The Book of Apex: Volume 2 of Apex Magazine

by Jason Sizemore

  I scream; I kick wildly, I dig into the mud to try to swim out, but it’s too slick and I’m in too deep and the oily blackness swallows me; when I scream, I choke on it.

  “The new world has to be better than the old one,” she says. “That’s my project now.”

  I can hardly hear her. The darkness has slid into my nose and my ears, leaking past my squeezed-shut eyes, and I know the next time I open my mouth I’ll swallow clay and it will be over.

  “Next time,” she says, not unkindly, “I’ll know better what kind of person to look for,” and there are two footsteps before the mud closes over me.

  (Strange what you’re good for, when circumstances change.)

  WHITE CHRISTMAS

  James F. Reilly

  1

  “We should probably stop, no?” Margot pointed at the glowing sign of a general store up ahead. “I feel funny just showing up empty handed.”

  Billy shook his head and squinted into the swirling snow. “It’s only another couple of miles, babe. I just want to get the hell out of this shit. Besides, we’re not showing up empty handed. We come bearing the gift of booze, remember?”

  Margot laughed. “I meant food, dummy. I don’t want to look like a freeloader.”

  “If I know my sister-in-law, dinner’s already on the table waiting for us.” Billy rolled his head from side to side, eliciting a few audible snaps and pops from his neck, and then let out a deep sigh. “And, if I know my brother, he’s probably bitching about how I’m always late.” Billy placed a hand on her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll come back out in the morning and get some stuff. You can cook dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, I can, huh?” Margot punched him in the arm. “You are such a man.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Billy said, craning his neck over the steering wheel. “Christ, it’s really coming down.”

  “Maybe just milk and eggs,” Margot said softly. Billy said nothing. He just stared ahead into the churning white vortex, his face illuminated by the red taillights of the truck in front of them.

  Margot stared into the windswept parking lot of the store as they passed. There were at least a dozen cars in front of the building, and six more at the gas pumps. A few of them had Christmas trees tied to their roofs, crushed under the weight of several inches of snow. Margot had a tingling feeling in her stomach as she watched the store slowly recede behind a glowing veil of white.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked.

  “What, the snow?” Billy shrugged. “Sure. Sometimes, I guess.” He took his eyes off the road for a second and smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it. Skiing, sledding, roasting chestnuts—all that good shit. This is a New England Christmas…a real Christmas.”

  “What? You don’t think we have real Christmases in Georgia?”

  “No offense,” Billy said, “but backyard barbecues and pool parties aren’t my idea of a real Christmas. It’s like those people who go to the fucking Bahamas for the holidays. To me, that’s like celebrating the fourth of July in Antarctica. It’s…it’s sacrilege! You can’t have a real Christmas without snow. Period.”

  “Jesus was born in a desert.”

  “Yeah, and how did that work out for him?” Billy replied.

  “Okay. First, you’re going to hell for that, and, second, I disagree.” Margot crossed her arms in front of her and leaned her head against the cold glass of the passenger window. “I happen to think Christmas is about surrounding yourself with the people you love, whether it be in the mountains or under a palm tree.”

  “And that’s why you’re with me.” Billy squeezed her knee again and Margot pushed his hand away. “Oh, come on, babe. You know I’m just playing. This is our first Christmas together. I just want it to be special, you know?”

  “I know. And I appreciate it.”

  “And I’ll tell you what. Next year we’ll go down to Georgia and have a lame-ass southern fried Christmas with your family.”

  Margot grabbed Billy’s earlobe and crushed it between her thumb and index finger.

  “Owww! Fuck! Owww!” Billy whined. “Truce, truce!”

  “Not until you admit you’re a dick,” Margot said, squeezing harder.

  “Fine! I’m a dick, I’m a dick! Jeeeesus! You’re gonna get us killed!”

  Margot jerked her hand away and retreated back to her side of the car. She milked the silence between them until the crunch of the snow beneath the wheels and the monotonous swipe-and-thud of the windshield wipers was more than she could bear. Finally she sighed, “Mind if I turn on the radio?”

