Star-Spangled Apocalypse

by Harmon Cooper

  As James approached the door, he heard someone call to him from the small seating area adjacent to the gas station’s tinted windows.

  “Where ya off to, my boy?” asked an older black man wearing a white, high collared Elvis costume, huge sunglasses with gold rims, hair that swirled up like whipped cream, skin the color of a starless night, and a pair of sparkly disco boots, the heels nearly six inches from the ground.

  “Towards Denver,” James replied, suspiciously.

  “That’s the direction I’m going. I got a buddy who is gonna help me get back on my feet.”

  The man never made eye contact with James, and as the troubled former barista moved closer, he quickly understood why.

  A small amount of light reflected from the window nearby onto the man’s sunglasses, revealing two snow-colored pupils, both staring in different directions. The strange man in the Elvis outfit was blind.

  “Whatcher name, boy?” he asked, oddly aware that he was staring at him.

  “James. My name is James. Yours?” James looked out the window towards Virgil, who had just finished pumping the gas and was now sitting quietly in backseat of the Jeep, probably rolling a fucking joint.

  “Nathaniel Presley at your service.” Nathaniel reached in James’ general direction and they shook hands. “Now I ain’t trying to be no trouble to ya, but I sure would like a ride. We’re going in the same direction. I sure would ‘preciate it.”

  “A ride? I don’t know about that, and that’s not even–”

  Nathaniel glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “–Mr. James, you a drinkin’ man?”

  James nodded. “I usually stick with whiskey or whiskey. Why?”

  “I knew it when you walked by! Well I gots a friend not too far from here who just whipped himself up a fresh batch of applejack moonshine, and boy, lemme tell ya, that is some powerful stuff right there! I heard if you drink too much of it…” Nathaniel moved closer to James and spoke softly. “I hear that if you drink too much of it, you just might see God. That’s G-O-D, and I ain’t talking ‘bout no Elvis, who as you can see I’m a real big fan of. I’m talking ‘bout the man himself. So what I’m fixin’ to say here is if you can help a brother out with a ride – ‘cause just look at my sorry ass, I can’t drive! If you can help me out, I can get you somethin…” Nathaniel grinned at no one in particular. “Well, something that might just do yah right.”

  James briefly wondered what Virgil would think if he brought a blind black Elvis impersonator back to his brother’s jeep. He assumed Virgil wouldn’t mind, and the guy probably wasn’t dangerous, even if he was black.

  In truth, James had little contact with black people. He went to school with a few, heard about them all the time on BreitFox News, but there weren’t many in his life and the ones from his childhood, the few that lived in Huntsville, usually kept to themselves.

  James tuned back into the situation once Nathaniel tapped his fingers on the table, to the beat of “Heartbreak Hotel.” He started whistling the tune through the corners of his mouth, his whistle a low hissy sound accented with a minute amount of musical tonality.

  “Dontcha worry ‘bout yer friend out there,” the strange man said.

  James looked to Nathaniel, who was beaming up at him, his yellow teeth cracked and rusted. “How did you know?”

  “Sometimes, and you will find this out ‘bout me, sometimes I just knows. Sometimes, not bein’ able to see makes everything much more clear. Now how ‘bout that ride?”

  James raised an eyebrow at him.

  He wasn’t a well-read man, and even if he were, he likely wouldn’t see the trope in progress standing before him in the form of a disabled black man. It would have made little difference had he known this. There was a mysterious charm about Nathaniel, something James couldn’t quite place.

  He instantly trusted him.

  Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel stood up, grabbed an old walking cane lying next to him and shuffled up out of the booth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  James shrugged and opened the door for Nathaniel, leading him towards the jeep.

  As they approached, Virgil stared at Nathaniel quizzically from the backseat. Just as James had predicted, the stoner barista had been rolling a joint, which he quickly hid when he saw Nathaniel.

  James opened the passenger door for the blind man, who slowly got inside.

