Tourists of the Apocalypse

by WALLER, C. F.

  ….

  Everything feels like slow motion this morning. Fitz stays in bed, but when I smell coffee my ability to sleep evaporates. I’m soon joined by Graham and Violet at the dining room table. No one’s eating anything, just coffee and small talk. Violet, whose face is nearly back to normal, follows my mother into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Graham. He tips back his chair, making sure Violet’s not around the corner.

  “Fitz turned up, but no Lance?” he confirms.

  “Yeah, sometime last night she crawled into bed and told me he went into town.”

  “She walk here from town?” he queries, sipping his coffee.

  “Have to ask her,” I suggest, but a loud diesel rumbling echo’s down the street.

  We get up and go to the door. A huge vehicle is coming down the street. It’s grey with black tires at least four feet high, maybe taller. The rubber looks wet as if the tires were recently wiped down. It reminds me of a personnel carrier, open down the middle of the bed with high walls on the sides. The cab is square with thick glass I can only assume is of their bullet-proof variety. All of this aside, the true oddity is sitting in the back close to the rear gate.

  “Is that a Goliath?” I gasp, studying the gun turret.

  “Looks like it,” Graham sighs. “That should eliminate the road pirate problem.”

  He’s not wrong. I don’t know how fast this contraption goes, but coming up behind or alongside it looks like suicide to me. The gun is mounted near the back and may be tall enough to cover both sides. Two smaller cars come into view behind it. These look more like Sand Rails, a type of dune buggy. These two are for the highway with smooth tires and welded steel cowcatchers front and back. We watch as they pull into the cul-de-sac and park in the center.

  Lance hops out of the passenger side and meets T-Buck who has come out onto his lawn. The two converse, with Lance pointing to the huge truck several times. Graham and I stay on the porch with our coffee, preferring to let him come to us. T-Buck hollers for Blister and the two of them disappear on the driver’s side of the truck to work on something. Lance starts toward his house, but Graham puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loud enough to make me jump, making me spill coffee on my shirt. Graham waves when Lance turns around, drawing him in our direction.

  “Let him do the talking,” he whispers, putting on a huge fake smile.

  I nod, but before he can get to us, Dickey comes marching down the street. He runs into Lance on the sidewalk in front of my house. It’s curious that Lance stops to listen so intently to a person he tried to have killed yesterday. The two drift back in the direction of T-Buck’s place where Dickey’s Mustang sits on the curb, a puddle of radiator fluid under the battered front end. An animated conversation occurs next to the car. Lance does a lot of nodding, stopping to peek back at us several times.

  “What do you suppose is going on there?” I whisper.

  “My guess,” Graham offers and pauses. “The man wants to get his car fixed.”

  “Think he’s saying anything he shouldn’t?”

  “Time will tell,” he nods at Lance who is now marching in our direction.

  “Heard you had a dust up on the highway yesterday,” Lance shouts, crossing the sidewalk into my yard.

  I nod, looking at Graham, who says nothing. Lance walks right up to the porch steps, but doesn’t come up. It feels odd looking down on him this way when he’s holding all the cards.

  “Fitz here?”

  I nod, following Graham’s lead and remain silent.

  “I’m going to need to her to come back with us,” he explains. “Not permanently of course, but she’s agreed to lend a hand to our medical staff.”

  “Did she now?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry, Dylan. I’ll make sure you two get to spend plenty of time together,” he promises. “She can split her time between here and the Hive.”

  “Or, you could just find something for him to do out there,” Graham suggests in an obvious attempt to annoy the King.

  “I’m going to need him to stay here with you,” Lance explains, the corners of his mouth revealing a smile. “I’m relocating T-Buck out to the Hive so Dylan’s got to stay here and keep an eye on you.”

  “That’s convenient,” I grumble under my breath.

