The Post-Apocalyptic Tourist’s Guide to St. Louis

by David VonAllmen

  Through hallways of gleaming hardwood and polished brass they walked, passing giant metal cylinders that must have been for brewing beer. Finally, they arrived in a massive room, ceiling three times as high as elsewhere in the building, shining white marble beneath their feet, an overlook balcony running the circumference of the room. The space might have been used as some place to hold grand social events before the invasion. Now, it was a throne room, and one man sat atop the raised throne, a lush red cape draping from his shoulders. He was pale, but with black hair, and if Thursday hadn’t already seen the King’s followers, he would have been surprised by how exacting the main’s haircut was. To one side of him, a man stood at attention holding a halberd upright. The man’s shirt was sleeveless, to show off the lean muscles in his arms, Thursday had to guess. The man was showing gray at his temples and wrinkles around his eyes, but his posture and physique made him appear young and vigorous. Thursday could only assume this was the king’s guard. Where the hell did he get a halberd?

  One of the men who had been leading them along motioned for them to stop just one step into the room. He looked to the man sitting on the throne, who scowled and waved them forward.

  “You will now stand before His Royal Highness, Augustus, The King of Brews,” the man said. He motioned them toward the throne.

  “Our friend is horribly injured,” Nandi said before they’d even settled in front of the throne. “He needs medical attention or he’s going to die. Do you have any kind of—”

  “You will speak only when spoken to,” the king growled.

  Nandi stopped, mouth hanging open.

  “I was told that my shipment of barley was dumped into the river,” the king said. “Is that correct? Is that the story you’re sticking with?”

  Thursday and Nandi looked at each other, dumbstruck.

  “I’m sorry,” Thursday said, “The story…? We were attacked.”

  “Maybe you were attacked,” the king said. “Or maybe you were sent to lie to me. Maybe your captain is double crossing me and my supplier and keeping the cargo to sell further up the river and keep the money for himself.”

  “My boyfriend has been stabbed in the gut,” Nandi said, her voice trembling.

  “What is that?” the king bellowed, leaping from his seat and pointing at Thursday. “You dare wear a shirt proclaiming the superiority of another beer in my castle?”

  Thursday looked down at his ratty Curmudgeon Brewing t-shirt, and back up at the king. “It’s just a t-shirt. I’ve never had this beer, I doubt it’s even around anymore.”

  “Remove it immediately,” the king said, reeling in his temper and sitting down again.

  Thursday took the shirt off, and was about to hand it to one of the king’s men, but stopped. “Can I just turn it inside out? It’s the only shirt I own.”

  The king flicked his hand at Thursday as if to say such matters were beneath his notice.

  “Listen… uh… Your Highness…” Nandi said, and Thursday could tell it was a struggle for her to keep the panic and anger out of her voice. “We were just downstream from your dock when we were attacked. They all wore black bandanas over the lower half of their faces and they were crazy strong. Well, not strong, but…”

  “They were hard to hurt,” Thursday said. “I smashed one in the face with a solid hit from a metal club and he went down, but… he got right back up.”

  The story sounded so outlandish when it came from his mouth, that Thursday expected the king to become all the more convinced that they were lying. Instead, he turned to his guard with a shocked look. The guard leaned in and the two carried on a hushed conversation that went on long enough that Thursday wondered if the king forgot they were standing there.

  Finally, the king glanced their way. “Lock them up for the night,” he said to his workers.

  The king’s people grabbed Thursday and made to haul him away.

  “What about Ryan?” Nandi called out.