  “How ya’ doin’ back there,” he said, before Virgil could say anything. “Name’s Nathaniel Presley.”

  “Presley?”

  “That’s right, Buck-O. And who might you be?”

  James got into the Jeep and started it up. “Nathaniel, this is Virgil. Virgil, Nathaniel. He’s going to catch a ride with us.”

  “Sure am, and I do appreciate it, gentlemen…” Nathaniel said, sniffing at the air. “Boy, what kinda ganja you got back there?! It smells mighty fine.”

  “I had quite the night last night,” Virgil replied as a few red hairs from the weed fell onto his shorts. He continued, “Might have met Krishna himself…”

  “Who? Kareeshhna?” Nathaniel broke down laughing, slapping his hand on his leg. “Boy, what’s that hafta do with ganja?”

  “I was planning on taking a nap. Didn’t sleep well last night. I figured a little toke of the green dragon would help. You mind?”

  James looked at Virgil through the rearview mirror. He didn’t like the fact he was smoking in the jeep and felt the pang of guilt one feels when they break the law. That said, he had an afternoon buzz going, and that made him care less. “Let me at least light a cigarette to cover the smell. And roll the windows down.”

  “Hell yeah.” Virgil waited for James to light his cigarette, lit his own poison, and rolled the window down as he inhaled deeply. “Fuck, that’s good,” he said with the exhale.

  “Ha! Now I can appreciate that, little green dragon will put anyone’s ass out. But you better pass that doobie up here. Don’t bogart that joint now!”

  Virgil laughed. “Shit, you know I won’t.”

  Virgil handed the joint to Nathaniel, being extra careful to put it in his hand without burning him.

  “So…” Virgil asked as his eyes glazed over. “I’m assuming you are blind, right?”

  “That’s right.” Nathaniel took a puff from the joint and exhaled audibly. The jeep hit a bump in the road and all three men bounced up and down.

  “Whoa! Damn, they need to get these roads fixed out here.”

  “That they do,” Nathaniel agreed.

  “Okay, so sorry if this is offensive, but shit, I’ve always wondered, does it suck to be blind? I’ve never really talked to a blind person before…”

  “What kind of stupid ass question is that?” James shook his head at the younger barista.

  “It ain’t nothing,” said Nathaniel, and took one final puff of the joint and handed it back to Virgil. “Seein’ people always ask that question…always wonderin’…well I’ll tell ya this, kid: it sure ain’t no walk in the park. When you’re blind, everything is an uncertain adventure, even if you’re used to where you’re goin’ and what you’re doin’. Sometimes it’s a’ight; most times it’s a damn hassle. So that’s that. A damn hassle. Enough about me though, what about ya’ll. What ya’ll up to drivin’ all the way out here?”

  James took a swig from the flask. “We’re coming from Austin and–”

  “–Austin?” Nathaniel shook his head. “I heard that place was up in flames. Boy, I’d hate to be grillin’ in Austin right ‘bout now.”

  Virgil took a hit from the joint and smiled at his handiwork as he exhaled. “That’s why we left Austin in the first place.”

  “Why’s that?” Nathaniel coughed. “Damn, Virgil, I’m feelin’ this ganja man, just so you know.”

  “Hell yeah, it’s some hella good dank.” Virgil smiled. “But about Austin, we left because both agreed it was the start of…”

  “Start of what?”

  “Well, we figure
d it might be the start of Armageddon.”

  “Armageddon?” Nathaniel hopped up and down in his seat. “Holy shit, I never thought of that! You boys might be onto something. I didn’t even…damn. Damn! It could be, shit, boys, it could be!”

  James flicked his cigarette out the window, feeling the same skepticism he’d felt a few times now. It sounds so stupid when you say it aloud, he thought.

  He tuned the others out for a minute, his focus on the open road as Nathaniel and Virgil continued their discussion of how it could be Armageddon. Virgil had pulled out his Bible and was reading a passage about men looking for death as Nathaniel nodded his head, listening intently.

