Doc Harrison and the Apocalypse

by Peter Telep

  And there’s no cover—just rolling hills of garbage.

  I hate to sound even more depressing, but those manta ray personas are getting closer. They smell like mirage and make that terrible noise like a thousand kids screaming the letter E. Yep, thorns and arrows, and there’s no escape now.

  Or maybe they won’t attack. They’ll just fly on by to escape the storm.

  However, when the rumms spot them they panic because they must know something I don’t—

  Like maybe the mawzz attack anything they see at any time, and the storm hasn’t scared them, it’s just really pissed them off and whipped them into a feeding frenzy.

  I curse as our pace line shreds, with rumms breaking off to save themselves.

  Meeka and Stefanie have a word with Tommy, and then he slows to wait for us.

  Hold on. What’s that? The roof of something? A car? It’s sticking out of the sand about a hundred feet away.

  I scream for Julie to steer over there. She cuts her wheel.

  Tommy sees what we’re doing and joins us, as do Meeka, Steffanie, and Keane.

  The others keep pedaling.

  I glance back at the arrows, and then at the rumms.

  These kids will never make it.

  With my heart pounding and legs aching, I stay close to Julie as we bounce up and down over the junk and finally reach the object. Hell yeah, it’s a car!

  We drop our bikes and start digging frantically along one side, clearing away a window.

  “Here they come!” shouts Keane.

  “Out of the way,” Tommy cries.

  He drops to his rump, and then rears back with his boots and smashes open the window.

  “Everybody inside!” Meeka cries.

  Steffanie gets down on all fours—

  But then she jerks back.

  I duck down and see why:

  There’s a corpse at the wheel. Shriveled, gray skin. Mouth hanging open. Hands still clutching the wheel. She looks like Stewart from the original Planet of the Apes movie after her chamber leaked and she aged like a million years.

  Tommy bares his teeth, climbs in, and then rips the corpse out onto the sand—

  Even as the flock arrives with a blast of wind and so many screeches I’m forced to cover my ears.

  The girls practically dive into the car, followed by Keane, me, and then Tommy, who’s barely able to squeeze inside the window frame.

  The arrows sense our heat and movement. A horde breaks off and attacks.

  Tommy beats them off with his forearms and fists, but they keep coming.

  Somewhere outside, the grren snarl. Hiss. Click. Roar.

  But then they squeal and whimper...

  Rumms yell and shriek—

  “We need something to block the window,” Meeka says.

  “Here!” Steffanie shouts, offering Tommy a rubber floor mat. “Hold this up! It’ll help!”

  Tommy grabs the mat as the arrows swoop and chomp.

  “I hope they found somewhere to hide,” Julie says.

  Keane looks at us. “I doubt it.”

  “Wait. Listen,” I say. “Listen.”

  The screeching fades...

  Just the deep, steady rumble of the sandstorm.

  Tommy lowers the mat and leans out the window. “Okay, everybody out!” He drags himself across the sand. I follow, with Keane and the others squeezing out behind me.

  In the distance, the arrows rise over the city and continue heading north, away from the storm.

  Meanwhile, rumms lie near their bikes, scattered across the fields leading down to Verbena. They moan and clutch their wounds.

  Brave and Mama Grren trot toward us. They’re covered in bite marks and dripping bluish-green blood.

  Meeka lifts her chin to the others. “Come on, they need our help!” She gets on her bike and rides toward the first group of injured rumms.

  The rest of us mount up. Tommy lifts his voice. “Rolling out now! Follow me!”

  “What about them?” Julie asks.

  “I’m sorry, Little Girl.”

  “No, we can’t leave them!”

  Tommy glances back at the storm. Lightning flashes in his goggles. “If we wait. If we try to help. We die.”

  He’s right. Julie knows it, too. And Val’s not even here to treat anyone.

  But can we stomach just riding away?

  Abandoning them?

  I know I can’t. There has to be—

  “Wait a minute!” I shout. I connect with Brave and ask him if they can carry everyone who’s hurt.

