once visited the Meadows for recreation. Eda thought it madness to come to such a place to relax. There were other reminders of the past too. At one point, Eda saw an overturned table and chairs, withering to the point that it had become one with the landscape. Eda tried to imagine them, the people of yesteryear, sitting by the riverbank, drinking tea and laughing. The picture in her head wasn’t clear. It seemed too far-fetched.

  Becky slowed down a little and Eda, whose legs were surprisingly fresh, took the lead.

  About a minute later, she stopped dead. She pointed a finger ahead, noticing as she did that her hand was trembling.

  There was something up there – something in between a tight row of river birch trees.

  And it was looking at her.

  “You see that?” she said. “Becky, do you see it?”

  It was the Uncle Sam mask. There it was, peering out at the two women from in between the narrow gap in the trees. Hideous and grinning. Long strands of stringy, gray hair spilled down from the back and sides of the mask.

  Eda thought she could hear him laughing. She staggered backwards and her boots made a loud squelching noise underneath.

  “Baldilocks!” she yelled. “I see you.”

  Becky caught up with her at last.

  “What is it?” Becky said. Her shoulders sagged wearily and she gasped for breath. Frightened eyes searched the landscape, trying to find the source of Eda’s outburst.

  Eda was still pointing towards the gap in between the two river birches. She was like a statue, frozen in terror.

  There was nothing there.

  Eda dropped her arm, shaking her head.

  “I don’t see it,” Becky said. “I don’t see anything at all Eda.”

  “It was there,” Eda said.

  “Are you alright?” Becky said, looking at Eda with a concerned expression. “There’s no one there Eda. How could Baldilocks be here if he didn’t even get in the canoes with the others? There’s no way that old bastard could get in front of us.”

  Eda ran a hand through her damp hair. She was well aware of how crazy she must have seemed in that moment. Loco, as Lucia back in the Complex would say. “Thought I saw something.”

  “You know what it is?” Becky said. “It’s this place. It’s fucking with us.”

  “I guess.”

  All of a sudden, a deer bounded out from behind a large bush up ahead. It was a big animal and it skipped away in the opposite direction, trying to get clear of the three intruders who’d appeared in its territory.

  Both Eda and Becky shrieked.

  Frankie Boy charged after the deer, barking furiously. Eda
watched the dog take off with a look of horror in her eyes.

  “Frankie!” she hissed. “No!” She ran after the dog but he was gone before she could even get started.

  “Come back Frankie!” Eda said, slowing to a halt.

  “Forget it Eda,” Becky said. “That dog’s got a mind of his own. You can’t stop him doing what he wants.”

  “Shit,” Eda said. She looked into the wetlands, trying to pry him back with willpower alone. But Frankie was gone.

  “Where the hell are we?” she said. The rancid smell of the river drifted up from her suit, choking Eda quietly. It was a constant reminder of almost drowning.

  As far as Eda was concerned, they were trapped in a giant green labyrinth. One that didn’t want to let them go.

  “Are you sure we’re going north?” she asked Becky.

  Becky shrugged. “I think so,” she said. “When Mike and I first got here, Baldilocks gave us a tour. We came up this way first. Baldilocks said this was their hunting grounds. And you know what that means right? It means they know this place well. A hell of a lot better than we do.”

  “That’s just great,” Eda said.

  Becky nodded. “What the fuck have we done?”

  “It’s too late to turn back,” Eda said.

  Her eyes darted back and forth across the rugged terrain. She was still keeping an eye out for Frankie Boy, hoping he’d come back at the last minute.

  “We’d better keep going,” Becky said. “We can’t be too far away now. Right? I mean, how big can this place be?”

  “Sure,” Eda said. “We’re close.”

  At that moment, the Two Bridges Road felt like a long way away. Eda sensed it and she was sure that Becky did too.

  A noise up ahead.

  It sounded like someone walking on fallen branches.

  Eda looked towards the huddle of birch trees where she’d imagined seeing the Uncle Sam mask a few minutes earlier.

  There was something there. There really was something there.

  “Oh Christ,” Eda said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Becky. Over there.”

  “Holy shit,” Becky said.

  It was a man.

  He stepped out from behind the trees, dressed in a camouflage jacket and matching pants. It wasn’t Baldilocks but it was one of the Children. He was an older man, perhaps sixty with a full head of gray hair and fat cheeks that sagged into jowls. His eyes were an intense, otherworldly blue. There was a short sword in his hand and Eda saw a splatter of blood on its distinct, leaf-shaped blade.

  “Uh-oh,” Becky said.

  Eda guessed he was a survivor – perhaps the only survivor from the warriors’ attack on the Children’s camp. Had he fought to the end with his people? Or had he run away, deserting everyone including the dead boy?

  “You’re the Sinners,” he said. His voice was unpleasant, like a bite inside the ears. He acted as if Eda and Becky’s presence was a personal insult. With a fat finger, he pointed to their suits, the purpose of which he must have known. “You’ve been chosen. You can’t leave Uncle Sam hanging like that or he’ll...no, no, no. It’ll never be over unless you go back.”

  Becky’s sword arm hung limp at her side. It was like she’d forgotten the weapon was there and as the man talked, she backed off.

  It was Eda who stepped forward, brandishing her sword in the air. The steel was heavy and nothing felt good or familiar about it. It was like wielding a skyscraper. But it was all she had and she had to at least make sure she looked comfortable with the blade. If she could scare the old man off they might avoid an unpleasant, not to mention time-consuming confrontation.

