Doomsday

by David Robbins

  Soren climbed in. Toril had her hands clasped on her knees, her knuckles white. He set Mjolnir between them and gunned the engine.

  “What will happen to us, Soren? Will we be all right?” Soren patted Mjolnir. “We’ll be fine.”

  Nebraska

  Professor Diana Trevor reacted without thinking. In the blink of an eye she had the mace up and out and had pressed the stud.

  Amos Stiggims had started to raise the tire iron when the spray caught him full in the face. He staggered back, screeching. “My eyes are burning!” Blinking and coughing, he stumbled, fell to one knee, and let go of the tire iron. “You had no call to do that.”

  “You were about to hit me.” Bending, Diana grabbed the tire iron and skipped out of his reach. “I was defending myself.”

  Stiggims couldn’t stop shedding tears. Hiking his dirty shirt up around his scrawny chest, he daubed at his eyes. “Are you loco?” he demanded between swipes. “I was taking that inside is all.”

  “Sure you were. You need to change the tires on your couch. Is that how it goes?”

  “Damn, you’ve got a suspicious nature. My freezer jams sometimes and that iron is how I pry it open.”

  Diana refused to take him at his word. “Why would you want to open your freezer?”

  Stiggims stopped blinking long enough to glare. “I was thinking of inviting you to supper. But you can starve for all I care.”

  “I’d like to believe you. I really would.” Diana was awash in a distinct sense of the absurd. “Here.” She slid a hand under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. The skin-and-bones old goat was lighter than a feather.

  Stiggims tore loose and moved toward the house. His face pressed to his shirt, he muttered under his breath.

  Diana caught a few of his comments; they weren’t flattering. Snatching her backpack, she ran ahead of him onto a dilapidated porch. “Here. Let me.” She pulled on a screen door with more holes than screen.

  “I don’t want your help.” Stiggims sulked. “Go back to the road and find someone else to pick on.”

  “I’m sorry.” Diana followed him in and almost gagged. “What’s that terrible smell?”

  Stiggims stopped wiping and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything but that stuff you sprayed me with. If I go blind it’ll be your fault.”

  “You won’t lose your sight,” Diana assured him. She was so concerned about misjudging him that she hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings. Now she did, and she inwardly recoiled. The place was a pigsty. The floor was inches deep in trash and the walls were spattered with grime and food stains. “How can you live like this?”

  “Like what? Alone? I don’t cotton to people much.”

  Diana turned and something cracked under her foot. It was a chicken bone, partially chewed, the meat shriveled and moldy. Suddenly she needed out of there. She went onto the porch and gulped deep lungfuls of hot air. She was still holding the tire iron in one hand and her backpack and the mace in the other. Setting the pack down, she slid the mace into her pocket and went to lean the tire iron against the wall.

  A growl brought her up short.

  Out of the depths of the barn came a mongrel. A huge dog, mostly black but speckled with white, it had the build of a St. Bernard. Blocky head hung low, it stalked toward her and bared its fangs.

  “Mr. Stiggims!” Diana called. “Can you come out here, please? Your dog isn’t happy to see me.”

  The old farmer didn’t answer. Diana slowly backed to the screen door and opened it. “Mr. Stiggims?” The dog was still advancing so she backed inside.

  Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in the small of her back.

  “Drop that iron, dearie, and do it quick. If’n you don’t, I’ll cut you.”

  Diana glanced over her shoulder. Tears still streamed from Stiggims’ eyes, but he had stopped blinking and was holding a knife to her spine. “What is this?”

  The farmer jabbed harder. “I won’t tell you again.”

  The dog was almost to the porch. It had stopped at the sound of Stiggims’ voice but its hackles were up and it was snarling.

  Diana let go of the tire iron and held her arms out from her sides. “There. Don’t do anything hasty.”

  “I never do, girlie.” Stiggims chuckled and came around in front of her. A spot of red was on the tip of the blade. “You had me worried for a bit. But now I can take you out to the barn.” He jerked a thumb at the dog. “Hercules, there, will keep you company.”

