Grave New World

by S. P. Blackmore

  I was still fascinated by the guns. “Uh…”

  “Relax, they’re not loaded. I’m not even sure we’ve got ammo for some of them.” Tony rubbed a hand lovingly down the barrel of a meticulously restored musket. “This thing we won’t even bother with, but isn’t it pretty?”

  Dax sent me a look. “You brought him down here.”

  I stretched a finger toward one of the rifles, but thought better of touching it. “Do we really need…all these?”

  Our resident gun nut snorted. “Who the fuck knows? I’d just rather be safe than sorry. It’s the end of the goddamn world, and we’re in Ventra territory.”

  “The Ventras are basically harmless,” I said. “They’re graffiti artists.”

  “Yeah? That what they told you when you all went out for coffee?” He pulled out a chair and plunked himself down in it, surveying his arms collection with great satisfaction. “Once that street firms up, we’re probably gonna see a hell of a lot of foot traffic. Most won’t give us a second look, as long as we keep the shades drawn, but we need to be careful. All kinds of loons out there, and disaster doesn’t always bring out the best in people.”

  Dax leaned back against the counter. “How do you know?”

  Tony’s surprising silence told me he hadn’t expected a challenge on that front. He picked up one of the rifles and examined it, switched the safety on and off. Something about the way he did it—the methodical, practiced motion—unnerved me. “You kids have any idea what I did before this gig?”

  “Hitman?” Dax asked.

  Tony cracked a smile. “Close. I was a freelance reporter. Went to some scary places, and I’ve seen some fucked-up shit you wouldn’t believe…people will do horrible, awful things to survive, and they won’t regret a minute of it. And all that shit—that war, that earthquake—that’s all small compared to what’s happening now. Real small.”

  Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember Tony ever making any sort of encouraging remark about…well, anything. I was actually pretty sure he’d gotten into arguments with our editorial director over his commentary at one time or another.

  “So you’re saying people go bad?” Dax asked.

  “Some do. Does it matter if it’s bad, if there’s no one around to tell you?”

  I sensed a pissing contest in the making and headed back to the television. To my relief, Gloria had popped back up onscreen, accompanied by a new map of our poor, pummeled planet. “Hey, guys, the news is on.”

  They stopped glaring at each other long enough to join me on the couch.

  Gloria had changed into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. “Welcome back to Channel Six News, serving the Midlands Cluster. We’re piggybacking onto stronger signals to reach more viewers, so if you’re new to us…hello, and welcome.”

  At least she was polite.

  The new map of the world proved sobering even before Gloria interpreted the data. Question marks were superimposed over Australia and parts of Europe. “Guess I won’t be going back to visit Grammy McKnight,” Tony muttered, right before Gloria admitted that Ireland might be a total loss.

  “Rescue crews reached the outskirts of the largest known impact site in the continental United States, just north of San Antonio. Efforts are hampered by radiation and the heat, and in many instances, by the very people they’re trying to assist. We have scattered reports of hostility from those around the rescue sites. These people may be in a fevered state due to the radiation…”

  “She’s lying,” Tony said.

  Dax sighed. “Yeah?”

  “Radiation weakens you. It doesn’t make you attack people.”

  “You realize a bunch of rocks just fell out of the sky,” I said, still trying to find Portland on Gloria’s map. “Maybe they have different kinds of radiation. Maybe it’s not radiation at all, but they’re just calling it radiation because they don’t know what else to call it.”

  “Maybe it’s not even the meteor.” I had the distinct impression Tony was glaring at me. “They’re just blaming it on the meteor. Some asshole comes down with the bubonic plague after walking by an impact site? Clearly, it must be the meteor’s fault!”

  Even I couldn’t make that logic jump. “Bubonic plague?”

  “Just don’t start screaming about the Black Death when it might turn out to be a head cold.”