  I hear Fitz’s feet padding down the stairs, but keep my eyes on Lance. Graham drinks the last of his coffee and hands me the cup. Without saying a word, he steps down the porch stairs and stands shoulder to shoulder with Lance. It’s a silent pissing match as they glare at each other. Just when I’m sure a fight is going to occur, Graham smiles. There’s a tense pause and then he turns sideways and slips past Lance. He whistles loudly as he walks back to his house, arcing around the enormous truck as he does so.

  “What’s going on in town?” I ask, trying to shift the subject.

  “Something of a pharmaceutical crisis,” he reports. “Nothing we can’t sort out.”

  “There you are,” Fitz chirps, slipping out the creaking screen door. “Give us a minute will ya Lance?”

  His eyes never leave mine. He has to know about me and Izzy, but if so, why the shell game? T-Buck eventually drags him into a conversation. Blister passes by loading stuff from their house onto the truck. Fitz takes me by the elbow and turns me away from the street.

  “You offered to move out there?” I complain under my breath.

  “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

  “How is this good for me?”

  “Because you’re gonna be stuck here for the time being. I volunteered to set up a trauma unit out there, but only if they let me come back here every couple days.”

  “So we could pretend to be a couple?”

  “Of course not,” she balks, pulling me close to whisper. “So I can keep in touch with Izzy for you Sport.”

  This had not occurred to me. If Fitz comes and goes as she pleases I can correspond with Izzy on a regular basis. Still, it won’t be the same as seeing her. He has to know about us.

  “Do you think he knows?”

  “Let’s say he suspects,” she proposes, looking over her shoulder in Lance’s direction.

  “I’ll catch a ride out with Dickey.”

  “I doubt that. Project Dickey has been cancelled.”

  “What do you mean cancelled?”

  “Lance is going to use the big truck or the chase cars to shuttle stuff. The Dickey express is closed for now.”

  This is a sobering moment. I try and recall how long it’s been since Dickey became the messenger? After all this time what’s he going to do now? A quick look reveals he’s trying to pry the hood on his car up. T-Buck is leaving, so there won’t be anyone to fix it.

  “He’s cutting us out,” I whisper into her ear. “You need to forget about me and make friends out there.”

  “I thought I mentioned making two new friends yesterday,” she winks, pulling her hair up in a ponytail with a rubber band.

  “I didn’t think you were serious,” I chuckle, recalling a veiled claim of a threesome.

  “I never lie about sex. Stop worrying. I’ll be back in three days or so. Get the lay of the land around here and we can put our heads together when I get back.”

  “And, if you don’t come back?”

  “Then come out there and get me,” she whispers, peeking back to see where Lance is. “You’re my boyfriend. If they try and keep me there it’s your excuse to come visit.”

  When Lance looks our way she kisses me, her arms pulling me close. We kiss so often it’s become common place for me. I suddenly realize I’m kissing her back. And she is kissing me for real. I scan over my memories to determine how long this has been going on. I fear it’s been quite a while. Shocked at myself for enjoying it, I pull away. She looks at me oddly as if offended, then scampers out to the truck and climbs in the cab, followed by Lance. The truck’s engine groans and then it slowly circles the turnaround and heads down the street. The two chase cars follow along like baby ducks following their m
other.

  I stand like a statue for some time contemplating my feelings. How close to the line are Fitz and I? Unable to determine, I leave the cups on the porch rail and wander over to Dickey. He’s got the hood pried up revealing an exploded upper hose and a pinched radiator support. He makes several trips into T-Bucks garage, returning with tools and hose clamps, but does no actual repair work.

  “How long ya think to get her fixed?” I ask after watching him stare for several minutes.

  “Oh, oh, oh who cares now. I don’t need a car to sit here and do nothing.”

  “Too bad you can’t drive one of those dune buggy chase cars. You’d be perfect for that.”

  “Yuh, yuh, yup,” he nods, looking off into space.