  “Wait,” Diana said, stalling. “Why are you doing this? What is it you want with me?”

  “It’s the end of the world, dearie. Armageddon. Just like in Scripture. Pretty soon the angels will sound their trumpets.”

  “But that doesn’t explain what you want with me.”

  “I want your company is all. A man shouldn’t have to face the end times alone.” Stiggims did a double take. “Oh. Was you thinking I had ideas? Dearie, I’m too old for such tomfoolery. We’ll talk, and maybe play dominos, or cards if you like.”

  Diana thought he was insane.

  Squaring his slim shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height, Stiggims solemnly declared, “ ‘For the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?’ ”

  “What was that? From the Bible?”

  “You don’t know the Good Book when you hear it? Of course it’s from the Bible. Revelation 6:17 I know it front to back and back to front.” Stiggims grew solemn again. “ ‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And the name of him who sat on it was Death, and Hell followed with him.’ ”

  “Mr. Stiggims,” Diana said, and caught herself. “Amos. Please. Listen to me. Holding me here against my will is illegal.”

  “There are none so blind,” Stiggims said sadly.

  Diana tried another tack. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a war. World War Three. Millions will perish, but the world will go on. People will survive. You stand a good chance of living through it, living where you do.”

  “It’s no use. I have my mind made up. I was sitting in that rocking chair thinking about how awful it was to go to perdition by my lonesome when you dropped out of the sky into my lap. I took that as a sign.”

  “Please. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “You’re darn right you do. My barn.” Stiggims wagged the knife. “There’s a small room in the back I use for tools and such. I can bar it, and there ain’t any windows.” He paused. “Or better yet, maybe I should put you in the root cellar.”

  “What about you? Where will you be?”

  “I’ll stay up here until the missiles start to fly. Then I’ll join you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Diana said. “That’s unacceptable.” She lunged, shoving him hard enough to spill him onto his backside on the porch. Whirling, she ran through the living room and into a small kitchen. The stench of rotten food assailed her as she raced to a back door and flung it open. Beyond was a yard and a cornfield, the stalks as tall as she was. Leaping down a short flight of steps, she sped toward them.

  “Get her, boy! Attack! Attack!”

  Diana looked back.

  Hercules was after her.

  Eve of Destruction

  Washington

  Ben Thomas’s idea was to take Interstate 90 all the way across Washington and Idaho into Montana and then take Interstate 94 into northern Minnesota.

  Things went fine as far as Spokane. They were able to get gas. He was careful not to let his fuel drop below half so he always had plenty to spare. Traffic wasn’t the pain he expected it to be. A lot of folks were holed up in their homes, awaiting the next development in the spreading global conflict.

  Space drove him nuts using the radio. She was constantly running up and down the dial looking for stations with the latest news. He almost told her to stop—but when she was playing with the radio she was usually preoccupied and quiet, and there was only so much of her chatter he could take. The girl about talked his head off.

  It was as they we
re pulling out of Ellensburg that Space told Ben about her parents. Her father had been an alcoholic, her mother a druggie. When they hadn’t been abusing each other, they had been abusing her. She had taken it until she was twelve and then she skipped. She had gone to live with an aunt who had always treated her nicely, but the aunt had a son her age who thought she was the hottest treat on two legs and couldn’t keep his hands off her. So Space had skipped again and wound up living on the street.

  “It wasn’t bad at first. I had a little money so I could eat. I found a condemned building and lived in a room with a lock on the door so I could sleep safe at night. I stayed away from other street people. The few who knew I was hiding there left me alone. But the good vibes didn’t last. They never do.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the state for help? They could have found you a foster home.”

  “Would you want to live with people you didn’t know? People who might have hang-ups of their own?” Space shook her head and her bangs swished. “No, I figured I was better off on my own. Even when the money ran out and I had to make do any way I could.”

  “You started turning tricks?”