  I turned up the volume to drown him out. “The CDC recommends boiling all water before drinking it or bathing in it, if you live within fifteen miles of an impact site. Keep any injuries elevated. If you incur any cuts, put Neosporin, hydrogen peroxide, or alcohol over them, and wrap them immediately. If you are in a structurally sound area, it is recommended you stay there, as most vehicles are not able to run in the ash cloud without significant modifications…”

  “Ash cloud?” Dax repeated.

  The shit kept coming.

  The picture fuzzed out, but Gloria’s voice went on. “…emergency crews from Portland have reached Seattle, but are encountering the same hostilities…”

  Emergency crews from Portland. If Portland could send emergency crews, that meant it had to have survived in some respect, right? Gloria said something about the non-hostile survivors growing violently ill and dying, but I was stuck on Portland. My folks were okay. They had to be okay.

  The signal faded again, leaving us to bask in static.

  Dax shut off the television.

  At least I’m not alone.

  Tony smiled churlishly at Dax. “See? Told you disaster doesn’t bring out the best in people.”

  On second thought, maybe I would be better off alone.

  THREE

  On the fourth day, I woke up to the scent of coffee and macaroni and cheese.

  These two scents are a pleasure on their own. Combined, they made my stomach turn—or maybe that was due to breathing in the recycled air for too long. I slung a hand over my eyes and tried to burrow down under the blankets, but whoever was cooking the unholy combination decided to whistle.

  I poked my head up over the back of the couch. “You are damned inconsiderate.”

  “Think of it as payback for all those candles you made me inhale.”

  I stood up, wrapping my blanket around me. Dax was still sacked out on the second couch, perhaps blissfully dreaming of a Blood Nut reunion tour. I shuffled out of the kitchen and into the second-story restroom, where all the toilets still flushed. We didn’t have hot water—Tony thought a pilot light had been knocked out—but I gritted my teeth through a cold scrubdown and rinsed out my bra. Rock Weekly’s merchandise closet had plenty of other undergarments, T-shirts, tank tops, and sweatshirts left over from one of Clive’s ill-fated advertising binges. As it turns out, even our most devoted fans didn’t want our logo on their panties.

  Tony side-eyed me as I shuffled back into the room, hair wrapped in a towel. “You’re a walking advertisement.”

  “Just doing my bit in a post-apocalyptic world.” I poured myself a cup of coffee and reached for the sugar, but paused when I realized how light the container felt. “Um, what happened here?”

  “Seems the Blood Nut has a sweet tooth.” Tony leveled his stare at the snoring Dax. “That’s good. His meat will be tastier, if we have to eat him.”

  I stirred in the dried creamer, which we still had in abundance. “That’s what she said.”

  Yes, I made a that’s what she said joke as the world ended. Someone needed to pick up the slack.

  Coffee doesn’t taste as good without real creamer, but I supposed that would be scarce for awhile. I managed to force down half a mug while flipping through the most recent edition of Allure, which I’d snagged from the copy editor’s office. Unfortunately, Allure didn’t have any tips about keeping your skin moisturized when a dust cloud blocks out the sun, or how to rev your metabolism when all you can eat is reheated food and bags of beef jerky.

  The floor shook, but we’d gotten marginally used to that. I even stood on one foot.

  The rumbling continued.
/>   Tony’s head snapped up. “That doesn’t feel like a tremor. That’s tanks.”

  Tanks…? Army tanks?

  Tony rushed out of the kitchen, and I nearly tripped over myself chasing after him. “What?” Dax called sleepily after us. “What’s that noise?”

  Our self-appointed Great Leader stopped at the front door and peered between the slatted blinds. “Looks like fucking tulle fog,” he muttered, cupping his hands around his eyes and pressing his nose to the glass. “But I think…looks like uniforms.”

  He disarmed the alarm and unlocked the front door. Dax padded up behind us. “Army’s here?”

  “Brace yourself.” Tony pulled the door open.

  Thick gray haze swirled into the office. I gagged and covered my mouth, but the stench curled into my nostrils and filled my mouth and lungs. “Jesus.”

