Doomsday's Child

by Pete Aldin

  “I don't have one,” said Lewis with an apologetic smile. Elliot looked away before his partner could make eye contact and blush or something. But the young guy's smile had been winsome and guileless—maybe the one he'd used on his mom and sis to get his own way.

  Not so dumb after all. There was hope for him yet.

  “Lift your shirt,” she said. She waited while Lewis swiveled awkwardly, shirt held high. “Now your pants legs: show me what's in your socks.”

  She grunted when there were no hidden weapons beneath his denim.

  “Your turn,” she told Elliot.

  “How do I know yours are even loaded?” he asked.

  She smiled a harsh smile, said nothing.

  “Trust us, they are,” said Handcuffs. Her gaze kept flicking to Lewis, Elliot noted, brow crinkled with concern. He nodded to himself: at least one of them was a little conflicted over this. He might be able to use that.

  “I could prove it by shooting you in the leg,” said the blond. “Course I might miss and hit something else.” He took a better look at her—yeah, she did remind him of that chick at the sanctuary outside Hobart. The one who'd started the trouble there, ruined the place, turning the men against each other.

  Just looking like that chick was almost enough to make him shoot her.

  He shifted attention to Handcuffs, got eye contact, told her, “I'm just a guy trying to survive out here. Can you cut me a break?”

  She looked away, found something on the train's roof to study. The pistol still shook in her hand.

  The blond adjusted her aim from his stomach to his forehead. “I'd say you haven't got much choice.”

  None-too-happy about it, he complied, unbuckling his belt and laying it at the bottom of the slope. He felt a pang of grief: that hammer and that knife, they'd been allies, team mates. The tanto especially—there wasn't much of his original PMC kit left.

  He added the shotgun and bandoleer with almost as much grief.

  “Same as the kid,” she said. “Show us what's under your shirt, your pants legs.”

  He turned slowly with shirt lifted. “Like what you see?”

  She snorted without smiling.

  “I just threw up in my mouth a little,” added Sunhat, but her voice had a tremor.

  He flashed ankle and the blond grunted. “Where's the gun from that holster?”

  He winced theatrically. “Lost it.”

  “You lost a gun?”

  “Big fight. Lots of zombies and running and tripping. You really want all the details?”

  “No,” she said. “We heard a car, so we'll have the keys too.”

  “Come on,” he tried but she shook her head. He added the keys to the pile.

  She grunted and gestured with the rifle in the opposite direction to the crossing. “Now you get walking down the tracks that way, so we can keep an eye on you as you go.”

  “Or we could go that way.” He nodded at the crossing.

  She shook her head.

  “Look, we could get back in our car and go around,” Elliot said, reaching a hand toward the keys.

  She waggled her rifle. It was small caliber, maybe .22, but it would still sting if she shot him in the nuts, which is where the barrel was pointed. “You can walk.”

  “Look, me I can understand you not wanting around. But Lewis here.” He focused his attention on the woman with the handcuffs, using Lewis's name to personalize him. “He's lost his folks, his sister. He just needs to get to Minchenbridge.”

  “So?” snapped Sunhat.

  “Well, I mean, Lewis is a young guy. Just lost his family, all of them. It's a win-win, isn't it? He can take you to sanctuary; you can give him the female attention he needs.”

  Sunhat actually took a step forward at that, right onto the edge of the slope, brandished the knife though she was too far away to use it. “Female attention?”

  “Nurturing. I mean, nurturing. Not … the other.”

  Her eyes were wide now, face flushed. Elliot had made a tactical error and he could only be glad she didn't have her sister's pistol. “That's all women are good for, huh? Nurturing. And the other.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  The blond cleared her throat to take over. “Well, we're not his mummies so forget it. Get walking.”

  Elliot almost replied that he wasn't Lewis' dad either, but for once he had the presence of mind not to say the insensitive thing. Chalk one up for ol' Elliot. Looks like someone else is the asshole this time.

