The Last Days_Conclude [Book 3 of 3]

by Chris Ayala

  The guitar drummed. Anton kept to just the strings and not the vocals, admitting that his voice sounded like an ox humping a rhino. His song faded into a whisper in the night. Royal clapped her hands, "Bravo."

  She blew on her marshmallow before taking a bite. Anton scoffed, "Any idea what's in those marshmallows?"

  Figuring one of his vegan rants couldn't possibly ruin the taste of the good old-fashioned snack, she humored herself. "No. What?"

  "It has gelatin." He said it as though it had been brewed in a witch's cauldron.

  "Jell-O? What's wrong with Jell-O?"

  "It's made of animal byproduct. Remnants of being with a soul." He looked up at the clouds. "Just like that. The byproduct of humanity. There's ashes of humans, animals, buildings...all floating up there like it all meant nothing."

  Her appetite sank the longer she stared at those clouds. Admittedly, Royal never thought of the ash like that. "Is it too late?" she asked aloud to more herself than to Anton.

  The guitar strummed for a bit before he stopped to munch on white crackers with filthy hands. This coming from the man who scolded Royal for flushing the toilet after she peed. If it's brown, flush it down – if it's yellow, leave it mellow. "We just need someone strong enough to defeat the government and erase further toxins being released. Mother Earth will heal herself. I hope."

  Nodding, Royal placed the tree branch with the marshmallow into the fire and listened to it sizzle. She listened to Anton play another slow tune filled with sorrow. The branch eventually turned black and crumbled away into a stronger force. Was the Union stronger? Could they defeat the fire that tore them apart and melted them into ashes?

  Anton finished the last note on his guitar. But something odd happened. Something that made Royal stay absolutely still. The noise of the strumming didn't cease. It transformed into a frightening sound she'd never heard before. High pitched and uniformed together, the clatter came from all around them. Anton's eyes scared her more than the phenomenon, because she'd never seen him scared before.

  "They're coming," he shuttered. "Locusts."

  Killer locusts bred from government labs in Africa had escaped the same day nuclear mayhem spread around the world. From what she'd heard, no one had ever survived the sting to tell about its effect. Apparently not being his first encounter, Anton spat out orders as he stood slowly. "They detect breathing. You'll have to hold your breath."

  The nightmare of thrown into a pool by her father came back to her. You have to learn things the hard way. Instead, she nearly drowned and a lifeguard had to perform CPR to loosen the water in her lungs. "I can't do this," she whispered as the sound got louder. Not far from her was an over-turned tree with a hallow inside. With her tiny body, Royal suspected she could squeeze through the truck of the tree and hide.

  Anton must've read her mind. "Don't run. You're breathing will exhilarate."

  Her breathing was already exhilarating. How long would she have to hold her breath? What if they didn't keep passing? What if they're stingers accidentally hit her? Would they get stuck in her hair? She knew she should've worn her cap.

  "Take a deep breath," he demanded.

  She couldn't be less prepared for this, much like her daddy's attempt at teaching her nine-year old self how to swim. Thankful for making the decision to quit cigarettes and spouting ugly anti-government rhetoric over the radio, Royal could take a deep breath without coughing. But lung cancer sounded much less painful than a sting of locust venom. Attacking the nervous and muscular system, reports said that the stinger stiffens the body so it's victim feels every bit of pain without a way to react. Royal never imagined the day would happen she'd face these tiny monsters.

  She held her breath as the swarm approached. It seemed like a king sized comforter floating in mid-air. The yellow blob had hundreds, maybe even thousands, of the mechanical insects. Her heart raced and begged for air. Piercing her lips, Royal stood still. The swarm moved past Anyone, blanketing him to the point she felt alone. What she thought was the size of a king sized comforter turned into the size of a King's room. The swarm spread out hunting for prey. If only they liked marshmallows, she would've been happy to toss the entire bag at the sinister insects. But they didn't feed on sweets. They didn't feed on anything. Manufactured to kill anything breath, their purpose was just to murder.

