Mega Post-Apocalyptic Double Bill

by Mark Gillespie

  Eda cursed again. The she picked up the lid and covered the weapons box, keeping as quiet as she could under the circumstances. She continued to brush the flies off as she straightened up, then walked back to the front of the apartments.

  She met Goldman halfway. He was dressed in his military uniform of course. Stray tufts of silvery white hair poked out from both sides of his wrinkled cap. The hair that Eda could see looked freshly combed, as was Goldman’s thick, luxuriant mustache.

  “Oh hi!” Eda said, trying to sound cheerful. “I was just…”

  “Using the bathroom?”

  Eda nodded, her gaze drifting off into the distance. “Yeah.”

  “I like going around the back too,” Goldman said, whispering as if revealing some wonderful secret to Eda. “It’s nice to have a regular place to relieve oneself you know? I just go around the back and bury it – I’m kind of like a cat in that way.”

  Goldman laughed and clicked his fingers at Frankie Boy. “You’re okay with cats. Right partner?”

  Eda laughed with him, nervously.

  Goldman raised a hand in the air. “Sorry if I woke you last night,” he said. “Truth is I don’t sleep much nowadays, at least not during the night when I’m supposed to. And I can’t stand lying in bed staring at the ceiling so I tend to get up and go into the living room and then into the kitchen and back again. Wandering around aimlessly, waiting for sunrise so I can get back out there and look for Mr. China.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Eda said.

  “That’s something at least.”

  The smile dissolved from the old man’s face. He pointed a finger over Eda’s shoulder towards the back of the building. “See anything else around there?”

  Eda felt a chill in the breeze and shivered.

  “What do you mean?”

  Goldman let out another hearty laugh, his shoulders heaving up and down like someone was pumping him full of air.

  “You should see your face,” he said. “Awww, it’s quite alright. I heard the lid of that box slamming shut from a mile away. Sounded like a clap of thunder, even to a deaf old coot like me.”

  Eda groaned and that only made Goldman laugh harder.

  “You discovered my little stash right?” he said. “Curiosity got the better of you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eda said, feeling her face turn bright red. “I just saw the box and I was…”

  “Interested,” Goldman said, walking past Eda and heading towards the back of the building. There was a slow and carefree quality in his stride. “Of course you were. That’s quite alright – as long as you’re not Mr. China, I don’t care if you see all that stuff or not.”

  Eda followed him back to the garbage and flies.

  “You hoarded all those weapons over the years?” she asked.

  “Sure did,” Goldman said. He walked over to the chest, ignoring the flies as he pulled the lid open. He exhaled loudly, either from exertion or from the stench of the congealed garbage shooting up his nostrils.

  “That’s a lot of hardware,” Eda said, taking another look at the layers of weapons stacked on top of one another. “How come you only carry the rifle and the handgun when you’re walking the streets?”

  “Dagger too,” Goldman said, pointing to the small hilt on his weapons belt. “I’ve got another one of those taped just above my ankle.”

  All of a sudden he began to giggle like a child.

  Eda frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  Goldman stole a glance over his shoulder, as if he thought someone might be listening in on their conversation.

  “I’ve even got a grenade strapped next to my…you know?”

  “No,” Eda said.

  Goldman grinned. “Down there,” he said, nodding towards his crotch. “It’s my extremely secret weapon. I call it my third ball.”

  “You put a grenade down there?” Eda said, taking a step back. “You put a hand grenade down your pants?”

  “It’s still got the pin in it for God’s sake,” Goldman said, looking a little embarrassed. The grin was gone now. “Relax. This is war and you’ve gotta be the slyest beast in the jungle if you want to make it through in one piece. You understand? Doesn’t matter if the enemy’s a better shot, a better fighter, stronger, has more weapons or whatever. The smartest fighter wins.”

  The way Goldman said ‘smartest’ it sounded like smaaaaaartest. Eda had never heard an accent quite like it before.

