Apocalyptic Fears II: Select Bestsellers: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Greg Dragon

  “But the cure didn’t work on T-path,” I whispered surprising myself.

  “They waited too long,” continued Broily not hearing me. “I’m sure there was some sort of marketing formula for the best time to release the cure for highest profits. Typically it was at the point of maximum worldwide press coverage to optimize the publicity of the cure. Usually that meant several million dead, but T-path was different. By the time the cure was introduced, the original contagion had mutated, the cure didn’t work. The irony is that those who caught the original T-path, and received the immunization, had immunity to the T-path 4, Red T-path, and Cromel’s mutations. The problem was that the T-path mutations inherited the originally designed T-path long gestation period. This was in order to spread the contagion to as many people as possible before that person became obviously sick, and thus increase exposure and subsequent profits.”

  “Lot of good it did them,” grunted Grandpa beside me.

  “The governments and the corporations tried to step in, but all they really wanted to do was quarantine the sick so those folks would die without infecting their privileged selves. If you tested positive for any form of T-path, they locked you up in camps. Everyone who was immune, of course, still tested positive so we were herded into the camps with the rest. Little food or water, no medical care. Desperate men and women with a ticking death sentence. All the fear and depravity of mankind burst forth eventually in the world and for those of us with immunity all we could do was hide...and endure. Once enough folks died we were able to break out of the camps and return to our homes. But it had all changed.”

  I glanced at mother. She stared at the ceiling vacantly as her hands knit. I wonder if she was remembering or seeking to distract herself.

  He indicated those in the room, “All of us here are descended from someone who received the cure and either escaped from those horrific camps or hid away somewhere.”

  “And now we’re immune,” said little Ginny cheerfully hugging a soft lump of dirty cloth that might once have resembled an animal.

  “Yes,” answered the old man. “I’m sure T-path and all its mutations are still out there somewhere. Maybe dormant, sleeping for now. It never infected animals, of course, that wouldn’t have been very profitable, so maybe without human hosts it is truly gone. For all we know it’s still ravaging other parts of the world.”

  “Tell us about the years after,” cried another of the little ones. “How the Dark Times and how the Shriekers came, and the war they fought so they could protect us.”

  Broily gazed around the room, meeting the sad eyes of his fellow survivors from that time. “Not tonight, little ones, it is getting late.”

  I wondered how terrible those days must have been. We heard at least one version of the Story of the Great Plague every week during the Remembering, but they never talked about the Dark Times. It must have been truly horrible.

  “Tell us about the Knights of the Watch,” said Lucas, a small sandy-headed boy who many thought was one of Reaper’s children. If so, the little boy was unexpectedly sweet, not inheriting any of his father’s tendencies.

  The adults in the room groaned in unison. They knew that this was a stalling technique to keep from going to bed, but Broily was obsessed with the Knights and unlike everyone except the little children he actually believed they existed somewhere. To me, the idea of men risking their lives to help others they didn’t even know, was as far-fetched as the flying steel birds the Sad Ones speak about, more so even.

  Broily settled back down with his face more relaxed. I noticed there was even a childish twinkle and delight in his eyes. “In the early days it was the worst. No one knew what was going to happen. People kept expecting the government or some powerful corporation to come rolling in to save them, but those organizations were long gone. Whole cities simply vanished into great spasms of violent rapine and murder. Desperate animals and men fought over the corpses. Mothers ate the infants that only months before they had lovingly suckled. Fires blotted the sky so that some thought the sun had vanished forever. It was all gone. Those that were left wished for death.”

  I noticed Mother had stopped her frantic knitting and was listening. With a flash of intuition I realize that Broily wasn’t the only one who wanted to believe. The image of an eye, painted onto a wall came to mind. The Shriekers obliterated any symbol of the imaginary Knights of the Watch, so these eyes rarely lasted long, but they still appeared on occasion. Maybe others wanted to believe as well.

  “Out of that despair of death and ruin, men of strength and valor emerged,” Broily proclaimed triumphantly. “They banded together to protect and defend what they could. These men did not abandon their charge and they fought off the attacks of the marauders, the mobs, the road gangs, and the rogue soldiers. The Knights watched over these small pockets where people could survive like humans. Eventually these small pockets began to communicate with each other and became—“

  “Broily,” cried out Crazy Reuben, “have you ever actually seen one of these Knights of the Watch? Better yet, have you ever even talked to someone who’s seen them?” I noticed without surprise that in addition to his normal erratic behavior Reuben was also drunk. Most likely from the peach wine or schnapps he made for the Shriekers.

  Startled, Broily opened his mouth and then shut it again before finally answering. “Lack of evidence is not evidence of lack.”

  Reuben snorted. “Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

  “It means,” explained Broily with exaggerated patience, “that there is more evidence that they do exist than that they do not. And if they are out there, they could—“

  “They could what?” asked Reuben. “Come help us? Start a fight with the Shriekers? Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that? Next time they’ll chop off you damn tongue, or maybe even your head instead of just the hand you write...excuse me, wrote with.”

  Broily turned pale and then red.