  Air was running out. How long were they going to linger? She saw that tree trunk, lying sideways with a hiding place. Maybe Royal just needed to time it right. Even though she couldn't see Anton, she felt his disapproval. But what else could be done? Eventually, like all humans, she needed to breath. And her lack of swimming skills also meant her lack of holding her breath.

  One of the curious nano machines made its way toward her; its eyes (or sensors more like) darted around. It stared in her direction. Panic raced her heart passed the point of beating and sounded like a steady strum. Matching the steady strum of the locusts about to kill her.

  She fled. Faster than she'd ever ran. Faster than any human ever ran. Without looking behind her, never look behind she learned from horror movies, the locusts no doubt chased her. Royal dashed then slid like a game of softball and the hollow trunk was third base. But the satisfaction quickly faded. In her race to escape certain death, it never occurred to her that the open end of the tree trunk had no type of plug. The locusts could still get inside. She scurried backwards. The manhole sized open end of the trunk reminded her of the failed attempt. Her ears stung as the sound of locusts became louder as they approached.

  Zzzzzz….zzzzzzzzz……..zzzzzzzz………

  Someone blocked the other end of the trunk. Anton. His body covered the hole. He looked directly in her eyes and said, "You're stronger than me. Stop the Union."

  Before he could say a final goodbye, he screamed at the top of his throat as hundreds of locusts. He froze and blood poured out of his nose. Her cries muted the screeches of the locusts. She yelled so loud her throat hurt immediately. Anton's frozen body bled from the ears and mouth. He was still alive, blinking every so often. Blood popped out of his eye sockets and ran down his face like tears.

  It might have been several minutes or several hours. Royal wasn't sure. The locusts had left a long time ago. Even the scavengers, feeding on the tainted leftover blood of Anton, had left. But Royal still stared. Every once in a while, she hoped Anton would give some sign of life. Maybe a twitch or a blink of the eyes. Then she could tell him sorry. Like that would somehow undo the mistake she had made. A mistake that cost a life.

  When the tears on her face had dried and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Royal's body had suffered steep dehydration. It passed her mind to maybe just die here. Then Anton's voice, in some ghostly recording in her head, would whisper Stop the Union.

  Growing up in the South, the television always showed commercials about military heroes. The people that sacrificed every day. But they never showed what those sacrifices looked like. Anton's corpse turned into a something Mama would put on the porch during Halloween with a Tupperware full of candy. The locusts had sucked so much of his blood, that his skin went even more pale. Almost to the color of pure white like freshly bleached linens. With a gentle shove, she pushed Anton's body out of the way and sneaked out of the tree's hiding place.

  After spending an hour digging a hole with bare hands, she dragged Anton's body in and covered it with dirt. It was the best she could do. Anton wanted to be one with the earth someday. Without a doubt, the earth wanted to be one with him too. How had she survived? Why did she survive? Did she deserve to survive?

  The long walk back, Royal kept her head down in deep thought. But when she made it to the front door and entered the subway station – she couldn't remember any of it.

  Wearing a pink flowery and sun hat over that brunette wig, Zharkova looked as though she should be on a beach somewhere not inside a subway station. She sat on the bench with her nose stuck in a novel. Royal never seen her read.

  Without looking up, she spouted, "
Where have you both been? It's been all night. I can't sleep until I receive a warm cup of hot cocoa. Anton knows this." Not until she glanced up did she realize Royal was alone. Once again, their eyes met and Zharkova just stared. Royal heard once that psychopaths stare a lot to interpret human reactions. "What happened?"

  Three explanations came to her head as she faced Zharkova. The first speech in her head explained everything: we snuck out, we sat around playing music, we ate marshmallows, we flirted, locusts appeared, I overreacted and Anton sacrificed himself to save me. The explanation seemed too long, so she came up with a shorter version: we were out in the woods and locusts showed up; Anton protected me from certain death and lost his life. No. Telling Zharkova that her only son gave his life to save Royal's pitiful American life...well, that would be like telling Zharkova that the United States was better than Russia. Instead, Royal settled on shrinking the large explanation to a short one. A very one. She whispered only one word. "Locusts."

