Doc Harrison and the Apocalypse

by Peter Telep

She’s already losing her balance and reaching out for the tree, like the sight of us is enough to make her pass out.

  And my head is about to explode. “Julie!”

  “Wow,” she says. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  Meeka clutches me tighter so I can’t pull away.

  My voice cracks. “Hey, I was just—”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Julie rushes off.

  “Girlfriend’s jealous?” Meeka asks in a little girl’s voice.

  “Not my girlfriend. And not jealous.”

  “Oh, she is so jealous.”

  I reach back to pry off Meeka’s arms. “Are we done?”

  “Almost.” She finally releases me. “So yeah, I came here for more than just a pathetic kiss.”

  “Are you kidding? That wasn’t a kiss—it was an attack!”

  “Shut up. I have some good news. Steff and I went to the Community. We picked up some intel.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like we’re not the first people looking for your engine.”

  “We’re not?”

  “Right after you got to the Palladium, Ms. Martha sent out a reconnaissance team.”

  “And they found it?”

  “No. They got ambushed. They’re all dead.”

  “And this is good news? Oh, wait I forgot. You’re insane.”

  She pushes closer to me. “You want another kiss? I bet you liked it.”

  “Seriously? You think I’m that stupid? Suddenly, you’re gonna use sex to control me? Really?”

  “I’m not trying to control you. When I see something I want, I just go for it.”

  “And you forgot who I am? Guy you wanted to kill? Guy who’s father basically destroyed your planet.”

  “Look, Doc, don’t kill the moment.”

  “What moment?”

  “I know, I know. You got a thing for Julie, but she doesn’t like you that way. I can see it. So look over here. Look at me.”

  “Yeah, the crazy girl.”

  “You just want attention. You want someone to care about you…”

  “Where the hell is this coming from?”

  “Okay, so what. I’m a troubled child. Just go with it.”

  “Come on, just stop this and finish what you were telling me. Please.”

  She huffs loudly. “Damn… so okay, Martha’s recon team was tracking a woman named Flare.”

  “What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s a nickname. Flarenia Centennial Ragma.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Some big general before the withering. Now she runs the nomad army for Solomon. She’ll know where the engine is.”

  “How do we find her?”

  “Martha’s team already did. They tracked her to an old rail station east of the city. They were planning a raid when they got ambushed.”

  “And she’s still there?”

  “I got confirmation tonight from one of those nomads we trade with. Contamination’s low in the subway. There’s a command post there.”

  “And we’re going?”

  “Absolutely. We raid the place.”

  I look at Meeka like she’s even crazier. “You want to do that with a bunch of rumms while Martha’s team got wiped out?”

  “They died because they trusted the wrong people.”

  “And we’ll die because we’re stupid.”

  “My network is tight.”

  “They have guns.”

  “So do we.”

  Struggling for a comeback, I blurt out, “They’re mean and ugly.”

  She snorts. “So you’re ugly, and I’m mean.”

  I laugh, but it’s really not funny. “Come on, we need a lot more than that.”

  “You got a better plan?”

  “Look, even if we get this woman, why would she talk?”

  “I think the grren will persuade her.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  She widens her eyes. “Then we use our secret weapon.”

  “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

  “It’s you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I’ve never been a secret weapon before.

  Sounds pretty cool.

  It’d be even cooler if Meeka told me why I’m a weapon and how I’ll get Flare to talk.

  But she won’t.

  Unless I kiss her again.

  And I won’t. Because like I said, she’s insane.

  So I get out of there, leaving her to plot her next move. She doesn’t really like me. She likes the idea of trying to make me feel something for her, like maybe it’s challenge or something. Get the guy I tried to kill to love me.

  Then again, if I’m wrong, and for some crazy reason she does have real feelings for me, then I don’t know what to say.

  It’s true, though. I’ve never been chased. I’ve always been on the hunt.

  Meeka needs serious therapy if she thinks she can just kiss me, and I’ll fall for her. I don’t know anything about her life—only that her parents were killed and she was chosen for the Palladium.

  I don’t even know her favorite color.

  Julie’s is a shade of pink slightly lighter than the breast cancer awareness ribbon.

  But honestly, do I really care what Meeka’s favorite color is? No. At this point, I just feel bad for her.

  However, she was right about one thing. It’s nice to know someone wants you.

  * * *

  Back at the cave entrance, Tommy has divided the rumms into harvesting groups of four or five.

  They all carry oversized backpacks extending behind their heads and reaching down past their hips. They have gloves, small cutting tools that resemble scissors, and jigsaw blades attached to big handles.

  Julie’s near the back of the group, listening to Steffanie give a briefing.

  I cross to her and shift in close. She steps aside, as though I’ve invaded her personal space. “Julie...”

  “I’m trying to listen.”

  “Why? You’re not going up the mountain anyway.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m helping with the harvest.”

  “Val wants you to rest.”

  “I’ve been sleeping all day.”

  “All right, whatever. Hey, I’m sorry about—”

  “Shhh.”