  “Hm?” the king said, barely glancing away from his guard. “Oh, yes.” He looked to the man who had grabbed the handcart where Ryan lay motionless. “Have the doctor see to him.”

  ~~~

  Thursday, Nandi, and Ryan spent the night locked in what must have been a business office before the invasion. The musty carpet was not thick enough to make a comfortable place to sleep, but they were given a little water and food, and one of the king’s people came to care for Ryan. The man referred to himself as “the doctor,” but all he did was wrap Ryan’s wound in almost-clean strips of white cloth and try to get a little water down Ryan’s throat. Nandi sat up all night, Ryan’s head cradled in her lap, and by morning, exhaustion showed in the strain on her face.

  The king’s guard walked in, a few of the king’s men filing in behind him.

  “His Royal Highness has a mission for you,” the guard said.

  “A mission?” Thursday asked.

  “The people who attacked your boat and destroyed our shipment are followers of an insane demagogue who calls himself The Bishop. His cult of devotees has been growing, and now it seems he is bent on starting a war with us. The two of you will infiltrate his religious order and discover his plans.”

  “What?” Thursday blurted out. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I have to stay with Ryan,” Nandi protested.

  “We will take care of your friend,” the guard said.

  “Why would you even want us to do it?” Thursday said. “You’ve got lots of men and women who you—”

  “The Bishop has been watching us for a long time,” the guard said. “He knows the faces of everyone loyal to us. But he doesn’t know either of you. We need to understand how his followers are so resilient against injury, we need to know why they destroyed our cargo, and we need to know what their plans are going forward. His people are often seen moving with purpose through the city, always in pairs, never returning to the same place twice. We believe they are searching for something. We want to know what.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Nandi said.

  The guard motioned to the men behind him. They grabbed Ryan under his arms and yanked him up. He uttered a groan of deep pain, the first sound he’d made since the previous night.

  “Stop! Stop! What the hell are you—” Nandi cried.

  “We’ll take good care of him,” the guard said, “And in return for this kindness we show your friend, you will help us by uncovering The Bishop’s intentions.”

  “But… no—” Nandi reached for Ryan, but the guard interceded, grabbing her by the shoulders. The other men dragged Ryan from the room.

  “Like everyone else, we have limited resources,” the guard said, staring into Nandi’s eyes. “And we can’t afford to spend them on anyone but our own and our allies. If you’re not willing to help us, I won’t be able to convince His Royal Highness to continue taking care of your friend.”

  Nandi stood frozen in the guard’s stare. A tear pooled in one eye and dripped down her cheek. Thursday couldn’t stand to watch it.

  “We’ll do it,” Thursday said. Nandi’s head swiveled toward him in surprise, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Just… please take care of Ryan and we’ll do whatever you want.”

  Not letting Nandi’s boyfriend die was one thing, Thursday had to do it or else he’d have to admit he was a pretty miserable excuse for a human being. But now he was going to go risk his life for the guy? It was the right thing to do, but Thursday couldn’t help feeling like a chump.

  ~~~

  Thursday and Nandi had each been given a little more food and a knife before setting out. They walked northwest, following a worn and faded map marked with the location of an old Catholic church known as the Cathedral Basilica, where The Bishop’s followers often congregated to hear him preach. They kept their knives at the ready, never knowing which of the dilapidated buildings looming over them might house a gang of cannibals on the lookout for their next meal.

  The distance from the brewery to the Cathedral Basilica wa
s a little over three miles, walkable in less than an hour under ideal conditions, but sticking to alleyways to avoid becoming somebody’s lunch was not ideal. They spent most of the trip in silence, not wanting to make any sounds that could draw attention to themselves. When they did talk, Thursday mostly tried to reassure Nandi that Ryan would be taken care of and would still be alive when they got back.

  Finally, they arrived at the heavy gray stone building, its great dome bracketed by a pair of towers, gothic ornamentation laced throughout the structure. Thursday and Nandi stood in the shadow of trees across the road, watching and wondering how to approach. Thursday folded his knife and shoved it down into his sock.

  “Do we just go knock?” Thursday said.

  “I don’t…” Nandi’s face twisted. Thursday felt guilty for making light – she must have felt like there was a timebomb ticking inside her chest and any small delay must have been excruciating for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise we’ll…”

  Movement caught his eye. Two men left the arched entranceway of the Cathedral Basilica, each carrying a wood club, walking swiftly together. There was nothing distinctive about them, if Thursday had not seen them leave the Basilica, he would have had no way of knowing they were followers of the Bishop.