  He shows me an image of them doing it.

  Awesome. The grren are in. Their personas scatter to collect the injured rumms.

  Tommy looks impressed. “Nice work, son! You set up your own medevac team!”

  “Great idea, Doc,” Julie says.

  Brave carries Wexx and the blind boy while Mama Grren has two more across her back. A handful of rumms can still ride. The grren personas carry the rest. Looks like we have everyone now, and we’re on the move, leaning sideways into the wind so we don’t fall over.

  The blowing sand grows thicker.

  Just ahead are the flickering grren personas and tiny dots of bike lights.

  More sand. Dense, tinkling across my goggles. I can barely see my front wheel.

  And then, boom, we’re there. The dome’s right in front of us. We twist our wheels between chunks of broken walls and fast-pedal up ramps of sand.

  Meeka points to a demolished wall: a way inside.

  Our lights expose a concert hall or arena with a long stage and bench seats stretching off in rows. The north side lies buried beneath the fallen ceiling, and now the storm chips away at what’s left of the dome, dislodging more girders and pieces of roof.

  A rectangular-shaped sign at the far end catches Meeka’s attention. “Subway entrance,” she shouts. “Let’s get down there!”

  We head for that open doorway. Behind us, the parade of grren carries the injured.

  With fingers feathering our brakes, we roll down a long flight of stairs, turn right, and then reach the main platform.

  Directly ahead lie the tracks, with the tunnel jogging off to our left and right. No parked trains in sight.

  The grren lower themselves on their front paws, allowing the injured to crawl off. Many cough and cry. A few bleed all over the floor.

  Someone grabs my wrist, and I turn.

  “We’re almost there,” Wexx says, his forehead covered in blood. “Right?’

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “We’ll make it, Doc,” he says. “Don’t give up on us.”

  “No way. I won’t.”

  He limps away on his makeshift leg. His three buddies have collapsed against the wall to inspect their wounds.

  Julie, Meeka, Steffanie, and Keane attend to the most seriously injured. Tommy’s brought along Val’s medical bag, but her supply of bandages is limited. Some of the rumms might need stitches. It could’ve been way worse.

  Tommy comes over and points to a sign above the tracks. “Can you read that?”

  “Looks like some street names. And then near the bottom there it says Monkshood Temple.”

  “Bingo,” he says. “With the storm blowing up top, we can’t move, but maybe we can use the tunnel.”

  Just as he finishes, the ground shakes so violently that we’re thrown to the ground.

  “Stormquake,” someone hollers.

  The wall starts cracking behind Wexx and his friends, and pieces of the tunnel’s ceiling smash across the tracks.

  The rattling gets louder. Deafening.

  Something’s about to happen... and it does:

  The tunnel to our left—the one leading to the temple—comes down in a massive cave-in.

  “Get ‘em back to the stairwell!” Tommy hollers.

  I struggle to my feet, but the ground feels like rubber.

  And worse, I can’t even face the staircase because the howling wind and sand will knock me down again.


  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  A dust cloud from the collapsing tunnel swells across the platform. The quaking continues, and I’m thinking, yep, now we’re all buried alive.

  Keane and I shield Wexx and his buddies. Julie, Meeka, and Steffanie wrap themselves around a few others.

  Tommy throws himself in front of Brave and Mama Grren, who were licking their wounds along the back wall.

  Small rocks and other building materials pelt us, even as the shaking grows more violent.

  My breath turns shallow. I keep telling myself the storm will pass.

  But how soon? We can’t just sit here and wonder.

  I tremble as temptation gets the best of me. I think about the arena, the dome above us...

  And then I’m there, in my persona.

  Standing on the curving roof.

  I stare into the eye of the storm. Walls soar upward for thousands of feet. Flashes of lightning drop like the stitching in curtains. The sand blows in a hypnotic rhythm.

  But then, as I look down, a twister blasts from the wall and sweeps into me. Now I’m weightless inside a spiraling pattern of browns and blues.