  Space cackled in glee and slapped her leg. “Only a man would think of that before anything else. I’m no skank. My body is mine, and making it with strangers isn’t my idea of fun.” She shook her head again. “I mainly stole to live. At first it was food. I’d go into a grocery store and stick stuff down my skirt.”

  Ben had been meaning to ask about her clothes. She wore all black, like one of those Goths. “What if the food fell out before you made it out the door?”

  “I wore my skirt inside out so the pocket was on the inside. I’d slip what ever I stole into the pocket and waltz out with no one the wiser. But I could only take small stuff, and that was a drag. After a couple of hundred candy bars, the sweets aren’t as sweet. Know what I mean?”

  “I don’t eat candy much.”

  “You will if there’s nothing else you can get your hands on. I ate candy and I ate a lot of fruit. Bananas, mostly. It was easy to slip one into my pocket. I’m partial to pretzels, too. I’d open a bag and grab a handful. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was.”

  “It’s nothing to be proud of,” Ben remarked. He wasn’t a stickler for the law, but there were some things he would never do and stealing was one of them.

  “Listen to you, Mr. Never Gone Hungry a Day in his Life. When your belly hurts from not eating, when you’re so starved your skin is sticking to your ribs, you’ll do whatever you have to. It’s all about survival.”

  “I was a Marine, girl. And I’m black, besides. I know more about surviving than you’ll ever learn.”

  “Oh, please. You had it rough because you weren’t born white and you call that surviving?”

  Ben flared with anger. He could have hit her, but he never hit females unless they were trying to do him harm. “Listen, you snot-nosed brat. What do you know about being black? About what it’s like to be born into a world wearing skin that people hate because it’s different from their own? To be sneered at? To be spit on? To be called the N word every time you turn around? That’s how it was for me when I was little. But I didn’t care. I gave it right back, and got stronger deep down, where it counts. Strong enough to be a Marine. To be one of the few, the proud. And to be so damn tough, no mother’s son better mess with me or he’ll eat his goddamn teeth.”

  “Touched a nerve, huh?”

  Ben swore. The race issue always set him off.

  “Hey, it’s cool. You don’t take crap from anybody. I admire that. All I’m saying is that you survived in your way and I survived in mine, and for you to look down your nose at me because I did it different isn’t fair.”

  Ben thought about it and grudgingly replied, “You have a point. No insult meant.”

  “None taken.” Space grinned. “Just think. Two badass survivors like us, this end-of-the-world deal should be a breeze.”

  The radio was nothing but war talk. Even the stations that usually played music were doing news, and none of it was good. The war in the Middle East had spread. Russia and China were involved. Israel was fighting for its life. North Korea was marshalling troops along its border with South Korea. A South American dictator had invaded his neighbor.

  On the national front, the president appealed for calm. Looting and random violence were everywhere. Martial law would be imposed as soon as the National Guard was fully mobilized.

  “What will you do if they close the highways?” Space asked.

  Ben hadn’t thought of that. But it didn’t matter. “When I give my word to make a delivery, I keep it.”

  They made it out of Washington. Ben refueled at Coeur d’Alene and pushed on into the Bitterroot Mountains. Exits were fewer and farther between. Hardly any other vehicles were on the road. There was talk on the radio that Chinese subs had been spotted off the West Coast, that a Russian fleet was bound for the East Coast. Terrorist activity was on the rise. There was worry a U.S. city would be nuked. On and on went the litany of fear.

  The Bitterroots were so remote that Ben didn’t anticipate trouble. So long as the gas stations stayed open, he would be all right. But he wasn’t a machine. He’d kept himself awake with caffeine pills, but he needed sleep and he couldn’t put it off any longer. He told Space.

  “Fine by me. Get a room with cable. I love movies.”

  “Sorry, girl, but I’m not stopping at a motel. I bunk in my cab.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  The next exit was a small town called Smelterville. Ben had never been there. He slowed to a crawl and braked at a stop sign. A gas station had a Closed sign in the window, but that was all right; the truck had nearly three-quarters of a tank. He wheeled on into Smelterville. The streets were deserted. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  “This is spooky.”