  “Lewis needs to get to Minchenbridge,” Elliot tried again. “I need the car to get him there.”

  The woman with the pistol let it droop, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. “Where's Minchenbridge?”

  “Not far from Lonnie,” said the blond with no wavering of her weapon.

  “Shit,” she said. “You don't want to go that way.”

  “Shutup,” said Sunhat.

  “But—”

  “They're lucky we're letting them live at all. They can go wherever they want, as long as it's not near us.” She gestured to her left with the knife. “Off you go. And let's hope we don't cross paths again.”

  *

  They trudged a good three hundred yards before Elliot stopped and dumped himself on the siding with a huff. He cracked a strip of dry bark between his fingers. It had last rained a week ago; the ground was dry as toast, like being in Africa, the Kalihari. Dry twigs. Dry leaves. Even living grass crackled under foot. Shit, what if there was wildfire while they were out here? He hadn't thought of that. Would the higher terrain out west be wetter, less prone to it?

  “What do we do?” Lewis asked, nudging shale with his toe.

  “Wait ten minutes. Go back and get the 9-mil. I didn’t see them check the carriage you were in, which shows how smart they are.” They'd come down the slope one at a time, covering him and Lewis. Collected his belt and headed back to the crossing along the tracks, carrying his shotgun, his piton hammer, his tanto. And they were no longer in sight.

  “What about after we get the gun?”

  “It's not a gun; it's a weapon.” Elliot picked up a clod of dirt and tossed it hard at the opposite bank. It exploded against an exposed tree root with a dull puff. “We go get the gear we hid and then I guess we walk to Minchenbridge. Unless we find another vehicle on a road nearby. Although ...” He turned another clod over in his hands. One side was hot from the sun, the other cool like death. “The one with the pistol didn't seem too keen on us heading that way. I wonder how bad it is up there.”

  Agitated, Lewis shoved his hands in his pockets. “It's bad everywhere. My grandparents are there. I wanna go there.”

  Elliot lifted a hand in placation. “Of course. Yeah.”

  “You wanted to dump me.”

  “What? No, I was just—I was trying to get inside their heads. You know. Appeal to their feminine instincts.”

  “Feminine instincts?”

  “Yeah, compassion, empathy. Bitches didn't seem to have much of either though,” he added and threw the clod.

  “Don't call them that.”

  “Bitches? Why not?” He glanced back down the track. By now they were probably starting up the car, though he couldn't hear it. His car. With his stuff. “They are.”

  “You shouldn't talk about women that way.”

  “Seriously? Those three? Christ, they couldn't take pity on a young guy who needed their help and that doesn't bother you?”

  Lewis thought a moment. “Yeah. I guess. Bothers me that you wanted to get rid of me too.”

  “Jesus, Tommy, I told you I was trying to get on their good sides.”

  “Tommy? Who's Tommy?”

  “I said Lewis.”

  “You called me Tommy.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Well, it didn't work.”

  “What didn't work?”

  “Getting on their good sides.”

  “Duh it didn't work and now I'm pretty sure this conversation is going round in circles.”


  There was silence then Lewis came and sat beside him, not too close. He tossed a few dirt balls of his own.

  Had he really called him Tommy?

  From the distance came the stressed crunch of someone with little aptitude operating a clutch and gear shifter.

  Our car, goddammit.

  He strained his ears but heard nothing else, not the scrape of tire on asphalt nor the revving on an engine. Were they idling, waiting to see whether the men would return? Had they themselves been ambushed? Or had they left already, the noise masked by the screech of parrots and hum of bushland insects? He'd give it some time before he found out.

  Five minutes into their wait, Lewis said, “So you didn't want to get rid of me?”

  “No,” Elliot lied.

  Another long pause, then: “Thanks.”

  Elliot plucked his sweaty shirt away from his chest, let some air in. God, it was hot today and the breeze wasn't reaching down into the cut-through. “Don't thank me; pay it forward or something.”

  “Pay what?”

