Backwoods Armageddon

by Roquet, Angela

  Callie waited for the dust to settle before sliding into the booth. She pulled Parker in next to her, wrapping her arms around him to mirror Lilly and Junior.

  The inside of the RV looked like it was caving in on itself. The interior paneling was half rotten and gaped out from the walls in places, showing patches of sticky mold in behind. Callie thought of all the spores that were probably clinging to every surface. She was glad she had tucked Parker’s inhaler in her front pocket. He’d probably need it again before the day was over.

  Callie’s grip on Parker tightened as she saw something skitter through a gap in one of the sagging cabinets above the cab of the RV. She bit back a scream. Lester still had the rifle over his shoulder. She had a brief vision of him blasting the ceiling clean off, and decided whatever was lurking in the shadows could just stay there.

  The RV dipped and lurched as it plugged along the hilly highway leading out of town. The world blurred by through the dingy windows. Civilization tapered off, replaced by longer and longer stretches of trees, growing thick and gnarled just a few feet from the road. There were a few patches that had been overturned by the storm, like a giant had slung bowling balls into the woods at random.

  The highway was poorly signed. Callie tried to spot a landmark as they turned off onto a gravel road, but everything looked the same. The trees still standing were dotted with webworm nests, and the camper churned up gravel dust up along the ditches, obscuring the names and numbers on the few rusty mailboxes they passed.

  Parker leaned back into Callie and belched with a groan. His face was white, and his chin puckered like he was trying to keep down something vile. “I don’t feel so good,” he whispered.

  Lester’s chair squeaked as he twisted around to see them. “Not much further now,” he said, immediately jinxing them.

  The RV felt like it was having a seizure. It shook so hard that it had stopped moving forward and began to migrate sideways on the road. Callie watched through the window as they crept closer to the ditch. When the earth split open and began swallowing trees whole, only then did she realize that the camper wasn’t the problem.

  Sissy threw herself down on the greasy floor and wrapped her arms around the bar holding up the dinette table. She squeezed her eyes shut and began howling out a mantra of, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  Lilly stayed put. She pressed Junior’s back against her chest and locked her arms around him, nestling his head between her chin and shoulder. Callie did the same with Parker since her brain didn’t seem to be functioning anymore.

  Ricky clung to the steering wheel like a rodeo star, and Lester had both feet planted on the dash, pressing his back into the seat to keep from being bucked into the ceiling. Odds and ends were falling out of every nook and cranny in the RV. The cabinet above the cab popped open, and a fat, gray rat dropped to the camper floor. It screeched and scampered under the driver’s seat.

  Callie swallowed the bile in her throat and tried to breathe through her nose. The bouncing was making her head swim. When the ground rumbled out its finale, she could still feel it reverberating through her eye sockets.

  Everyone slowly unclenched and uncurled themselves with heavy exhales, and then another tremble took hold of the RV. They all snapped back in place. It felt too soon to be an aftershock, but the earth outside was moving again. It was further away this time, near a green trailer slouched in a clearing a short distance off the road.

  Callie squinted through the window. “There’s someone out there,” she said, amazed that she could even form the words so soon after her heart had been in a vice grip.

  Lilly followed her gaze. A cumbersome, old black man hobbled away from the trailer. He looked like he was wearing a wizard’s hat made out of aluminum foil. A backpack was slung across his chest, and a tackle box and coffee thermos were tucked up under one arm. He waved his free hand at them like he was hailing a cab.

  Lester growled under his breath. “Ricky, get us outta here.”

  Lilly’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare abandon Old Man Johnson. He goes to our church. Jesus is watchin’ you Lester Miller, an’ His plate might be full right now, but I’ll be happy to lend a hand to smack you upside the head with if you think yer gonna smite one a His disciples.”

  “Disciple, my ass! He only comes on Sunday ’cause he thinks the preacher is an alien.” Lester turned to snarl at Lilly, but she didn’t flinch.