  Standing there, a glowing light is visible from under Graham’s garage door. He didn’t take everything. Mr. Dibble is still here. The Fail Safe and the Client are still on my end. There may be hope yet.

  ….

  Fitz comes home a few days a week as promised. I shorten any faux kisses that we share, but don’t try and explain. While pretending not to notice at first, I can sense she feels slighted by the distance between us. Is slighted the right word? I want to broach the subject with her, but imagine it going badly for any number of reasons and don’t.

  She brings tiny scraps of paper with hearts and smiley faces on them from Izzy. Long letters having the possibility of being read by others so we stick with post-apocalyptic texting on gum wrappers. She’s miserable and I am sure she wants me to try and see her, but with all the information being filtered through Fitz the message to stay put is loud and clear.

  Three months into my banishment to the cul-de-sac, there is an incursion in town. At first, we hear random gunfire, but over an hours’ time it’s clear that a battle is taking place. I climb up on the roof of the house, but can’t see much over the tree line. The obvious guess is that a rough band of wanderers moving along the highway are trying to get into town. Lance armed the town to keep just this thing from occurring. Graham advises us all to wait and see. There are four security guys working our street and they post two men at the end of the road in case trouble comes this way.

  I stroll down to Dickey’s house, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The Mustang is in the driveway, but he hasn’t moved it much since he fixed the radiator. The word fixed I use quite loosely. Unable to find a radiator the correct size, he cut the front five inches off the hood with a saws-all and installed a radiator from a truck. It sticks up three inches through the gap in the now much shorter hood. There’s a yellow ratchet strap from one front wheel well to the other holding the hood down. I have seen him driving it, but steam puffs from a rubber hose hanging off the exposed cap, leaving me wondering how far the car would actually go.

  Leaning down to peek in, I can see the keys aren’t in the ignition. Truthfully, I can’t drive a stick anyway so it’s a moot point. This close to the end of the street, I can hear sporadic gunfire so I lean on the car and watch the nervous looking security guys. Graham comes shuffling down the street eating an apple and joins me. He claims he can drive a stick, but advises me to sit this one out. We lean on rear bumper and watch the sun go down. By the time darkness takes over our tiny street all’s quiet from the direction of town.

  ….

  When I come down the stairs in the morning, Fitz is sitting with my mother drinking coffee. Peeking out the front window I don’t see the big truck, only two of the small chase cars that look like dune buggies. Apparently they arrived at sunrise and have to return to the Hive by nightfall. It’s been over seven months since the lights went out and things are getting rough out there. Fitz caught a ride when she discovered they were bringing out something for Mr. Dibble, but she warns that Lance might just pull him out if it gets too dangerous. This would seem to be bad for us.

  When my mother pushes aside the front curtains and comments that Graham and Violet are up, Fitz takes my hand and drags me upstairs. They will no doubt be over here soon for breakfast. Once in my room, she points for me to sit down and I take a seat on the bed.

  “We got good news and bad news,” she sighs.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been honoring me again.”

  “Yes, but,” she mutters and pauses, looking conflicted. “You want the good or the bad?”

  “Good.”

  “You’re going be a father,” she reveals, her excitement clearly forced.

  “I’m what?”

  “Izzy’s pregnant,” she sighs, wincing. “Technically that’s also the bad news.”

  “She’s can’t be. They’re all sterile after coming through the time whatever.”

  “Right, well, just like condoms and birth control pills, the only way to be 100% sure is not to have sex.”

  “Hold on,” I argue. “She said her eggs would be fried?”

  “I know,” she nods, patting my shoulder. “And I’m here telling you she’s pregnant. Trust me. I’m a medical professional.”

  I pause and try to think of something to say. Part of me is horrified at this turn of events, but another part of me is bursting at the seams. I was under the impression she could never carry my child, but if that’s not the case, then this is good news. A cloud passes over my consciousness as I recall she was also sleeping with Lance. Before I can verbalize this, Fitz speaks. Apparently she was waiting for this to dawn on me.