  “You never saw that movie?”

  “Don't think so.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why?”

  “Just seems the kind of old movie your parents would get you to watch. Had kind of a good message.”

  “What message?”

  Elliot shrugged. “Paying it forward.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Which is I do nice for you and instead of paying me back, you do nice for someone else who needs it.”

  “That does sound cool.”

  “Plus the main character was about your age.”

  “Nice. So what happened to him.”

  “He died.” Elliot winced. “Maybe. I can't remember. I think it's time to go get our stuff.”

  *

  Lewis stood back while Elliot retrieved the gear, updating his inventory of their earthly goods. One backpack with spare clothes, a modest first aid kit, some muesli bars, cooking oil, gun oil and a carton of UHT milk he'd taken from the farm house. One hoody for if the weather turned, but zero wet weather gear. His rig for distilling water. The assault rifle, the speargun and 9 mil, but no hand-to-hand weapons unless he wanted to use a short blade Shrade or his pocket flashlight. Then again, the bush was full of deadwood they could use as clubs and spears. His canteen had a little water, but Lewis's had of course had been left in the car along with Lewis's pencils and sketchbook; fortunately the young guy seemed to have forgotten them.

  “Some basic medicine, a little food, one canteen, no sleeping gear. Goddam them.”

  Lewis fumbled the Aimrite, twisting the strap as he tried to get it on his back, making a meal of it. “Why were you so mean to them?” he asked.

  “The bitches?”

  Lewis took a deep breath and blew it out hard.

  Disapproval. From a thirteen year old. Maybe he really was an asshole.Maybe it was wrong to think of them that way. They looked like they'd been through hell and they were trying to survive, like he was.

  He sighed. “And just how was I mean to those women, Lewis?”

  “You were kind of a smart alec with them.”

  “I was a …! Who was threatening to shoot who in the yam bag?”

  “Maybe using some manners would have made them change their mind.”

  “I was nice to them. At the start. Goddam it. Okay, so using manners is not my first instinct, you got me. But this isn't a world for manners. “ He looked Lewis over from his perfectly tied laces, to the way he held the elbow of his injured arm with the opposite hand, to the way he stood with one hip out. “You've been feminized, Lewis. In a soft and safe middle-class world, that's fine. Manners are fine. In that world, you can brew your herbal teas, attend your inspirational seminars, practice mindfulness, color in mandalas. But in this world? This world right here?” Still crouched, he dug a finger into the dirt. “This world is more like the old world, the world humans had to survive in for a hundred thousand years. It's harsh and bloody and goddam dangerous. And you will not survive it by being nice to people. Men—real men—they use this—” he flexed a bicep though it was hidden within his sleeve, then brandished the rifle, standing “—and this. To make their point. To establish their bona fides and their place in the pecking order. The Death Druids weren't stopped by manners. And neither were those chicks back there, the ones currently driving our car south when we should be using it to circle around and head north. Speaking of which, let's quit the meaningful conversation, huh? And do what men do best. Getting on with it. “

  Lewis was studying the nearby paperbark. He walked to it and peeled some bark, crumpled it in his hand and said, “You’re a jerk. Which way are we going? Coz after all your crap, I want to 'get on with it'.”

  *

  Elliot hadn't realized how great it had felt to drive again until he was forced to walk again. Forest detritus, dry and constantly cracking under foot. The occasional screen of bracken and scrub they were forced to detour around. The flies. The sun burning through the sparse shade afforded by eucalypts.

  It would take them days now to reach Minchenbridge.

  They could have followed the road north of course but with no guarantee of viable vehicles or lack of further roadblocks, without recourse against sun-on-scalp since his Shell cap was in the stolen car, and because he knew the road they'd been on eventually arced around to the north west away from the direction of Lewis's grandparents, Elliot had decided that overland was the better choice despite the terrain. Also, it would be easier to find quick cover this way rather than out on an open highway.