  “Some people probably think He’s responsible.” Tony stepped outside gingerly. “Sidewalk’s firm enough. I think we can say hello.”

  I yanked the towel off my head and tossed it onto the front desk, then barged outside.

  “Vibeke, wait—”

  “Hello!” I called, waving my hands. “Hey! Hello!”

  Note to self: after the apocalypse, skinny young women in magazine T-shirts and wet hair are apparently a threat to soldiers with very big guns.

  I promptly had several of the aforementioned very big guns pointed at me. I skidded to a stop at the curb and held up my hands.

  They all had on gas masks. “Did you follow us?”

  The hell? “No, no, I was from—” I broke down coughing.

  One of the men waved the guns down and pulled off his mask. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  It hurt to inhale, and my eyes watered with every breath. Shit, where do I get one of those masks? “We’ve been holed up in there.” I pointed at the Fairway, then had to wipe my hand across my eyes. “That stings. Ow.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” The soldier mopped at his forehead and glared at us, and I got the distinct feeling I’d inconvenienced him. He turned around and flagged down another man. “Lieutenant! We got more stayers!”

  Stayers? I was ruminating over our nickname when the Denzel Washington lookalike strode up to me, pulling off his mask in the process. “I’m Hammond,” he said, pointing at the tag across his flak jacket. “How long’ve you been here?”

  I tried not to stare. “Since it happened.”

  He looked at the Fairway. “You worked here?”

  Tony and Dax finally arrived behind me. Thanks for backing me up, guys. “Yeah,” Tony said. “What the hell’s happening? Gloria Fey assures us that we’re having a national emergency, but not much else.”

  Hammond flung back his head and laughed. My lungs hurt just looking at him. “Not much else to tell. You know we haven’t had an order come down from the president past the declaration of emergency? State governors are taking charge…where there’s state governors left. The chain of command’s shot to shit. We’re to penetrate as close to the impact site as we can and see who we can help.”

  “How close is the impact site?” Dax broke in. He, too, was looking enviously at the soldiers’ gas masks. “We heard it hit the arena.”

  Hammond jerked his sleeve across his watering eyes and signaled to another of his men. “South Harkin is completely destroyed. North Harkin may have some survivors, but the few reports we’ve got indicate those alive are ill and in need of swifter help.” He reached out with a gloved hand and made a fist, then held out a handful of dust, ash, and who knew what else. “No one’s been able to keep a chopper in the air, but we were able to jury-rig fixes for the tanks.”

  Tony leaned around Hammond to get a better look at the vehicles. “What kind of fix? We’ve got an old Honda and a Ford underground…”

  Tony knew what kind of car I drove? I wasn’t sure if I was pleasantly surprised, or just creeped out.

  “You’ll need to shield the engines. They pull in all the grime…toast in five minutes. That’s assuming you think you can drive anywhere. We’ve pushed a lot of stuff out of the way, but it’s a real mess out there.” Hammond paused long enough to cross himself. “God help those poor fuckers. And all of us.”

  Tony’s gaze drifted over the tanks, the armed soldiers, the trucks full of—more soldiers? “You’ve got a lot of guns on you for a mercy mission.”

  Hammond’s eyes narrowed. “It’s rough out there. We don’t know what we’re going to find as we get closer.”

  Tony lowered his voice. “Bad shit, huh?”

  The soldier nodded slightly.

  I covered my mouth, trying to breathe through my fingers. I’d been expecting bad news, but not necessarily this kind of news. Every morning for as long as I could remember, I’d climbed into my car and gotten on the road. Sometimes it broke down, sometimes there was traffic, but these were mechanical or driver issues. These were not your car won’t work. “So what do we do?”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “The best place for you is probably right here. You guys seem healthy, your building’s intact, and it looks like your power stayed on, so your best bet is to hold out until the terrain stabilizes…” Hammond held out his arms for balance as the ground wobbled uneasily. “…when these stop happening every four hours. I’d say stay put.”

  “How close are you going to get to the impact site?” Dax asked.