  I’m carried up like soda through a crazy straw, the blood rushing to my head as I reach the very top of the sandstorm, with the stars glistening above.

  Now I see the entire storm—and it’s like the desert itself has risen from the dead to seek revenge.

  In the next breath I’m kicked onto my side and falling, picking up speed. I’m a missile on a one-way trip.

  Plunging. Faster. And faster.

  Here comes the ground in three, two—

  I rip back into my body and fall away, onto the platform.

  Someone’s shouting my name.

  It’s quieter now. Still rumbling yes, but nothing as bad as before.

  “Where did you go?” Julie asks.

  “Outside. The storm’s huge. It’ll take days to pass.”

  “Don’t do that again.”

  I spit out some dirt. “Nope.”

  Tommy moves to the center of the platform and raises a hand. “Everyone! Listen up! I know you’re hurtin’, but I also know you’re fighters. We’ll patch you up. And then we’ll get to that temple.” He looks to the grren. “Julie, I know they’re chewed up, but you think they’ll help?”

  She jogs over to grren, connects, and then nods.

  Tommy faces the rumms. “If any of you others can give us a hand, we sure do need it.”

  We’re a mining team. Been here, done this. And we’ll do it again. Because nothing on this planet is easy.

  If you want to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and then binge watch episodes of your favorite TV show, first you’ll need to escape from a sandstorm and then dig through a billion feet of dirt.

  That’s the way we roll on Flora.

  “Just dig us a little tunnel,” Tommy says. “Nothing crazy.”

  Brave and Mama Grren send off their personas. They start burrowing a hole at the top of the pile, as Tommy instructs, and they make swift progress—

  Until tremors strike. We’re afraid our new tunnel might collapse, so the grren rush back out, wait for the rumbling to pass, and then return to the hole.

  Keane and I join several more rumms who help us clear rocks tossed back by the grren. It’s hard work, and we’re sweating like it’s gym class. Meanwhile, up on the platform, Julie’s bandaging Wexx’s forehead.

  I keep looking at her, hoping she’ll see me. I guess Keane notices this and stops working.

  “So you’re not telling her?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you do it right now?”

  “Will you shut up?”

  “I’ll tell her for you.”

  “No, you will not.”

  “She can take it. You’re the one with the problem.”

  “Keane, if you don’t stop...”

  A collective hissing comes from deep inside the tunnel.

  “Hold up, y’all,” Tommy says. “I think they made it.”

  The grren personas file out of the hole.

  Tommy shines his flashlight and lifts his voice. “Okay, we’re good to go. I’ll take a small team, and then after that.... I promise... we’ll be back for everyone.”

  Wexx drags himself to his feet. “You’re not lying?”

  Tommy stares at the boy. “Son, you’re talking to a United States Marine. You won’t find a better promise than that. I’ll come back for you, or I’ll die trying.”

  Wexx nods and returns to his seat near the wall.

  “Doc? Julie? You’ll be staying here,” Tommy says.

  “What?” I ask in disbelief.

  Meeka lifts her voice. “He’s coming. We need him.”

  “Secret weapon?” Tommy asks.

  “That’s right.”

  Tommy lowers his voice. “What’s your plan?”

  Meeka snorts and then looks at me. “You don’t want me talking now.” She raises her chin at Julie.

  I tense.

  Tommy shakes his head. “I’m here to help protect you. All of you. The means knowing your plan as well as the size and composition of this enemy force.”

  “You got everything you need.” Meeka struts off to fetch her rifle and pack.

  Tommy swears under his breath and starts after her. They drift over toward the wall, where she begins whispering in his ear.

  “What the hell’s this?” Julie asks.

  “I don’t know. Meeka’s up to something.”

  “Yeah, using you as the bait. Some secret weapon…”

  “Tommy won’t let her do that.”

  After a moment, he returns and says, “Gear up.”

  “What’d she say?” Julie asks.