  “The king’s guard said they go out in pairs, searching,” Thursday said. “This is our chance to find out what they’re searching for.”

  Nandi rubbed a tear from her eye and nodded. She wiped the emotion from her face and without another word set off after the men.

  Thursday and Nandi trailed from a distance, ducking into alleyways, peering out from behind buildings, waiting until the Bishop’s followers got far enough ahead, and then scurrying after them on light feet. It was only a handful of blocks before they came to a park, trees and overgrown grass stretching further than they could make out from their vantage point. Surely, the park covered a few square miles at least.

  When the Bishop’s followers got far enough into the trees, Thursday and Nandi ran across a five-lane street and into the park. They covered another mile, sneaking from tree to tree as the men walked old gravel trails and curved around large ponds.

  Thursday noticed a prickling sensation in the toes of his right foot. He realized it had been there for a while, only now growing strong enough for him to consciously feel it. He pulled off his shoe to shake it out, but there was nothing inside.

  “Look,” Nandi said, pointing.

  The Bishop’s followers hiked up a grass hill. At the top, a fifteen-foot stone pedestal held a fifteen-foot black statue of a majestic king riding a prancing horse. The men passed it and continued on to the building behind, made of the same light grey stone as the pedestal. Six Greek columns, each four stories tall, marked the entrance, and the wings of the building extended a couple hundred feet to either side. Thursday and Nandi followed, entering under the chiseled words, “DEDICATED TO ART AND FREE TO ALL—MDCDIII.”

  With no idea where the Bishop’s followers had gone, Thursday and Nandi moved silently through the cavernous rooms. Each was an echoing rectangle of white walls and hardwood floors, dark except for where sunlight streamed in through skylights. Lifelike paintings of a time centuries ago filled one room, rich with texture and shadow. The next held framed jumbles of color, making Thursday wonder who had bothered to vandalize the works and how they’d managed to throw paint across the canvases without getting any on the walls. In Room after room they passed paintings and statues. Some were lifelike, some bizarre collections of junk. One room was littered with pieces of clay pottery whose plaques noted their Chinese origin from over a thousand years ago. The next was dominated by a single black and white photograph of people on the street of a pre-invasion city, large enough to take up an entire wall.

  Shouts echoed from down the hallway. Thursday and Nandi froze, straining to understand the noises. Crashes and howls of pain followed. They were the sounds of a fight.

  Thursday grabbed Nandi’s arm, pulling her back the way they came, hoping they could make it to the exit unnoticed. Nandi yanked free and ran on tiptoes toward the ruckus. By the time Thursday caught up with her she was peeking around a corner.

  The Bishop’s followers were surrounded by five men and women who were dirty and dressed in rags. Surely, they were a cannibal gang. A sixth of their number lay motionless on the floor, blood leaking from his head. The cannibals had the Bishop’s followers badly outnumbered and wielded metal bars and lengths of wood, but they circled warily, feigning in but not daring to charge. If these men were as resilient as those who attacked the Belle of Louisville, the cannibals had probably already struck them a few times and learned that the men didn’t go down so easy.

  A cannibal charged forward and the Bishop’s followers both turned to face him—an obvious tactical mistake. Another darted up behind them and rammed one end of his metal bar into one of the men’s lower back like a spear. The cannibal pulled the metal shaft out and the man collapsed, his wail of pain cut short. The man managed to roll onto his back, but he couldn’t get up fast enough. The cannibal lifted the metal shaft above his head with both hands and was about to thrust it down into the man’s stomach when the other man tackled him. The two rolled and fought, and the Bishop’s follower quickly wrestled to top position, but took a blow to the back of the head as his reward.

  Thursday grabbed Nandi’s arm again. The fight was almost over and they didn’t want to be anywhere in sight when it ended.

  “C’mon,” he whispered urgently.

  “No, this is our chance,” she said.

  “Our chance for what?”

  “To get on the Bishop’s good side.”