  “I’m serious, Lester. If you can see fit to rescue a couple a strangers, then you best be prepared to make room for our kinfolk.”

  “Kinfolk? Woman, have you lost yer mind? That old codger is not our kin.” Lester waved his hand at Ricky, trying to encourage him along before the issue had been fully settled.

  Lilly’s voice took on a searing pitch. “He’s part of God’s family, an’ I don’t know ’bout you right now, but that makes him my kin anyways.”

  Ricky looked from Lester to Lilly, like he was trying to decide whose wrath would be worse. Before he could make up his mind, the side door popped open, and Old Man Johnson climbed inside. The camper creaked under his weight.

  “Y’all ’er right on time,” he said, squeezing past Callie and the Millers so he could sit down on the edge of the booth on the other side of the dinette table. It was the only remaining seat, and even without the backpack, his girth would have been too much to fully squeeze in behind the table.

  He stashed his lunchbox and thermos on the bit of booth behind him before digging a handheld scanner out of the front pouch of the backpack. The thing whined and hissed out a steady stream of garbled static.

  He glanced up at Callie and Parker and nodded, pointing his foil hat in their direction. “Who’s this?” he asked, suspicion tinting his words.

  “Nurse Callie and her son Parker,” Lilly answered, sounding much sweeter than she had a minute before.

  “Toby Johnson,” he said by way of introduction, though he still eyed them like they’d come from outer space.

  Callie glared right back at him. He had a lot of nerve getting all judgmental, considering his questionable headgear. His skin was nearly as crinkled as the foil hat, which made her guess his age somewhere between eighty and a hundred and twelve.

  The RV shook again as the ground gave way under Old Man Johnson’s trailer, slowly chewing it into a downward spiral. He gave a little shrug like he had expected it and wouldn’t be missing the place. Then he glanced up at Ricky. “What’er you waitin’ fer, boy?”

  Ricky raised his brows at Lester, who just grumbled and rolled his eyes. He nodded his scowl at the road, giving the okay.

  Chapter 4

  Toby Johnson was not crazy. He’d never been officially tested, but those tests were rigged anyway. He’d read about it on the internet and in books from the Ivy Mills Library. He’d also read about other things. Things he wasn’t really at liberty to discuss, since they were listening.

  The messages in the radio static had been warning about this day for some time now. The messages also assured him that he’d be spared, so he had been ready. His thermos was full of gin, and he’d packed his tackle box with canned beans and soup crackers, in case he got hungry on the way to the mother ship.

  He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to eat Martian food until he went through initiation and they injected him with special amoebas. He hoped that they would have special amoebas for Spock too.

  Spock was a Persian beauty. The little feline had crawled into the back of his truck one day at the grocery store, and he’d gotten all the way home before finding her. She had a long, smoky coat, and a face that looked like it had been smashed up against a window and frozen there. Her swooshing, Vulcan brows had helped him choose the perfect name.

  Spock poked her head out of the backpack and rubbed under Toby’s chin with a meow. She sniffed the musky air inside the RV and sneezed before giving everyone a bored glare and ducking back inside. Toby’d practiced the safety and rescue maneuvers with her every day, so she too would be ready wh
en their escort to the mother ship arrived.

  He had been mildly disappointed when the only transport he saw from his front porch was a rundown camper, and his sourness intensified when he spotted Lester Miller through the windshield, sitting next to his hippy of a neighbor.

  Toby had watched them from his porch swing, riding out the invisible wave of the first assault. There had to be another sign he was missing. Maybe he had miscalculated the time.

  When the earth began to swallow his home, he was quick to decide that he was being tested, and the Millers were part of the grand plan. Now he just had to figure out what phase two of the plan was.

  “Can’t you tune that thing to a useful channel?” Lester twisted around in his seat to scowl the scanner. His shoulders bunched up high around his ears as the static broke long enough to screech out a series of nonsensical tones.

  “I gots it tuned just where it needs ta be. Mind yerself,” Toby said.

  “Then at least turn the damn thing down.”