  “Not sure.” Hammond glanced sideways at the procession, possibly judging how many trucks and tanks had passed. “As close as we can without compromising our own health and safety. I think the folks inside and in the immediate area are pretty fucked, but we might be able to help some on the outskirts. No one’s been able to actually penetrate the big cloud down thataway, so we’ll try…Davidge! Bring three of the kits! Hurry your ass up!”

  Funny, I’d thought we were in a big cloud. I probably didn’t want to imagine what the bigger cloud looked like.

  Tony sounded like he was choking down a cough. “Be straight with us, Hammond. It’s bad shit out there, isn’t it?”

  Hammond took a long, hard look at Tony, then nodded toward the pistol in his belt. “You actually know how to use that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Keep it on you. Someone runs at you, aim for the head.” Hammond’s gaze shifted back and forth, and his voice dropped slightly. “We’ve heard some disturbing shit about the survivors around the impact sites. Seems they’re more aggressive than most…best to drop them before they can do too much damage. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  The minion came forward with three green backpacks and offered one to each of us. “These are supplies,” Hammond said. “Canned stuff, some water, and this—” another minion toted over three gas masks, “—if you have to go outside, wear these. They’re not great, but they’re better than pulling all this shit into your lungs.”

  The gas mask was heavier than I thought it’d be, and the front of it looked damn similar to the aliens I’d had nightmares about as a child. “Thanks,” I said, transferring it to my left hand. “I, uh, guess we can’t come with you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Hammond snapped. The last three tanks rumbled past, and he waved on the last of his men hovering around him. “Look, odds are we’ll be coming back through this way soon enough if we can’t get anything done. We’ll be happy to escort you to our base when that happens. Or hell, you can hoof it that way, if you like, though I don’t recommend it. We took over Elderwood Community College and turned the high school into a rescue station.” Hammond hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back into the fog of ash. “But it’s too fuckin’ easy to get lost in all this debris. Like I said, stay in your building and the cleaner air. And keep your door closed. We’re hearing about some fucked up shit coming out of the ash.”

  He pulled his mask back down and trudged back to his men. The convoy clanked and rumbled its way down the street.

  The three of us watched them fade into the haze, leaving dark tracks in the ash-strewn asphalt. The ear
th kept trembling for several moments after we lost sight of them.

  “What kind of fucked up shit is coming out of the ash?” Dax asked.

  I held up the gas mask in front of my face. “Looters. Muggers. Rapists.”

  He looked truly horrified by that prospect. “A fucking meteor hits and someone goes raping?”

  Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. “Kid, the world’s full of assholes, and most of them aren’t kind enough to just die when disaster strikes. But I’m not sure that’s what the good sergeant meant.”

  “He was a lieutenant,” I said. “And what is it he meant?”

  “Remember Gloria telling us about survivors getting hostile? And here we’ve got the goddamn armed forces telling us they’re seeing disturbing behavior around the impact sites. I’m betting people got radiated and they’re going bonkers.”

  My mother’s generation had grown up in the shadow of nuclear war. I was pretty sure she knew all about the threats of radiation sickness, but it was something I’d never given much thought to, beyond a college report on the Doomsday Clock, and how so many scientists thought for sure humanity would manage to destroy itself.

  I had argued against that hypothesis. We won’t destroy ourselves.

  We hadn’t, not really. A big giant rock took care of that.

  Tony jammed his heel down into the asphalt, then made a pleased-sounding noise. “It’s still gooier than I’d like, but it won’t eat us. Time to go out.”

  “Out?” I asked.

  “Once the streets and sidewalks are solid, you can bet the looters will be out in bulk. Come on, let’s hit the supermarket while there’s still stuff there.”

  “But Hammond said—”

  “Hammond meant we shouldn’t go square dancing in the ashes.” He went back inside. “Besides, we’re running out of Corn Nuts.”

  We deposited our survival packs in the kitchen, and Tony examined the selection of guns strewn across the table. “Rifle and pistol. Dax, how far did you get in Boy Scouts?”