  A half hour into their walk, he was forced to rest while Lewis emptied dirt from a sneaker. Elliot rested his back against a towering gum as black ants came to investigate his boot.

  “Why did she have a handcuff on?” Lewis asked.

  “Don't want to think about that,” Elliot replied. He shifted his foot to keep the ants at a distance. These were big bastards with cruel looking pincers. No telling what kind of pain they'd inflict.

  “Kinda weird. Maybe they were criminals. Maybe you were …” Lewis was going to say right, Elliot was sure of it.

  He moved across to another tree, losing the ants' attentions. “They weren't criminals, Cochise.” It wasn't police custody they'd escaped from.

  Lewis sat, wrestling his shoe on. “Then how'd she get a handcuff?”

  Shit. You had almost a day with the Druids and you don't know? I'm truly happy for you.

  “Cut the chatter,” he said and pushed away from the tree. “Let's move.”

  Grumbling, Lewis stood and followed him.

  In the next gully, in the middle of a curtain of new growth, sat a car. Elliot gestured for Lewis to stay where he was and descended carefully, weapon up, checking the ground for traps and stepping around a few scummy puddles and the surrounding spongy soil. Mosquitoes lifted and came to inspect him. He slapped at a couple, got up close to the car. No tires. No rear bumper and plates. Some trash littered the weeds and bracken. All the windows were up and no one was inside. The ground was blackened near the trunk in the middle of a circle of rocks, but weeds were sprouting through the fireplace's remains. No one had been here for a while. He signaled Lewis to come down and keep an eye out, then set to work inspecting the back seat, the trunk, the glove box. Nothing came of his troubles but a few candy wrappers. Nothing useful—not even a tire iron—had been left behind.

  He climbed out and wiped sweat from his face, ran his hands down his shirt.

  “We could sleep here,” Lewis said.

  Elliot frowned at him.

  “We could,” Lewis insisted.

  “Lewis, it's not even midday.”

  “I'm tired.”

  “We've been walking less than an hour.”

  “Why couldn't we walk up the road again?”

  “Like I told you: too hard to find cover in a hurry, and this is more direct.”

  “But it's harder.”

  “Harder ain't always worser.”

>   “My legs are sore.”

  “You were happy to walk home this morning.”

  Lewis scratched at his nose and thought about that. “What if we get lost?”

  “I won't get lost.”

  “How do you know?”

  Elliot tapped his head. “Map's in here.”

  “People get lost in the wilderness all the time.”

  “Dumb people, sure.”

  “That's not fair. Smart people too. University professors and stuff.”

  “University professors. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. See that tree there?” He pointed up the far side of the gully where a sapling had sprouted. “Get moving and use that to pull yourself up to the top.”

  Once they were up out of the gully, Lewis said, “If there was someone in the car, would you rob them?”

  Elliot started walking, ignored it.

  “Would you?” Lewis insisted.

  “No.”

  “What if we didn't have anything? No weapons or food. Would you do it then?”

  Goddammit, if he wasn't wishing the kid would turn catatonic again.

  “No,” he said. “Yes, probably. I'd take a little of their gear. Even it out. Make it fair.”

  “So—”

  Elliot sensed exactly where the logic would take him, so he interrupted loudly. “Geez, will you shut up! Got enough to think about without this crap.”

  A few minutes later, Lewis spoke again. “You're not actually mad at me, are you?”

  “I'm not mad at all.”

  “Yes, you are. You're mad at those ladies.”

  “Hell, yes, I'm mad at those ladies.”

  “They had nothing and we had something. So they were just surviving.”

  “And as far as they knew, they took everything we had; they left us with nothing to survive. That's not right.”

  “Maybe they'd had a hard time.”

  “They'd had a hard time?”

  “They had bruises everywhere.”

  “That doesn't give 'em a right to leave us up shit creek without a paddle.” We all got scars, kid.

  “Dad said you always have to walk in other people's shoes. You always have to try to see it from their point of view.”

  “Dad walk in the Death Druids' shoes?”