  “That’s enough for tonight,” said Mother loudly, startling me. “Good night everyone, we have a long day of work tomorrow and let us all thank the Protectors for what we have. That is the purpose of the Remembering and why we are allowed to meet like this. Let us not abuse their generosity.”

  There were several murmurs, but the crowd in the room began to move and break into bits and pieces as everyone made their way either back to a home or the Dormitory.

  I was embarrassed for Mother though I couldn’t say why. She walked beside me as I pushed Grandpa’s wheelchair. He looked up at Mother and I tensed for what would likely be one of his rare reprimands.

  Instead he reached out and took Mother’s hand. “Well done, Margaret.”

  She looked down at him and actually smiled. They gripped each other’s hand firmly before releasing and glancing around furtively to make sure no one had seen them show affection.

  There was so much I didn’t understand. There was so much they would not tell me.

  ***

  The next morning I discovered Victor. I might not have found him except for the sound of rain on that cloudless day. Looking at a fresh eye painted on a wall in mud, I almost didn’t place the sound at first.

  Mother didn’t have gardening that morning, so I walked alone. I stopped at the sound of rain striking a surface. The sound ceased, but then started again. It was like water droplets hitting a roof. A nice sound. A soothing sound. Totally out of place here.

  In the shadows under the ruins of an old burned out house I saw movement. A faint shifting of light that seemed to correspond to the noise. Approaching carefully I peered into the shadows.

  The movement and rain noise ceased immediately. I thought I heard a faint whimper. Someone was down there.

  “It’s okay,” I said as soothingly as I could. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  I heard fast breathing. It might be one of the rejected Shrieker Girls. They were sometimes Cast Off and then had nowhere to go.

  “Come on out please, it must be cold down
there.”

  “Cold,” said a deep voice.

  My eyes widened and I fought the urge to run. It was a male voice and it didn’t sound old or boyish. It was strong...yet something wasn’t right about it.

  “Well, it will be warmer up here in the sunlight,” I said, being sure to stay back out of reach.

  “No hurt, Victor,” the voice said. “Safe here.”

  “Is that your name?” I asked. “Victor?”

  A large head and face tentatively materialized out of the shadows. Childlike eyes looked at me fearfully from underneath long dirty hair. “I Victor. No hurt?”

  “I won’t hurt you,” I said. “Can you please come out of there?”

  The eyes left mine and darted to the left and right. He mumbled to himself, shook his head, and began to retreat.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” I said. “We’ve got some food.”

  The big head reappeared with a bright gleam in his eyes. Saliva actually began to run down one corner of his face.

  I held out a hand. “Come on now. It’s okay. You can’t stay under that old house.”

  He hesitated before reaching out with a gigantic hand attached to a huge muscled forearm.

  I was tempted to retreat from him. Instead I held myself steady and allowed him to enfold my hand in his. I’m fearful he will pull me down with him or crush my hand, but he held it gently as he climbed out of the darkness.

  I had already gotten a sense of his largeness, now I realized he is gigantic. Reaper is the biggest man anyone had ever seen and Victor was easily six inches taller. His filthy rags barely covered scared rippling muscles. He stepped out carefully on bare calloused feet. In his other hand he held tightly to a long dark wooden tube nearly five feet long with a cord tied around each end for easy carrying. As he moved the rain sound starts again.

  “The rain noise,” I said in wonder.

  Victor grinned shyly. “My rainmaker.”

  “Can I see it?” I held out my other hand.

  He jerked his hand from mine and pulled back with the tube held protectively in his arms. Tears formed in his eyes.

  “It’s okay,” I said holding my hands out to him. “I’m not going to take it from you.”

  Victor stared at me suspiciously for nearly a minute before dropping his eyes. “Food?”

  My whole goal had been to get him out from under the ruined house. Now I began to wonder what I was going to do with him. The Protectors would kill any grown man they saw, especially one so huge and strong. They wouldn’t stop to find out that he was as crippled in his mind as Grandpa is in the legs.

  “Come on,” I said leading him towards our house. Victor hesitated, then followed. It wasn’t far but I looked around the whole way afraid someone would see us. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any other residents. It helped that we were on the very edge of the Borderland.

  “This way,” I said taking him around to the back. Something told me I needed to get Grandpa’s help before bringing Mother into this. Both are cautious, but Mother is especially so. “Wait here,” I told Victor after placing him behind the corner of the workshop. I knocked and then entered.

  Grandpa looked up from his work table in surprise. “Teal, aren’t you supposed to be at Morning Shift?”

  “I need your help,” I said.

  He took off his spectacles and laid them carefully on the table. “What is it?”

  I didn’t answer, instead I go back out the door and then coaxed a downcast Victor into the workshop. He had to lower his head to get under the doorway.

  “Oh, Dear Lord,” said Grandpa slowly his eyes wide.

  “I found him under one of the Dead Houses. He’s cold and hungry. I don’t really think he’s all there in the head.”

  Victor had started to moan and rock back and forth avoiding both our intent gazes. Soon he was tilting his long tube up and down.

  “I’ll be,” said Grandpa, “a rainmaker.”