  “Listen, Meeka’s crazy. She just grabbed me.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

  I take a deep breath and speak slowly, trying to disguise the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Look, Doc, if I were you, I wouldn’t trust her.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good… because everyone has secrets, right?”

  I almost gasp. “Secrets? Like what.”

  “They’re just using us. They blame us for killing their parents. Never forget that.”

  * * *

  I should have listened to Steffanie’s briefing.

  Because I nearly get all of us killed.

  And all we’re doing is gathering branches.

  I mean how dangerous is that?

  I’m with Steffanie, Meeka, Tommy, and Keane. Julie argued with Val and went off with another group.

  Tommy wants us to keep Julie’s team in sight, so we work alongside them. He’s concerned that she might have some kind of relapse or something.

  The bone-white snowter trees grow between and around all those gigantic trees that were flattened during the nuclear blast. They’re roughly fifteen feet tall and similar to the crepe myrtles my father planted in our backyard—skinny branches, some within reach when standing on your tippy-toes.

  We hike below the weaving pattern of fallen logs. It’s like we’re inside a gigantic game of KerPlunk. Tommy says we’re like termites sneaking into a pile of firewood.

  Starlight eventually seeps in between the trunks, and the leaf-covered ground begins to reflect a dozen shades of light purple and blue. Even our faces look as though we’re staring at computer screens.

  As
we near the first stand of trees, that crackling sound I wondered about earlier gets louder. It’s coming from the trees, as though they’re alive with electricity. The bulbs pulse with light.

  “All right, y’all,” Tommy says. “Mind what Steffanie told you and get to work.”

  Meeka offers a small saw. I take it and approach the nearest tree. Now I’m a badass reality show lumberjack.

  Black, thorn-shaped bumps about the size of softballs cover the white trunk like polka dots. They’re not sharp and have these tiny tendrils, like thick pieces of hair, extending a few inches from their surfaces.

  I reach up, tug down the nearest limb, and begin sawing off the thinner branch containing the bulbs. The limb cuts easily, too easily—

  And when it snaps back, I trip and fall into the trunk.

  Meeka looks at me, horrified. “Doc!”

  “What?”

  “Get away from the tree!”

  I jerk forward and spin around.

  The once darkened thorns now pulse with bright orange light—and then they disappear behind blinding flashes.

  From each flash explodes a glowing blue persona.

  But these personas don’t look like thorns.

  They’re like arrowheads, or more specifically, like giant manta rays with the big, ugly claws you’d find on a bird.

  One wheels around and comes directly at my face.

  Eyes bubble up from its back and focus on me.

  A slit opens near its pointy head, exposing rows of pointy teeth. Those oversized claws jut from their bellies and flex, preparing to grab my head.

  I’m telling you, these things are really gross. It’s like bad guys broke into the secret labs of Aquaman and Batman and created one horrible monster.

  Warning cries drift from group to group—

  And bam, I’m on the ground, tackled by Meeka, who’s now covering me with her body while the flying things swoop down and attack.

  With a hiss and roar, the grren leap into their personas and get busy swatting and smashing and tearing the flying things to ribbons.

  Meeka rolls off me, and we crawl away from the tree and toward a log about fifteen feet away. Tommy comes running out and waves us over. He lifts his rifle and fires at one of the things, which drops in our path. It’s wounded and begins flailing. Tommy shoots it again.

  “Didn’t you listen?” Steffanie asks me. “You don’t disturb the mawzz!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  So as I’ve learned firsthand, the mawzz live on snowter trees and create a persona that’s completely different than their real form. Very few creatures on Flora can do this. They use the “arrow” to hunt prey, which they return to the tree. The “thorn” just sits there and eats dinner.

  If I had paid attention, I would know that the mawzz can tolerate some vibrations, but touching them, let alone falling on them, is like throwing a rock into a cave full of zombie-infected vampire bats.

  We shift toward the roots and tuck ourselves in as tightly as we can.

  And it’s not like I triggered just a few of these flying devils, no. They talk to each other. They say things like, “Hey, this guy leaned on me and pissed me off. Let’s all get together and eat him and his friends!”

  Hundreds swoop and circle and dive, with their personas flickering like glitter. Some land on branches and wait for their next move. Their wings whomp like helicopter rotors, and when they strike each other or get caught by a grren, they screech so loudly that it stings your ears.

  A few get in close and hover just outside. Tommy shoots one and scares off the others.

  Even Steffanie’s two-handing a pistol. She pans right and fires, the shot echoing in my head.

  Two grren leap past us, each taking out a pair of arrows. They land with the things clenched in their paws. The arrows are dead after the first bite.

  It’s a shred-a-thon for another five, maybe ten minutes, until the whomping dies off, the roars turn into growls, and then... just the crackling of the snowter trees.

  “Are they gone?” I ask.

  “Stay put.” Tommy crouches down, and then slips outside. He raises his rifle, his eyes probing. Once he’s satisfied, he turns back. “Looks clear.”

  Still tense, we slowly emerge from beneath the log. I have a hard time meeting anyone’s gaze.