  “Ain’t nobody going to ever find it down there,” Goldman said. “And that’s the point.”

  Eda stared at the contents of the box again. There were dozens of turtle shell grenades scattered about inside.

  “Do all those grenades work?” she asked. “They look like antiques.”

  “They work,” Goldman said. “Everything works. Those grenades right there, that’s a standard issue. All the troopers used to carry at least one of those back in the day. I prefer these to the old standard issue – there’s a longer delay between pulling the pin and the blast. The old grenades used to go off after four seconds precisely. Jeez. That didn’t work for some of the clandestine maneuvers we were pulling against the chinks. We lost a lot of good people who just weren’t fast enough. These ones right here, they’ve got a longer fuse to burn. Twelve seconds. Means you can get right up close, drop one and haul your ass to safety.”

  Eda listened, nodding as Goldman spoke.

  “I didn’t think people used weapons like these anymore,” she said.

  “That’s only because they don’t have access to them,” Goldman said. “I clung onto these babies like bankers hoarding up piles of money. Weapons meant survival. Still do. I don’t know if you’re old enough to remember what it was like back then Eda. There was no law. Nothing. The authorities, the old infrastructure had collapsed entirely. There was nothing to stop the man in the street plugging you full of lead and taking whatever he wanted to take from you. Whoever he wanted. Can you imagine how frightening that was for a man with a wife and three daughters to protect? There were murderers and rapists everywhere. Back then hate flowed like the rain does now. Fear too. So I started scavenging weapons. I searched dead bodies in the street, looking for treasure, and whatever I found I brought back here. The garbage here was fresh and a lot worse than it is now. On top of that the local junkies used to leave needles lying around. People kept away from the trash. Perfect hiding place, right?”

  “But why don’t you keep your guns in the house?” Eda said.

  “June,” Goldman said in a quiet voice. “She never felt comfortable with guns inside…”

  “I understand,” Eda said. “But now…?”

  Goldman quickly shook his head.

  “There ain’t nobody to steal them now anyway,” he said. “Apart from the chink I guess. I don’t know. Truth be told, most of this lying here is useless now. I only need my old M4 rifle to win the war. Although if I get close enough to the chink I wouldn’t mind dropping my third ball down the back of his shirt.”

  “That’s messed up,” Eda said.

  “Didn’t you say everything was a mess last night?”

  Eda smiled. She looked into the chest again, scouring the pile of weapons that almost spilled over the edge. Despite the infestation of flies, she moved closer to the stash.

  “I’ve never shot a gun before,” she said.

  Goldman pushed the visor of his cap up. “You wanna try?”

  Eda was still staring at the gun. She replied in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Sure you do,” Goldman said.

  He squatted down, both hands reaching into the old box. After rattling around for a second, he picked up one of the black rifles and gave it the once over. It was identical to the M4 that he’d carried around with him the day before.

  “These look heavy,” he said. “But in fact they’re made of lightweight materials and very easy to hold. I reckon it’d be a good fit for you.”

  Goldman put the rifle b
ack in the box and closed the lid.

  “We’ll try mine for starters,” he said, standing back up. “It’s fully loaded and waiting up there in the apartment. What do you say we go pick it up, stroll down to the beach and do a little shooting practice?”

  Eda smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “But I should really get going. It’s a long walk to…”

  “C’mon young lady,” Goldman said. “You never know when it might come in handy. Right?”

  The old soldier was already walking back into the apartment to fetch his M4.

  “Won’t be a minute,” he said.

  Eda and Frankie Boy waited outside the front of the building, putting a little distance between themselves and the trash.

  “Let’s keep this short,” Eda said, giving Frankie Boy a pat on the back. “The Nomads aren’t standing around waiting for us.”

  When Goldman came back with the gun they crossed the quiet road and walked down to the beach. The old man did most of the talking as they approached the water, reveling in the opportunity to talk about the local attractions. He told Eda that the area they were in was called Carson Beach, although Eda thought he didn’t sound too confident in the recollection. It had once been a popular spot, Goldman informed her. People everywhere used to flock to Carson Beach.