  The Russian leader paused, pulling the fake strands from her wig out of her face. "Okay. And my son..."

  This time, Royal said nothing. That explanation had no words.

  Zharkova pressed her lips together and her head bobbled a little. She probably had a long rant forming in her, but instead...she slapped Royal across the face. Royal's head swung to the right and she immediately pressed her palm to the red cheek. It didn't hurt. Not really. Not as much as Anton's absence did.

  No further words came out of her mouth. Zharkova bookmarked her page in the book with a leaflet and walked away.

  Trying to contemplate all that happen, Royal felt weak at the knees and sat on the bench still warm from Zharkova. She only thought of Anton's heroism. How he just dodged in front of those locusts with no fear while Royal panicked like a squirrel in the middle of a highway. It took a certain control, or maybe acceptance, to do such a thing. Was she ready to do that? Ready to hop in front of danger at a moment's notice?

  Soldiers could train to be heroic without actually being heroic. Which meant there was something else. Something inside the soul that had to make that decision. Royal closed her eyes and concentrated.

  Then she made a vow. A vow to never be afraid of death ever again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Mashed potatoes with smooth brown gravy, vibrant green beans, carrots smothered in warm butter, and sliced ham with crispy skin sat on a plate untouched. Janice admired the food, almost as perfect as a Christmas dinner at the White House. But yet, she felt the least bit of hunger. She'd literally starved herself the whole day in anticipation of the holiday gathering at the cafeteria, but still couldn't touch the stuff. Something inside her stomach gnawed and twisted her. It would be day three without eating.

  Adam noticed, practically finished and pulling up the bowl of cranberry dessert leftover from Thanksgiving a few weeks back. "Not going to eat?" It was the most caring comment he had made in months.

  She pushed the plate aside and kept the fork planted in the potatoes, in case one of the cooks passed by, she could pretend to be in the middle of eating. Considering all that had been done to get this meal, she should have been grateful. Which she was. Grateful, just not hungry. Changing the subject made her feel less intimidated. "Who are they? The names?"

  Streaming in unique patterns around his arms and body had been several names. Her husband would've, at least, spoken with her about it before making such a drastic move as a body tattoo. Then again, Adam barely understood how to be a boyfriend, much less a husband. Janice's eyes scanned the room, hoping that Gerard would have joined the feast.

  Adam, reading a notepad with what she assumed was a string of algorithms for his program, never looked up. "What was that? Sorry. I'm still working on some coding to get messages through to our people in other countries."

  "I understand," she said. And she actually did. "My father was the President of the United States, I know what it's like when someone is distracted." Janice wanted to say she understood what it was like to be ignored.

  He brushed aside the empty bowl of dessert and pad of paper, turning his attention to her. Nelson used to do the same thing, guilt clearing the mind. "Is it your stomach again?"

  "It's everything."

  And he genuinely looked sad and helpless. "Maybe I could get you a decoy chip and get an actual doctor to check you out."

  "I'll be fine," Janice said unsure why she didn't want anyone to fix her.

  Looking for something else to chat about, Adam twirled his thumbs. Either he couldn't find something else or didn't want to talk about something else. "So is…um…they still green?"

  Janice nodded.

  "No chance they change?" He said, staring with those perfect brown eyes.

  Janice shook her head. "99 percent probability." There was no telling what was on his mind, relief or repentance. Everyone sat at tables, grinning with mouths full of turkey, and yet she didn't feel much to celebrate. In just a couple months, the one year anniversary of Doomsday arrived on January 7th. Maybe some saw a reason to be thrilled at how much had been accomplished, and there had, but Janice still felt alone.

  In the distance, past three tables of mothers singing and clapping to a melody with children, sat Gerard. He too looked alone, munching on cranberry sauce while picking at the vegetables. He hated vegetables.

  "Ask him," Adam said.

  Janice hesitated, going to stand but sitting back immediately. "Don't you ever get scared."

  "Scared of what?"

  "Decisions."