  “Knock yourself out,” Billy said with a laugh. “I gotta warn you, though; once you get past Bretton Woods the pickin’s are pretty slim.”

  Margot hit the auto-tune button on the radio. John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Hurt So Good” gave way to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” and then Young MC’s “Bust a Move.”

  “Christ, what decade are these people living in?” she asked.

  “I told you,” Billy said. “Slim pickin’s. Just put in a CD.”

  Margot opened the glove box and groaned. “Ewww. All of your CD’s suck.”

  “So now I’m a dick with bad taste in music? Why is it you’re with me, again?”

  “Apparently so you can show me the true meaning of Christmas,” Margot quipped. “Otherwise, I can’t think of a single reason.”

  “Okay, well, so long as we’re clear on that.”

  The radio jumped through a couple of channels of static, a warbling old country song, and a Spanish talk show before Margot turned it off and fell back into her seat. “Okay, New Hampshire radio officially sucks,” she proclaimed.

  “Well, not if you grew up in the 80s,” Billy said.

  “Or you’ve been in a coma since then,” Margot replied.

  “Touché.”

  The road ahead divided and Billy veered toward the right fork. The Camry bounced as it crossed the tracks of the truck in front and then fishtailed as he turned onto the road and started up a steep incline. Margot grabbed his shoulder and let out a faint squeal.

  “Trust me,” Billy said. “I’ve been driving in this stuff for nearly fifteen years.” He peeled her hand off of his shoulder, rested it on his lap. “I’m a professional.”

  “Uh-huh,” Margot said. She felt the tingling in her stomach again. She squeezed Billy’s thigh.

  The road curved sharply, and the car slid again as Billy took yet another sudden turn, this time up a narrow road hardly wider than the Camry. Gone was the yellow pall of the street lamps; beyond the swirling snow now lay nothing but inky blackness.

  “The secret,” Billy said, “is to steer into the skid.”

  “Okay, how much fucking farther, Billy? I’m seriously freaking out, now.” Margot tugged on the shoulder belt until she felt it lock into place.

  “Relax. “Billy laughed.

  The car lunged forward up one final incline before coming to a stop a few feet from the bumper of a snow covered Land Rover. He shut off the headlights and, once Margot’s eyes had adjusted, she could see two shafts of warm, sparkling light emanating from the windows of a small chalet at the top of the hill.

  Billy smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek. “We’re already here.”

  2

  Dinner was waiting on the table just as Billy had expected—a small pre-cooked Chicken, a bowl of mashed potatoes, baby carrots, and a salad. Billy could sense his brother, Rob’s, displeasure at their late arrival, but they both loosened up after a couple of glasses of wine. They ate quickly and Rob’s wife, Linda, took Margot up to the loft to show her their room while the couple’s daughters, eight-year-old Maxie and five-year-old Quinn, rushed back to their handheld video games in the living room.

  “This snow’s something, huh?” Rob asked. “Must’ve been a bitch to drive in.”

  Billy shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine, and then slid the bottle down the table to his brother. “I’ve seen wors
e. Didn’t get too bad until we got up past Concord. It’s the wind, mostly. I didn’t want to get Margot worried, but, man, it was like a whiteout once we hit the mountains.”

  “This her first snow?” Billy asked.

  “Her first real snow. I mean, she’s lived in Manhattan for a couple of years, now, so she’s seen the stuff, but nothing like this.”

  “Yeah.” Rob took a sip of his wine. “She’s a good girl. Mom would have liked her.”

  “Yeah, she is.” Billy smiled. “She’s a lot like her, you know? I mean, not in a Freudian way or anything; just her attitude. She’s a tough chick. Has a mouth like a sailor sometimes.” He laughed.

  “So how’s it lookin’,” Rob asked.

  “How’s what…? The relationship?” Billy shrugged. “I don’t know, I mean, it’s good. It’s great, actually. But it’s only been nine months, so…”

  Rob smiled. “You’ll marry her,” he said. “I can tell.”

  “Oh, and how’s that?” Billy asked.