  When they reached the sand, Goldman escorted Eda about a hundred meters along to where he’d set up a private shooting range. This consisted of three medium-sized wooden crates, lined up about ten feet apart. A small wire fence encircled the shooting range. Eda only understood why the fence was there when she spotted countless shards of broken glass lying on the sand close to the crates. The shards glistened, like thousands of tiny eggs waiting to hatch.

  “Are the soles of your boots intact?” Goldman asked, pointing at Eda’s feet.

  “Yeah,” Eda said, after she’d checked.

  “Good. You don’t want to be in here with naked tootsies. Not if you like walking.”

  The old man stepped over the fence, treading carefully across the small enclosure of sand and glass. He walked over to a black plastic bag flapping in the breeze, one that had been weighed down with a couple of large rocks. Reaching inside the bag he pulled out a trio of empty copper-colored bottles and lined them up, one on top of each crate.

  “Alright,” he said, walking over to Eda with a let’s get down to business face. “Your targets are all set.” He slid the M4 strap off his shoulder and let the weapon drop onto the sand. He looked at her. “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” Eda said, climbing over the fence and walking tentatively into the shooting range. She made a point of avoiding the larger chunks of broken glass. “Sure.”

  She stood facing him.

  “Now show me a fighting stance,” Goldman said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Goldman adopted a boxer’s stance. “Just give me something like this,” he said in a gruff voice. “Like you’re about to square off with someone. Think about somebody you’ve encountered in the past, somebody whose head you wanted to punch off more than anything. Know anyone like that?”

  “One or two,” Eda said.

  “Go ahead then.”

  “I thought I was going to shoot,” Eda said.

  “You are. You will. C’mon now, show me that fighting stance.”

  Eda stared at the old man like he was crazy. She clenched her fists and extended her left arm forward. The right arm stayed back, elbow tight to the body, her hand tucked in close to the chin the way a boxer would hold it. Likewise her left leg stretched out and her right stayed back, the foot pointing slightly to the side.

  “Like this?” she said.

  “Good,” Goldman said. “That’s really good.”

  “What’s this for anyway?” Eda asked.

  “I want your body to square off towards a target,” Goldman said. “Now don’t you move okay? I’m going to pick up the rifle and slide it into your fighting platform. Now remember this okay? Remember how you’re standing because stance is super important. Super important.”

  “Alright.”

  Goldman squatted down and picked up the M4. Then he tucked the rifle into the pocket of Eda’s shoulder. Still holding onto the gun he took a half step back and studied their progress, like a painter admiring the dawn of his creation.

  “Close your hands around the rifle,” Goldman said, coming forward again. “Stretch your arm far out on the forend – under the barrel, that’s it. No, no – don’t use the magazine as a grip. Grip the grip, that’s what it’s for.”

  Eda sighed and readjusted. She locked her hands around the weapon as instructed. It felt alien and inelegant compared to the samurai sword that she carried around with her.

  “Like this?” she said.

  Goldman made a slight humming noise.

  “Trigger arm down, tight to the body. “Keep it tight now. You don’t want that recoil bouncing the rifle around. That’s especially important because you’re a first-time shooter.”

  Goldman twisted Eda’s shoulder forward as he kept spitting out instructions. She felt like a doll being bent into shape by its sadistic owner.

  “Use that shoulder as a shock absorber,” the old man said. “Listen to me Eda, you gotta have control of your weapon. Control means faster and better shots, and that’s going to be the difference between you and the other bozo with a gun. Okay? Don’t grip too hard now. Not too much pressure.”

  “Can I shoot yet?” Eda said.

  Goldman walked around, studying her with a peculiar intensity. The old man’s eyes were ablaze with concentration. Anyone would think he was sending Eda into battle instead of giving her a simple shooting lesson.