  Lester pushed a few dusty buttons along the dash. A garbled announcement crackled and popped through the RV speakers. He twisted the dial, trying to tune in the station.

  There is no official count on how many tornados have touched down across the Mid-West, but experts are predicting that the danger has not passed. In addition to the devastating wave of storms, activity around the New Madrid Fault Line has resulted in a massive earthquake.

  Toby snorted. “I’ll tell you what triggered the fault line—”

  Lilly held up a hand and hushed him, straining to hear the newswoman through the static.

  The quake has compromised the integrity of Truman Dam. Officials are urging citizens on the Lake Ozark side to evacuate for the time being.

  “Well, shit fire. Looks like we’re gonna hafta be on the move again soon.” Ricky pulled off the gravel road and parked the RV in front of his garage. He turned the engine off, but left the keys in so they could keep listening to the radio.

  Due to considerable damage in Branson, Springfield, and Neosho, authorities are advising evacuees to find safety to the north.

  Lilly’s breath rushed out. “Neosho. That’s where we’re goin’. My ma’s down there all by herself.”

  Lester looked like he might be sick. “You wanna go over Hurricane Deck when the dam could cut loose any second now? We should be headin’ north.”

  Lilly ground her teeth. “We’re goin’ to check on my ma. She brung me into this world, an’ if you think yer gonna keep me from ‘er, I’ll take you right outta it.”

  Ricky held a hand up to interrupt their bickering. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I do a little work on ol’ Betsy here.” He started checking things off on his greasy fingers. “We’re ’bout outta gas. The tires are low on air. The fluids need checkin’. And I need ta blow out the air filter.”

  Lester pressed his lips together and sighed. “Fine, but yer gonna need to be fast about it.” He looked back to Lilly. “Take one a Ricky’s tow ropes back to the shelter and have Sissy help you load up all the canned goods.”

  Junior’s eyes lit up. “Holler fer Ernie while yer at it. And don’t forget my comics.”

  “Or my squirrels,” Lester added.

  Lilly’s face scrunched up, but she didn’t say anything. Toby figured she would be giving Lester the silent treatment until she got her way, so he made a logical assumption that the mother ship would be picking him up in Neosho.

  Ricky got out and opened up the garage. He pulled the camper in and began jacking it up. Lester came back to rummage around under the table and handed the nurse a banged up first aid kit. Then he left them to go help Ricky.

  Callie, who Toby was still skeptical of, moved over to the bench and took a look at Junior’s head. The boy’s eyes blinked stiffly, and the shirt wrapped around his head looked like it was holding what was left of his brains in.

  “What the hell happened to ya, boy?” Toby leaned in closer to watch as Callie peeled the shirt away. His hair was matted across his forehead in a sticky smear of blood. A gash began at the inner corner of one eyebrow and cratered open all the way up to his hairline.

  Junior cringed. “Ernie ate all my jerky,” he answered with a frown, like he didn’t know what that had to do with his head injury, but it was all he was sure of at the moment.

  “There’s no sutures in this kit,” Callie said, picking through individual packets of antibiotic ointment, alcohol wipes, and an assortment of band aids. She paused on a small bottle of iodine and a booklet of butterfly stitches.

  “Am I gonna live?” Junior’s brow wrinkled up, pulling at the edges of the gash.

  Callie let out a short laugh. “I think so. We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”

  Parker, Callie’s fragile looking son, turned his head away and held a hand up so he wouldn’t be forced to watch as Callie cleaned the wound. He squirmed around in the booth and began to whimper. “I have to use the little boys room,” he said.

  Callie glanced back at the bathroom in the rear of the camper. The door was off kilter and cracked open just enough to reveal a busted vanity where a sink must have been at one time. The window above the vanity was cracked and it rattled as a generator fired up outside.

  “Maybe Ricky has a bathroom in his garage,” Callie said. “Give me a minute, and we’ll go see.”

  Toby raised an eyebrow. In his day, a boy of Parker’s age would have been considered a man. He certainly wouldn’t need a motherly escort to relieve his bladder.