  “She’s got a plan, and it’s a good one.”

  “And?” Julie insists.

  “And we just need to find this woman named Flare.”

  “Right,” Julie says darkly, then heads off.

  Tommy looks at me. “I still don’t trust Meeka, but I think this could work…”

  He tells me what Meeka has in mind.

  And wow… apparently what I know about Solomon could save us all.

  * * *

  Once we’re geared up, I motion to the grren. They’re tired and hurt, but they plan to join us.

  Just before we leave, something happens.

  Something special.

  The rumms jump into their personas and crowd around us, holding each other by the shoulders.

  We’re all connected now, even the grren, and we can sense everyone’s well wishes for a safe journey and return.

  But then, as the crowd disbands—

  A new persona shimmers on the platform.

  It’s a middle-aged woman wearing dusty armor and a kilt. Goggles sit on her dark forehead, and her hair’s twisted into dreadlocks.

  “It’s Flare!” Meeka shouts.

  She and Tommy open fire.

  But Flare just smiles and flickers into nothingness.

  “We need to go!” Meeka cries.

  “And what? Walk into a trap?” Tommy argues.

  “No, she’ll talk to us!”

  “Of course she will, after they grab us!”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Tommy orders the rumms to take covering positions along the tracks and guard the hole.

  If anyone comes through, the rumms holler, “Challenge!”

  And the reply is, “U.S. Marine Corps!”

  Anyone who doesn’t reply with that dies.

  The grren take point, crawling through the tunnel.

  Tommy follows, along with Julie, Keane, Steffanie, Meeka, and me.

  We cross onto an elevated but narrow walkway running parallel with the tracks. The grren barely fit.

  With flashlights in hand, we sprint ahead toward the next station. Boots echo. The grren pant with exertion. We pass the next platform.

  Another sign: Monkshood Temple—next stop.
>
  We never make it.

  Lights flash into our eyes—

  And then ten heavily armed nomads confront us.

  The grren howl and rise onto their hind legs.

  “Hold your fire!” Meeka shouts. “We surrender! I’m telling you, we surrender!”

  She puts down her rifle, runs out in front of the grren, and then raises her hands.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shout.

  “Guns down,” she says. “We surrender! Do it!”

  Tommy looks at me. “The grren can take these guys out. But they won’t survive it.”

  “I’m sorry, but they got us,” Julie says. “We’re not letting the grren die for us.”

  “They don’t have to,” Meeka says. “Just do what I say!”

  “Is this part of your plan?” Julie asks.

  “Yes!” Meeka screams.

  The lead nomad, who wears a blue bandana beneath the goggles on his forehead, waves his rifle at Brave and Mama Grren. “Call them off.”

  “Julie?” Meeka says. “Tell them to go back to the hole and wait for us. Tell them not to worry.”

  With a nod, Julie gets busy.

  “Young lady, I hope you got this all figured out,” Tommy warns Meeka. “Because you’re dealing with the devil.”

  She smiles. “No, I’m not.”

  Brave and Mama Grren hop down, onto the tracks.

  But they don’t leave. They just wait behind us.

  “See, even they don’t trust these guys,” Tommy says.

  The lead nomad orders us down off the walkway. His people collect rifles and surround us.

  “Uh, in case anyone’s interested, I’m in the Hood right now,” Keane says. “And they’re telling me the worst part of the sandstorm hasn’t even reached us yet.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say through a groan.

  We’re marched to the next platform, where we ascend a small ladder and are ushered into the stairwell.

  At the top, we’re led into a warehouse beneath the temple. At least that’s where Meeka thinks we are.

  Rows of groceries that seem a mile long stand well over our heads. Some of the food comes from Publix, Winn-Dixie, and Walmart.

  We turn down an intersecting row, reach another door, and then, behind it lies a smaller room, a candlelit office—

  Housing the engine. It’s an exact replica of the one Hollis showed me, with the cannons and horizontal wreath, except the tanks are painted yellow instead of red.