  “I just can, is all,” Rob grinned. “I see it in the way you look at each other. I got a gift for that sort of thing, you know?”

  Billy finished the rest of his wine. Rob slid the bottle back to him. As he poured himself another, Margot walked into the kitchen and rested her hands on his shoulders. She kissed Billy on the top of his head; her long, curly hair, still damp from the shower, draped over his face. It smelled of lilac and citrus. Billy leaned his head back and gave her a kiss. Her lips were soft and inviting and, in that moment, he knew his brother was right. This was the girl he would marry.

  “Am I interrupting boy talk?” She asked.

  Billy sighed. “Well, my brother was asking me if we could swap women tonight, and I told him you’d be up for it.”

  “Oh really?” Margot asked. “Sounds kinky!”

  “Count me in.” Linda shuffled into the kitchen, wearing a pink robe and matching slippers. She had a towel draped around her neck and three different bottles of shampoo and conditioner tucked under her arm. “God knows, I could use a change.”

  “That’s nice,” Rob said. “Real class acts, the lot of ya.” He swigged down the rest of his wine and washed his glass out in the sink. “I’m gonna go get some firewood.”

  Rob left the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later in a bulky, white, down jacket and white knit hat. Billy burst out laughing, and that set off Margot and Linda.

  “What?” Rob asked, his arms hanging stiffly by his side.

  “Need a hand, Michelin Man?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah, real funny,” Rob said. “We’ll see who’s laughing on the slopes.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’ll still be me, Frosty,” Billy said.

  Rob flipped him off as he cracked open the back door and slipped on his gloves. A sudden strong gust shook the house and blew the door wide open. Rob took a step back as an avalanche of snow poured into the kitchen. “Woah!” He laughed, and tried to close the door. “Will you look at this?”

  “Oh my God.” Linda grabbed a broom from the closet and handed it to Rob. “There’s got to be two feet out there already!”

  “It’s just a drift,” Rob grumbled, as he swept the snow over the threshold.

  “Still, you said we were only going to get a few inches!” Linda looked panicked. “If I knew it was going to be this bad…I mean, shit, the roads…we only picked up a few things from the store. I knew we should have gone to Stop & Shop! We don’t have any milk or bread or…”

  “Linda, it’s fine,” Rob barked. “I’ll hit the grocery store first thing in the morning, just like I said I would. The Land Rover will roll right over this shit. Believe me, we’ll be fine.”

  Margot’s fingers dug into Billy’s shoulders. “I told you we should have stopped,” she whispered.

  “Babe, relax,” Billy said. He got up and slipped on his leather coat. “Rob, let’s go get that firewood.”

  His brother heaved a sigh, leaned the broom up against the wall, and threw up his hands as he stepped over the drift and out the door. Billy followed, slamming the door behind him. Rob had already been swallowed up by the squall.

  “For fuck’s sake, wait up, Rob!” Billy took two steps forward and sank into a thigh-deep drift. He pulled himself free and followed his brother’s tracks around to the front of the chalet. Rob stood at the top of the stairs that led down into the sunken driveway. The light from the chalet windows cut a swath through the night, making the snow that danced around them look like a luminescent swarm of fluttering moths.

  Billy looked down into the driveway. The Land Rover was buried up to its headlights, with huge, windswept domes of snow on its hood and roof. Billy’s Camry was completely covered, reduced to a smooth white mound.

  Billy turned to his brother. “What are you thinking?”

  Rob stood silently for a moment, his eyes shimmering, his face caked with snow and rivulets of snot and frozen tears.

  “What am I thinking, little brother?” He asked, his voice nearly lost to the wind. “I’m thinking we’re good and truly fucked.”

  3

  The weatherman danced in front of a map of the northeast with a mixture of excitement and sheer panic. He pointed at New England—at least what little of it that could be seen beneath the massive animated cloud—and then ran his finger down the entire east coast, stopping at the Carolinas.