  “It’s nice and light right?” he said. “Keep a proper stance at all times and you won’t get fatigued. All these little details will help you when the time is right. Make it work under speed and stress because that’s how you’re going to be shooting when they come for you. It feels alright?”

  “It’s fine,” Eda said. “Can’t I just shoot the damn thing?”

  Goldman began to lighten up a little. He laughed and backed off a couple of paces. “Sorry,” he said. “Old habits die hard I guess. I just want you to know what you’re doing when you pick up a gun. Makes all the difference when it come time to shoot, I promise.”

  Eda waited impatiently while Goldman gave her more tips, including how to look down the top of the barrel and get the best aim.

  “Ready to shoot?” he said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Alright then,” Goldman said, moving behind her. “Slowly take aim and squeeze that trigger when you think you’ve got the target locked in.”

  Eda’s first shot missed by a mile. Her legs wobbled as the gun went off. She shot again quickly, trying to get used to the kick. When the rifle fired it felt like someone throwing a heavy weight into her arms and she struggled to control it.

  Gradually the gun began to settle into her shoulder.

  She fired, missing again.

  “That’s not good is it?” she said, looking at the three glass bottles, still intact on the crates.

  “Well the aim’s off a little,” Goldman said. “But your stance and poise are actually pretty good for a first-timer. You say you’ve never shot a gun before?”

  “Never,” Eda said.

  “But you’ve been in combat right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Try again,” Goldman said, pointing to the crates. “Smash one of those damn bottles into smithereens.”

  “Smithereens?”

  Goldman smirked and jerked a thumb at the three targets.

  “Just shoot.”

  They spent a long time shooting on the beach together. While Frankie Boy went off exploring the sights, Eda absorbed as much as she could from Goldman about how to use the gun. She found herself enjoying this impromptu lesson.

  Soon the Nomads slipped to the back of her mind.

  When she finally hit the first bottle, Eda was ecstatic and wanted to shoot the secon
d one to prove it wasn’t a fluke. She did it. She cleaned them out and Goldman replaced the bottles and let her start over again.

  Goldman didn’t mention ‘the chink’ once. He showed a great deal of patience, showing Eda how to reload and how to do it fast while under pressure.

  When it was done, he bowed in a show of appreciation.

  “Now that’s what you call a crash course in shooting,” Goldman said, leading Eda back out of the enclosure. “You’re a good learner. Damn good. You got the basics down real fast there – excellent work soldier.”

  The old man stepped over the fence. Eda followed and she noticed him tugging restlessly on the end of his mustache, as if overcome by a sudden rush of nerves.

  “Are you okay?” Eda asked.

  He nodded.

  “Listen,” Goldman said. “You’ve seen that box of weapons up at the apartment now right? And so you know I’ve got several spare M4s doing nothing better than collecting dust and stinking of garbage.”

  “Yeah,” Eda said. “I know.”

  Goldman finally stopped fidgeting with his mustache.

  “I know you’ve only had one lesson,” he said. “But look…if you wanted to keep practicing, on your own that is, I could give you one of those M4s and a truckload of ammo to take on the road with you.”

  Eda flinched. “You’d give me a gun?”

  “Damn right,” he said. “I’d feel a lot better about sending you off on your own, knowing you were armed.”

  Goldman pointed to the katana hanging off Eda’s waist.

  “That samurai sword you’re carrying – it’s pretty and it’s dangerous for sure if you get close. But it’s not enough.”

  “Enough for what?” Eda said.

  Goldman stood facing the water, looking out to sea.

  “I’ve been lucky,” he said. “Living on the coast like this, I’ve seen many things come and go over the years but this...this is something else we’ve gotta face up to. You’ve got to keep your eyes open Eda, no matter how empty the world might feel it’s always got another surprise waiting around the corner.”

  He looked at her.

  “I’ve seen them.”

  Eda hesitated. “Them?”

  Goldman nodded. “Their scouts have already landed,” he said. “They come ashore, look around and when they’re done they go back out to sea again.”