  “You’re in our way mister,” she said. “Look, we don’t want any trouble. Just let us go past and we’ll pretend like we never saw one another.”

  The man approached Eda slowly. His eyes burned with blue fire.

  “You belong to Uncle Sam.”

  Eda’s hands were shaking but she came forward with false bravado. The warriors and the Children were on their tail, probably not far behind, and they had to get past this man. Quickly.

  “You could just go,” she said. “Forget all this Uncle Sam crap and take off. We both know it’s not real, don’t we? There doesn’t have to be any more blood spilled today. We saw what happened in camp back there. That must have been hard…”

  To her surprise, the man smiled. “You must be joking little girl.”

  “No,” Eda said, her brow creasing in a mix of anger and frustration. “I’m not. Let us go or you’re going to end up like them. Dead in a swamp.”

  A look of indignation flashed across the old man’s face. He raised his sword and walked towards Eda at a terrifyingly rapid pace.

  Eda glanced over at Becky. She was frozen to the spot, feet trapped in the mud, her eyes locked onto the sword in the man’s hands.

  “It’s going to be alright,” Eda said, nodding at her.

  She turned around and charged forward. Her opponent wasn’t smiling anymore. As Eda rushed in with sword aloft, the man wheezed in horror. His already wrinkled face aged twenty years in a split second. Eda realized now that he’d been trying to psych her out all along and that the last thing he wanted was a fight.

  Too late.

  The swords made a loud clanging noise as they clashed. The old man did his best to fight back but it quickly became apparent that he was no fighter and that he probably hadn’t held a weapon in years. His swing was slow and clumsy. Predictable. Eda pushed him backwards, using a combination of speed and skill and brute force. Had she been fighting one of the warriors, her limitations with the short sword would have been exposed. Fatally. Fortunately what she had was enough for this encounter.

  The man’s defense became non-existent as his arms tired. After a feeble attack, he left himself wide open. Eda saw it, leapt forward and with lightning fast speed, slashed the tip of the blade across his ample waist like she was trying to spill his insides onto the dirt.

  He shrieked and dropped to his knees. The sword tilted to the side, then slipped from his grip.

  Eda took a step back and surveyed the damage while she caught her breath. The man was bleeding out badly from the middle. He snarled like a threatened animal, touching the wound repeatedly to confirm that it was real and then he let go, knowing that his escape from death earlier that day had only been a temporary reprieve. His face was eerily calm.

  “Let’s go Eda,” Becky said. She was behind Eda now, tugging on her arm like she wanted to pull it off. “For God’s sake.”

  But Eda knew they couldn’t leave, not yet. The old man was still conscious. And when the warriors or the Children showed up he’d be capable of giving them information about the two Sinners. At the very least he’d confirm their presence in the hunting grounds.

  The man grunted. His blue eyes were on Eda, as if he could read her mind. Unlike Becky, he knew what she had to do next.

  “You should have let us pass,” Eda said.

  “You can’t escape,” the old man said through a coughing fit. His face was a sickly shade of white. “Nobody escapes.”

  Eda took a long, deep breath. She tightened her grip on the hilt. Then she charged forward and with all the strength she could muster, buried the sword deep in the man’s chest. There was a loud ripping noise, like the sky being torn in half. The blade cut through him like his skin was paper. The man screamed, just for a second but it was enough of a primal roar that it sent a barrage of shivers down Eda’s spine.

  Eda stepped back. She watched him, panting like a dog on a hot day, gasping loudly before at last he fell over and curled up into a ball.

  More wheezing. Eventually he stopped moving.

  Becky approached the corpse in slow motion. Her shoulders were heaving, her breath out of control. “You killed him,” she said, turning back to Eda. She spoke quietly, as if they were intruders on sacred ground. “Holy shit.”

  Eda hurried over, knelt down and began hurling leaves, sticks and dirt over the body. Anything
she could find. She worked relentlessly and alone. When the remains were hidden, she got back to her feet.

  Eda reached for the collar of the shirt. Her fingers pulled at the tie, searching, wrestling back and forth until the knot was loose.

  At last, she could breathe.

  10

  Eda and Becky fought their way through this hostile maze, through Great Piece Meadows, as best they could. Wooden limbs, extending out of fat trunks, and spear-like branches, made a grab for them as they hurried past. The swamp floor devoured their legs up to the knees at times. These muddy trenches were becoming more common the further they went into the hunting grounds. As a result, valuable energy was expended in the basics of movement. The rewards were pitiful.

  It didn’t feel like they were getting closer to anything that mattered. Everything was a repeat of what they’d just battled through moments earlier. It was as if the landscape was constantly imitating itself to fool them. To drive them mad.

  They were slowing down too. There was a muggy heat enclosed within the swamp and it was robbing them of oxygen.

  Because of the slow pace, Eda noticed something that she hadn’t seen before. It was something that broke the unchanging rhythm of the monotonous environment. More importantly, it was something that allowed her to hope again. The trees were marked, at least some of them were. Marked with shapes. At first, Eda didn’t pay too much attention to it but when these landmarks kept showing up time and time again, spaced twenty or thirty feet apart, she realized it wasn’t just random swamp graffiti. It had to mean something.

  There were only two shapes – circles and triangles. Crude carvings in the heart of the trunk. And there was always just one shape per tree. Each marked tree had a twin nearby, about ten feet away, standing parallel to the other. The next set of markings, thirty feet further north, would feature a different shape from the previous set, but it was essentially the same thing over and over again – two trees running parallel, with a wide gap in between. There was clear design on display. And as time went on, Eda became convinced that she was looking at a trail on the Meadows’ floor.