  Adam picked at a scab starting to form on his forearm from the tattoo. She read the name Brent Celest in black letters. "Brent actually was the one who gave me the courage to speak to you the first time. Can you believe it? He was always protective of you, but he knew that if I spoke to you…it would alter the future. I ponder what life I would be living if I didn't approached my sexy married Professor and asked to her party with me." Party they did. Too much partying. If they hadn't met, Janice wouldn't have committed the some-would-call sins. Long nights of psychedelic adventures or blackout Bliss. But on the other hand, she wouldn't have ended up here. Adam had led her down a distinct paths, but a path nonetheless. Sometimes, when not content with the trail, it was necessary to return back. "Hey, can I ask you something? Did you…hate Gerard when you first met him?"

  "Oh God, yes. He drove me insane. So cocky and rude, we argued constantly. Then one day…it just slipped away."

  "I have this theory," Adam said, "that the best relationships are the ones that start with all the anger, hurt, and frustration. That way, you get nothing left but love, admiration, and friendship. Maybe its a side effect of our evolution to sex."

  Janice smirked, "Well. That's your new writing assignment for this week. I want it on my desk by Friday."

  Returning the smirk, they both shared a silent memory of better times when college was the only stress. "Ask him," Adam repeated. "I know you want to."

  She laid her hand on top of his. "I'm always going to love you. You know that, right?"

  He nodded and gave a slight smile. "Ditto."

  Without much more to say, their relationship had came to end before it even reached a satisfying beginning. Much too naive for her and she too mulish for him, Janice and Adam never connected in the way opposites did. She stood up and walked towards Gerard. He sat alone, chewing slowly on the juicy turkey. When she went to sit down, he stopped chewing and stared at her that way he did in High School.

  "Hey," he said with his mouth full, an aggravating bad habit but something she missed.

  Janice twisted her finger where her wedding ring, lost somewhere in these long travels, used to be. The wedding ring she'd worn for over twenty years. "Would you like to see him?"

  He finished chewing and swallowed. Putting down his fork, he seemed genuinely confused. "See who?"

  Letting the mystery that had been resting on her chest, keeping her from breathing, finally come to fruition felt relieving. The mystery that started with a pregnancy
test that showed a plus sign. Janice said, "Your baby."

  Doing her best to make the concrete four-walled and no window room more homely, Janice grew some plants. Without light, they didn't grow much. Neither did Janice. She felt wilted most days and malnourished the other days. Gerard had asked if she was okay, during that awkward walk to her room; her reply was the usual Please stop asking that.

  Though her living quarters wasn't much to look at, she kept it clean and tidy. So Janice couldn't understand why Gerard had stopped at the door, almost frozen in time. Not until he looked at the crib. Nestled, on his back with plenty of blankets, Colin didn't make much noise. He was always so quiet, like his mother. "He's not asleep."

  "I know," Gerard whispered.

  Her shoulders slumped as the right side of her mouth smirked. That wide-eyed stare looked familiar. Nelson had that same pause right before entering the Oval Office for the first time. Things were going to be different, not just now but forever. Janice placed her hand on his arm. It had been the closest they'd touched in almost a year. "It's going to be okay."

  Again, he whispered unnecessarily. "What if he doesn't like me? And…and…he starts screaming. What if I'm one of those dads that can hold a baby right? What if I drop him? Jesus Christ, Janice, what if I drop him?"

  "It's fine," she giggled. "You'll know what to do, it's instinct." Though she wouldn't admit it took her hours to practice tying on a diaper. Janice tugged at his arm and he entered the quiet room.

  Colin stared at the visitor with those breath-taking green eyes. His legs danced in the pajamas that probably too big for him, but he'd eventually grow into. She only hoped he wouldn't grow too fast; babies were so innocent and uncorrupted by this world. Being a mother was her only relief.

  "He likes to make people laugh," she commented.

  Gerard gave a nervous chuckle, as if he didn't believe her. But right on queue, Colin began to coo and swing his arms with a gigantic smile on his face. "Wow, no kidding. He really does like it. He's going to grow up to be a comedian. I know it."