  Before Thursday could figure what she meant, Nandi jumped out from behind the doorway and sprinted for the mass of men and women. She pulled her knife from its sheath and drove it into the back of the first cannibal she reached. She yanked it free and the cannibal dropped. The others jumped back in surprise but quickly recovered their wits and readied themselves for attack. The Bishop’s follower had taken a beating and wasn’t getting to his feet fast enough to help Nandi fight. The four remaining cannibals closed in on her.

  “Hey!” Thursday shouted, stepping out where he could be seen. If he’d had more guts, or had thought strategically for a second, he would have rushed in and stabbed one of the cannibals in the back before they’d spotted him. That would have evened out the fight a bit, at least.

  The cannibals spaced out to factor for the new entry to the fight. There was a pause while the cannibals exchanged glances and nods. The two closest to Thursday turned on him while the other two advanced on Nandi. They were outnumbered two to one and held only knives while the cannibals had long pipes and solid lengths of wood. Thursday coiled his muscles, knowing his only chance to save Nandi was to sprint through the room, grab her and race out of the door on the far end. But there were four cannibals between him and her, and there was no way he’d move fast enough.

  Seeing a cannibal step within striking distance of Nandi with his metal bar raised to swing, Thursday lunged forward. He’d only gotten a step before the cannibal advancing on Nandi yelped and dropped to one knee. The Bishop’s follower who had been speared in the lower back still lay on the ground, but had managed to slice through the cannibal’s calf with a knife. Nandi drove her knife into the top of the cannibal’s shoulder. The two cannibals who had been advancing on Thursday turned just long enough to see what the commotion was. It was also long enough for Thursday to ram his knife into the side of the one closer to him.

  The two remaining cannibals staggered back, heads spinning wildly as the odds suddenly were not so much in their favor. The Bishop’s follower who had been fighting to get to his feet finally stood upright and brought up his piece of wood with his furious eyes locked on one of the cannibals. One of them ran from the room. The other was only a step behind.

  The Bishop’s follower stood and stared at Thursday and Nandi. His gaze was odd, hazy-eyed, as if he was conf
used. Thursday had seen plenty of people with wild looks on their faces, often from living so close to starvation for years. But this man’s appearance was at odds with itself. His blonde hair was so short and neat it was nearly a crew-cut. His face was as full and round as any Thursday had seen. But his eyes refused to sit still or focus.

  “Do you want to…?” Thursday began. “Your friend is bleeding.”

  The man continued to stare at them a moment longer, then suddenly seemed to come to his senses.

  “Oh. Yeah,” he said, and kneeled next to his companion. The other man weakly squirmed on the ground, red blood soaking through his shirt. “Who are you?” the Bishop’s follower asked. “Why did you risk your lives to help me fight off those demons?”

  “Demons?” Nandi asked.

  “We’re scavengers,” Thursday said. “We were just searching for food or—”

  The man looked up and glared at them suspiciously. “Bullshit. No one would look for food in an art museum and you’re too well fed to be scavengers.”

  “You’re right, we’re not scavengers,” Nandi said. “We followed you because we want to meet the Bishop.”

  The man eyed Nandi, then Thursday. “What for?”

  “We…” Nandi looked at Thursday, then back at the man, her eyes wide and innocent. “We heard he’s a holy man. We didn’t think there was any of those left in the world.”

  The face and posture of the Bishop’s follower softened.

  “Help me carry my friend,” he said, “and I’ll take you to meet the Bishop.”

  ~~~

  The trip back to the Cathedral Basilica took more than an hour, the Bishop’s follower, whose name was Bill, carried his friend under the arms while Thursday and Nandi took turns holding his feet. In their rush to tend to their wounded comrade, the men and women at the Basilica barely noticed the two newcomers. After a handful of the Bishop’s people carried him away, Thursday and Nandi were left in a vestibule, coated floor-to-ceiling in thousands of golden mosaic tiles. The mosaics formed dozens of images, most of a holy man in robes with long hair. This must have been the one the Christians called Jesus. The Christians said he was the son of God and healed the sick. They said he lived thousands of years ago and would come back some day. Thursday could only hope they were right and he’d come back soon.