  Ben was looking for a place to pull over. A sign announced a park. He turned down a side street, the diesel rumbling, and came to a stop next to a grassy knoll speckled by trees and picnic benches. “This will do.” He pulled to the curb and turned off the ignition.

  In the sudden silence the quiet around them seemed unnatural. The park was empty of life. Not so much as a bird or a squirrel anywhere. Across the street were a few frame houses and a mobile home, as still as tombstones.

  “Where is everyone?” Space nervously asked.

  “Trembling in their boots.” Ben pocketed the keys. “I’m climbing in the back for a few hours. You stay put until I wake up. I don’t want you wandering off, you hear?”

  Space grinned and gave him a sharp salute. “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Goof.” Ben parted the curtain and climbed into the bunk. He curled on his side and closed his eyes. As he was drifting off, he thought he heard the rasp of a door handle. Then sleep claimed him.

  New York

  Deepak Kapur’s heart leaped into his throat. He thought for sure he was going to die. The ship bearing down on the Kull was so close that he swore he could see rivets on its hull, which was preposterous, given that it was night and that except for the ship’s deck lights high above, it was so dark it was a wonder those onboard had spotted the ferry. Then it hit him. They didn’t know the Kull was there. They were blowing the horn for some other reason. A collision was inevitable.

  He took a step back and braced for the impact, fully expecting to be crushed to pulp. Suddenly the ferry gave a lurch that nearly unbalanced him and the deck tilted at the bow. A high-pitched roaring whine came from under his feet. The next instant the ferry shot forward as if jet propelled.

  Alf bleated in terror.

  The ship was almost on top of them. White lettering identified it as the Coral Sea. Her bow passed so close to the ferry’s stern that Deepak could have reached out and touched it. Then they were in the clear and heading down-river. Collecting his wits, he climbed to the wheel house and went in without knocking.

  Patrick Slayne was at the helm consulting a digital display. He didn’t look up. “Wha
t do you want? I’m busy.”

  “You almost got us killed.”

  “I knew the ship was there. I had it on radar. Once I activated the hydrofoil it couldn’t touch us.”

  “Hydrofoil?” Deepak was making it a habit of repeating things the man said.

  “Didn’t you feel the deck move?” Slayne looked up from the display. “Ever hear the expression, ‘the bigger the boy, the bigger his toys’? As the CEO of Tekco, my toys are the wares my company uses and sells. The Hunster, this hydro, and more you couldn’t imagine. I’m the ultimate tech geek.”

  Somehow Deepak couldn’t imagine him as a geek of any kind. “What do you plan to pull out of your high-tech grab bag that will get us to Minnesota safe and sound?”

  “I’m saving it for a surprise. But first things first.” Slayne consulted the display. “I’m going to bring us in just above the Narrows. From there we’ll cut across to 78.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I always do.” Slayne turned the wheel while watching the display. “You should give me more credit. But then, Kurt Carpenter did say your psych profile showed you have a superiority complex.”

  “What?”

  “You tend to think you’re better than everyone else. Sorry, that’s not entirely true. You tend to think that you’re smarter than everyone else. I suppose there’s a difference, but to me it’s all the same.”

  “Carpenter let you study my psych profile?” Deepak had understood that all personal information was to be held in the strictest confidence.

  “I’m one of the inner circle, Mr. Kapur. I designed the bunkers. I designed a special vehicle you know nothing about. I stocked the armory. In short, anything and everything having to do with security is under my oversight.”

  “That’s no excuse for Carpenter letting you see my psych tests.”

  “Ah. But it is. Kurt needs you. The people at the compound need you. You’re a genius with computer systems, and we’ll need to rely on our computers heavily for the first ten years or so.”

  “Ten years?”

  “Projections, analysis, communications, those sorts of things. Don’t worry. The bunkers are shielded. We should be EMP-proof. I say should because the shielding hasn’t been tested under actual combat conditions. We couldn’t hardly set off a nuke, now, could we?”