  The big man peered at Grandpa in surprise and nodded vigorously. “Rainmaker. Victor’s.”

  “Your name’s Victor? Where did you come from?” asked Grandpa.

  Victor looked away, his head dropping down even further like some of the cowed dogs I have seen.

  “It’s like he’s expecting to get beaten,” I said.

  “He probably is,” Grandpa answered. “Kindness is not something that’s easy to find anymore. I’m guessing he’s just wandering around, finding food and shelter where he can. It’s a wonder he’s even been able to survive.”

  I was starting to get an idea. “Can we—“

  Mother walked in and froze. Her eyes flared wide going from Grandpa and me to Victor. She pulled a small slender knife from inside a sleeve. I had no idea she even carried a knife. Another in a long list of things I don’t know about my mother I think. She was slowly turning to face the big man.

  I stepped between them. “Mother, it’s okay. This is Victor. I found him. He’s just cold and hungry, can we help him?”

  “Where’re you from?” she asked Victor suspiciously while edging around me towards Victor.

  “Victor,” he said. “Hungry.”

  “You’ll have bigger things to worry about if the Shriekers find you,” she said. “Matter of fact so will we. Better turn him in.”

  “No!” I cried. “He’s not a danger to them. Could be a help. Look how big and strong he is, he’d be good in the fields.”

  “Teal,” Mother said slowly. “We can’t hide him, we have to tell the Shriekers.”

  “But they’ll just kill him,” I cried.

  “I’ll go talk to them,” said Grandpa. “I’ll speak with Clay. He’ll listen to me, I think.”

  “Father,” pleaded mother. “You don’t have to do that. We can just give him some food and send him away from the town if we don’t want to turn him in.

  “Winter is coming on,” I said. “He’ll freeze or starve.”

  Mother put her knife away. “Looks like he’s managed to survive a few winters. He’ll be okay. He’s not a lost sheep or stray dog.”

  I started to protest, but Grandpa held up a hand. “Let’s not decide this right now. If we sneak him out we’ll have to wait for nightfall anyway. Teal, you need to get to Morning Shift or there will definitely be trouble.”

  For the first time mother looked afraid. She rushed out of the shed and then returned several minutes later. She pushed a pair of good thick mittens she’d made into my hands. “Give these to Reaper when you show up. Tell him I was feeling poorly and you had to help me. I don’t think he’ll report you.”

  “Especially if he thinks I might Take the Chit from him,” I said.

  “Don’t do that,” said Grandpa sternly. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s extremely dangerous. Do not give that man any indication you’re thinking about going with him. If he feels led on it could be bad for all of us.”

  I tucked the gloves into my belt. “You’ll feed and hide Victor? Not send him away or turn him in?”

  Mother started to answer but Grandpa jumped in. “No promises, but we don’t have to decide now. You’ll get your say in this, now go.”

  I hesitated, looking at Victor, but then took off at a run.

  “You coddle her far too much,” I heard Mother say as I rushed through the gate.

  Mother was wrong about that. Though it turned out she wasn’t wrong about Reaper. He took mother’s bribe and didn’t report me.

  ***

  I felt nervous pushing Grandpa up to the Shrieker House. Mother offered to go instead of me, but Grandpa said I should go since I had found Victor. Mother didn’t protest too vigorously and seemed relieved.

  Of course I had seen Clay before, everyone had, but we would be actually meeting with the man. He was the original founder of the Shriekers and had brought them to Newton after the End. He had lived through the Dark Times and beaten down the town in the Rebellion. He had also taken Grandpa’s legs.

  “You think Victor will be okay with Mother?”

>   “For the hundredth time, yes. It’s not like she’s going to cook him and eat him, “snapped Grandpa. “Your big new pet will be just fine. Better than us probably.”

  Grandpa’s irritation frightened me. He was always patient and kind. I realized that he was nervous as well, and for the first time I feared that I might have put my family in grave danger. It was never good to draw attention to yourself.

  I pushed the wheelchair down the center of the old road. Boarded and burned out storefronts lined up on either side. Most people used the sidewalks, but the buckled and wore pavement was far too broken for the wheelchair. The town seemed to hold its breath and I felt hundreds of eyes upon us.

  The Shrieker House was to the front just off from the ancient courthouse. The old motorcycle relics rose up out of the dirt and weeds. The Chit Girls daily went out and cleaned the metal Artifacts and polished the chrome, but even so, they were slowly rusting away.

  Skull was at the front of the Shrieker House and I inwardly groaned. He always kept his face painted in the image of a skull. No one knew where he was able to obtain the paint, but the color didn’t seem to matter. Today it was a hot pink.

  “What you want, No Legs?” he asked once we have drawn up close. He flicked the tip of a whip around on the ground before him.

  “I’d like to talk to Clay, please,” Grandpa said. “It’s a matter of some importance.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” answered Skull.

  Grandpa shook his head, “It’s really only something I can talk with—“

  His words are cut off by the crack of the whip across the side of Grandpa’s head. I felt the wind of the whip breeze by my hand before I even knew what had happened. Skull stood there smirking with the whip end dancing at his feet again.