  “It’s yours.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “They both went through the cosmic tunnel of birth control,” she points out. “The odds against her being pregnant are a million to one. The odds against her getting pregnant from a guy who came through with her are impossible.”

  “How far along is she?”

  “Seven months,” she hedges, waffling a hand in front of her, “Maybe more. She’s starting to show. We won’t be able to hide it for much longer.”

  “How are you hiding it at all?” I shrug, thinking she sleeps in his bed.

  “We set him up last week. Sargent Slaughter had a few too many and I dragged him in the lady’s room and let him get to first base.”

  “You what?” I bark too loudly and then cover my mouth.

  “Alright, maybe second base,” she groans. “Skirt up, panties on.”

  “You’re missing the actual reason I’m shocked.”

  “Relax, Izzy waited and then opened the door and pretended to catch us. It gave her a reason to sleep on the couch for a while. She’s playing the wronged woman.”

  “But sooner or later?”

  “Sooner, rather than later, he’s going to know what’s been going on,” she tosses up her hands. “I think you need to consider making a break for it.”

  “Even if I wanted to, how would Izzy get away from the Hive?”

  “Hold on,” she argues, holding her hands up. “I wasn’t suggesting you and Izzy run. I was saying that you should run.”

  “I’m not going without her. Besides, he’d kill her.”

  “He wouldn’t be happy that much is true. But if you weren’t around, then he could just pretend it’s his. The great big ego maniac would love it.”

  “But it’s not his.”

  “Now who’s an ego maniac?” she remarks. “For the record, Izzy doesn’t want you to run either. Neither of you are thinking straight.”

  “She loves me and I love her.”

  “Newsflash,” she wags her finger in my face. “It’s the things we love the most that destroy us.”

  There is a tap on the door putting an end to our discussion. The door opens just a bit and Violet’s smiling face appears. We all go down to the dining room and have breakfast. The topic of my pregnant girlfriend is not discussed until Violet and my mother go to the kitchen to clean up. Fitz tells Graham the story and we sit for some time in silence. I’m looking at Graham who doesn’t look surprised. Why isn’t he more upset? In an odd way Graham suddenly drops the subject and asks about what happened in town.

  Fitz reports that a band of Road Pirates pushed in off th
e highway and took over part of the town. They set a lot of fires and grabbed up some of the women. When she passed by town, they were at a standstill. Pirates on the north side, Townies on the south. The highway entrance is now Pirate territory so she and her escorts had to come off an exit earlier and pilot a single lane road to get here. When asked if the discourse will spread to us, she is convinced it won’t. She doesn’t think Lance will let it while Mr. Dibble is still here. The two drivers who brought Fitz tap on the front door and interrupt. They’re looking for some food before going back, so we clear out and let them have the room.

  We reconvene in the street and try to come up with a plan. Since we can’t get into the Hive to break Izzy out, Graham asks Fitz if she might sneak Izzy out on the next visit. This plan has a lot of upside for us, but would be dangerous for the girls. After several minutes of grumbling, Fitz admits that it’s possible. I tease her about letting Lance get to second base during her last sneaky plan, but she suggests second base might not get Izzy out the door. When I try and take back what I said, she slaps me on the shoulder and admits that post-apocalyptic-whore was always in the cards.

  This is a funny comment, but when she told me Lance touched her I experienced a flash of anger. Was I sad she had to do that for me or was I jealous? The longer I ruminate on this, the worse my mood. Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to know the answers. The conversation plows on regarding the jail break, drawing me off this issue.

  There are no good suggestions of where to go once Izzy gets here, but when Fitz has to take leave of us Graham promises to sort something out. We assume three days, as has been the schedule prior to today, but Fitz warns us to be prepared for anything. Graham and I watch from the porch as the two chase cars disappear down the street.

  “Think she can actually get Izzy out the door?” he asks.

  “She’s resourceful. If she does, where can we go?”