  “I won’t tell anyone what you did,” Steffanie says, getting in my face. “So the others don’t kill you.”

  “I told you, I’m sorry.”

  “You pay attention to everything I say.”

  “I will.”

  Shouts of “all clear” echo from group to group. The arrows have returned to their thorns.

  “You owe me,” Meeka says.

  She grabs my butt and walks off.

  “Hey!”

  As I turn, I spot Julie, just across the clearing. There’s a pained look in her eyes before she heads off.

  I return to work, cutting hard and fast. I avoid the trunk and thorns like they’re poisonous or radioactive. It feels good to sweat and release some frustration over being an idiot.

  I overhear Meeka saying that a few people got scratched and banged up, but everyone’s basically okay.

  What a relief. I can’t take any more guilt.

  I make a promise to myself: no more mistakes.

  All right. Got it. And now it’s all about the harvesting.

  The rumms hand us ropes to pull down the taller branches and cut them free.

  The bundles grow quickly.

  Later on, just before sunrise, we break from cutting to begin filling the backpacks. I assist Tommy and share the plan to raid the rail station.

  “Intel’s like a newspaper,” he says. “We need to move on that A-SAP.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re the secret weapon?”

  “Hard to believe, right?”

  Keane staggers over, carrying a loaded pack. “By the way, I lived through the attack.”

  I wince. “That’s a good thing.”

  “I just hope nothing else goes wrong.”

  Before I can respond, Steffanie and Meeka shimmer to life in their personas.

  “We need to move right now!” Meeka says.

  I react, jumping into my persona before Tommy or anyone else can react.

  I seize her hand, and we’re gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I don’t realize Keane’s joined the party until I glance back and spot him chasing after us.

  We sprint between bent girders along some city street—or what was some street. It’s like a giant hand crushed all the buildings into those tiny pieces you find at the bottom of a bag of potato chips.

  As we move across the piles, the girls save time and jump with their personas. They wink out at the bottom of some rubble, and then reappear at the top.

  In fact, they jump so fast that I can hardly follow and fall way behind.

  Keane remains at my side, urging me to move faster and not overthink each jump.

  Look, push, go.

  Soon I’m into a rhythm, bridging the gaps like a boss (or a mini-boss to be honest).

  By the time I’m really getting the hang of it, Meeka grabs me as I near the top of a cracked raft of rock. We leap down beneath the shattered remains of an elevated train track. Busted support columns remind me of the game Tetris.

  A rectangular hole in the pavement framed by a crumbling fence of metal marks the subway entrance.

  But we don’t go inside. Not yet.

  Because nearby, not a hundred feet away, a hoverjet sits idling on a makeshift landing pad.

  Three nomads come bounding up the subway steps and jog toward the waiting jet.

  “That’s Flare,” Meeka says. “Right there in the middle. With the dreadlocks.”

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  She glances at me. “We don’t do anything. We’re too late. She’s on the move. We missed her.”

  “No.” I start to pull away, but Meeka holds me back, and Keane joins her
, so it’s no use.

  “Forget it, Doc,” Keane argues. “You want to get shot for nothing? They’ll damage your wreath. It’s not worth it.”

  Flare and the other nomads board the hoverjet and slam shut the bay door.

  The jet thunders skyward, banks north, and zooms away.

  End of story.

  “Now what?” I ask. “We helped you get the mirage. You still have to help us.”

  Meeka shrugs.

  “They’re heading north,” Keane says. “Toward Verbena.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Used to be a commune before the bomb. The Monkshood had it cut off. You didn’t go there unless you knew someone. A lot of crazy people.”

  “How do we get there?”

  Keane winces as he considers that. “You got the desert to the east, with no cover and it’s controlled by the nomads. You got the mountains to the west, and that terrain’s really tough, even on bikes, plus you got more grren and thorns and arrows and a few other nasty animals.”

  “So which way?”

  “Well, the fastest way is to go straight through the city.”

  “Can we do it without suits?”

  Keane draws back his head, and then chuckles under his breath. “Now I’m going to sound like Tommy—because the contamination’s the least of our problems.”

  Meeka nods. “Despers.”

  I’m confused. “What are despers?”

  “They’re cannibals from the Monkshood. They’ve turned the city into their temple. They hide out in the buildings and take shots at you. We stopped going in there a few years ago, but a few caravans still risk it if they need stuff. They lose people every time.”

  “We don’t even know if she’s there,” Steffanie says. “She’s just heading in that direction.”

  Meeka nods. “Let’s check the command post.”

  * * *

  Two minutes later, inside an empty subway car that served as a nomad command post, I’m holding up an empty can of Publix brand peaches.

  Steffanie finds bags and wrappers from Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken, along with two empty pizza boxes. I hand one box to Keane and tell him breathe in the aroma.

  He looks at me like he’s just smelled paradise.

  “All right, so we know they’re using the engine,” I say. “You find anything else?”

  “I did.” Meeka hands me a bluish-gray coin about twice as big as a quarter.