  “Why don’t you just hop out and go ’round the side a the garage?”

  Parker’s face swelled up like a tomato. His bottom lip stuck out. “What if something gets me?”

  “You afraid a mosquiter’s gonna bite yer pecker off?”

  Callie gasped. “Aren’t you a little old to be bullying small children?”

  Toby glared at her. “I suppose yer to thank for his pansy disposition? And if he’s small, I’m a French whore.”

  Callie’s eyes widened until Toby thought her face might split open to reveal her true form. “For a church going man, you certainly are crass.”

  Toby snorted. “I just call it like I see it, lady.”

  Callie turned her nose up at him and went back to Junior’s head. He gritted his teeth as she pushed his skin together and taped another butterfly stitch over the cut. Parker kept wiggling, but he kept his mouth shut.

  About the time Callie finished putting Junior’s head back together, Lilly and Sissy climbed inside the camper with the yapping varmint they mistakenly called a dog. The thing sprang onto the bench and immediately poked its nose into Junior’s crotch.

  Sissy smirked. “Still sitting in your own piss, punk?”

  Toby noticed the stain on the boy’s cut-off shorts. He had thought he’d smelled something sour when he climbed on board. Spock poked her head out and growled at the dog, but she stayed put, safe in her chariot.

  Sissy dumped an armful of comic books in Junior’s lap before slinging a guitar off her back. She tucked it up in the cabinet above the cab, along with a duffle bag and a .22 rifle she’d fetched.

  Lilly’s arms were lined with grocery sacks. She piled them up on the small stretch of kitchen counter, letting them spill over into the sink. Then she turned around and cracked open the refrigerator. The smell hit Toby so hard that he had to take a peek down in his backpack to make sure Spock hadn’t shit herself.

  Lilly gagged and slammed the door closed. “This ain’t no good.”

  Callie looked like she might pass out. She grabbed Parker’s hand and drug the boy toward the door. “We’ll be right back.”

  Lilly grumbled under her breath and ripped back the tattered curtain over the sink before pounding on the window. Ricky’s head popped up, sending her back a step, right onto Toby’s foot.

  “Just about ta air up the tires, Mrs. Miller,” Ricky said.

  “Fill the water tank up while yer at it,” she shouted through the window.

  A few minutes la
ter, the sink faucet began to spit and sputter brown water. Once it cleared up, Lilly dug through the kitchen drawers until she found a couple of chewed up dish rags. She wet them under the sink and tossed one to Sissy.

  “If we’re gonna be stuck here a while, no need to be wallowing in filth.” She pointed at the cabinets above the sink, directing Sissy where to get started. Then she emptied out a grocery sack of jars before turning back to the refrigerator.

  Toby held his breath when she opened the door again. She moved quickly, slopping the rotten contents into the grocery sack first. Ernie caught a whiff and began whimpering for scraps. Before Lilly did anything else, she kicked open the side door and chucked the bag out.

  Lilly and Sissy wiped down the kitchen from top to bottom. Then they stashed the canned goods in the cabinets. Lilly let the fridge air out a bit before taking a sack of skinned squirrels and tucking it in the back corner of the bottom shelf. Sissy scooped up the ammo boxes and sacks piled under the table, finding homes for everything so they wouldn’t be tripping every time they turned around.

  By the time they were finished, everyone had made their way back to the camper. Ricky stashed a toolbox under the bench seat, while Lester buckled himself in and craned his neck around, squinting to get a good look at Junior’s head. “How’s yer melon?”

  Junior ran his fingers over the doctored cut. “Feels like my brain’s tryin’ ta escape.”

  Sissy snorted. “Pretty sure it did that a long time ago.”

  Junior slugged her in the stomach, and she caught him in the ribs with an elbow.

  Callie raised her voice over their squabbling. “He should really be taking it easy for a few days to be sure the swelling in his head doesn’t get worse.”

  Sissy swatted him away. “Ya hear that, fathead? Take it easy.”