  “Folks, I can safely say that this is something we’ve never seen before,” he said breathlessly. “This massive system literally came out of nowhere and, in the past few hours, has absorbed several smaller systems riding the jet stream, forming a ‘super storm’ that is now blanketing the northeast. We’re talking hurricane force winds, and snowfall at a rate of several inches per hour; in higher elevations, we could see as much as a foot or more an hour, with no sign of slowing …”

  “Yeah, tell us something we don’t know,” Billy muttered. He cradled Margot in his arms. She snored softly, long ago surrendering to the valium Linda had given her. Linda sat next to Billy, equally as doped, but working on her fifth glass of wine nonetheless. Maxie and Quinn lay curled up on the floor beside Rob, who sat Indian style in front of the small television.

  The weather-map had changed and now depicted the entire United States. The Great Lakes were obscured by a swirling mass of clouds the size of Texas, while two huge tropical storms book-ended Florida, one in the Atlantic, and one moving up toward the pan handle from the Gulf.

  “This is unprecedented stuff, folks. Completely unprecedented. And they’re no better off across the pond, where, we’re told, much of northern and central Europe is experiencing blizzard conditions, with London reporting more than two feet of snow fall in the last three hours.” The weatherman took a deep breath and shook his head and laughed. “This is…it’s a little scary, is what it is.” He looked at his watch and laughed again. “Here we are, thirty minutes away from December 21st 2012. I don’t have to remind most of you what that date signifies. It’s got to make you wonder, right? I mean…”

  The camera panned violently and then cut back to the news desk. The anchors—a meticulously coiffed silver-haired man and an overly made-up middle-aged woman—stared slack-jawed at a commotion off camera. After a few seconds of silence, the male anchor regained his composure, looked into the camera, and smiled unconvincingly.

  “Dan…Dan is obviously joking, folks,” he said. The reporter paused, his smile wavering, as he held his finger to his ear. “We, here at WCTV, want…to…assure you that…okay, hold on a minute folks. We’re getting some news out of…I can’t make this out. Is somebody going to throw this on the prompt…?”

  The image on the screen froze and flickered before giving way to color bars and a droning, high-pitched tone. Rob flipped through the stations and, after nothing but static, test patterns, or no picture at all, switched off the television.

  “Satellite dish is probably buried,” Rob said. “With that wind, I’m surprised we had reception as long as we did.” He threw the remote
onto the sofa and grabbed his beer off of the coffee table. “I’ll get up there and clean it off in the morning.”

  “What if he’s right?” Linda asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “What? What if who’s right?” Rob asked.

  Linda’s eyelids fluttered and her head bobbed forward. “The fucking weatherman.” She practically spat out the words. “What if this is it? I mean…you know…it?”

  Rob sighed. “Jesus, Linda, you’re half in the bag. Use your head, for Chrissake,” he said. “That’s all tinfoil-hat-wearing bullshit.” He took a hearty swig from his beer and set the empty bottle back down. “A fucking Aztec fairy tale.”

  “Mayan,” Billy said.

  Rob waved his hands in the air. “Who gives a rat’s ass? Mayan? Aztec? They could be fucking Oompa Loompas for all I care. It’s a bunch of goddamn nonsense that I don’t want to hear about. End of story.”

  Rob knelt down and scooped up the girls, one in each arm, and then carried them off to bed. Linda cursed him under her breath, and took another sip of wine. She looked at Billy and offered him a weak smile.

  “I’m not stupid, you know,” she said.

  Billy nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s just…why the fuck not, you know? Why is it so impossible?” She reached for the bottle of wine, started to pour herself another glass, and spilt most of it on her wrist. “I mean…it’s happened before…so… what makes us so fucking special, you know?”

  Billy steadied the bottle for her.

  “Thanks.” She laughed. “I guess I’m just a little…I probably should go to bed.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Billy said, setting down the bottle and wine glass for her. He helped her up from the couch and started to walk her toward her and Rob’s bedroom.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She tapped him on the wrist and pulled away. “I’ll see you in the morning, Billy.” Linda gave him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll probably be laughing about this tomorrow.”

  Billy nodded and smiled, and wished he could believe it.

  4