  The psychonaut barista explained the seven candles, the fire, and how he thought that somehow this stuff related to the verse in Revelations that kept repeating, “Come and see.”

  James winced, suddenly remembering the dream he had had the previous night.

  Could it be?

  He briefly tried to recall what exactly had happened but failed. All he could remember was the robed child wavering back and forth, and of course, the recurring woman of his nightmares.

  James looked out the side window, past a barbed wire fence to a small clearing and a medium sized plateau. He briefly thought he saw the young boy on the dead horse waiting for him in the distance.

  He shuddered, shook his head, and returned his focus to the road.

  His attention drifted back to the conversation. He glanced at the rearview mirror and noticed that Virgil seemed to be sketching something in one of his books.

  “Well if ya’ll is travelin’ cross country at a time like this, you better know it’s Armageddon, believe me there. But speakin’ of which, and as I was tellin’ James here back in the gas station, my friend gots some moonshine that he claims…” Nathaniel took off his glasses and turned around, his snow-colored eyes startling Virgil as they shone like confused beacons.

  “Whoa, man!”

  “Cool it, Virgil. What I’m tryin’ to say here is I got a friend who claims his moonshine will make you see God,” Nathaniel said.

  “Do you now?” Virgil replied, already envisioning his next meeting with the unknown.

  “Sure do. And I promised to get James some of it.”

  Chapter 13: Cody’s Applejack Moonshine

  Roughly three hours passed as James, Virgil, and Nathaniel made their way to Jacksboro, Texas. The three men finished off the peanut butter sandwiches with honey that Hope had made Virgil, and in the meantime talked about life, stayed clear of politics for the most part, and eventually how they each got where they were at that very moment.

  About half way through the trip to Jacksboro, Nathaniel began his story as to how he ended up at a dilapidated gas station in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Texas.

  “You see, I’d been working as the piano man mainly playin’ Elvis tunes at a local bar when a couple of oil and gas attorneys offered my black ass a payin’ gig at an executive retreat them fools had set up on the outskirts of Lampasas. Five hundred bucks? Sounded too good to be true, but I was broke as a joke, so I took them fellers up on their offer.”

  “Five hundred ain’t bad,” Virgil commented, his eyes glazed over from the joint he’d recently smoked.

  “You get me, Virgil, you really do. So, them fellers picked me up the following morning, which happened to be the same day that Austin fell under attack, aka yesterday. Well you ain’t gonna believe this, but them attorneys were seein’ cash and cash only. One of them had a big client in downtown Austin. They dropped me off at the gas station, and I spent the forty dollars they gave me on a hand job.”

  “What!?” James nearly spat his cigarette out. He’d tuned Nathaniel out five minutes ago, but the mention of hand job definitely got his attention.

  “Ha! Just seein’ if you was listening. No handie. And those cheap bastards only gave me a twenty. I’ve been at that gas station since yesterday afternoon. Slept out back behind the dumpster last night. And then I met you boys. That’s my story.”

  “Crazy story,” Virgil said.

  “It is what it is.” Nathaniel coughed long and hard into his hand. “Whoo-boy, remind my ass to lay off the ganja next go around. So my friend Cody runs an RV park ‘bout five miles west of Jacksboro.”

  “And he’s the one with the moonshine?” James asked.

  “Yessiree. So, what you are gonna do is, well there is an intersection off 281, I think it's exit 114, anyways thereabouts is a street called…oh what’s it called?” Nathaniel snapped his fingers. “Wyatt Road! Yeah, it’s called Wyatt Road. My friend’s place is ‘bout halfaway up on the left.”

  James nodded as he finished his flask, and asked Virgil to fill it back up for him. Virgil hesitated, then took the flask from him and began filling it. Nathaniel cocked his head to the right, listening as Virgil poured whiskey into the flask.

  “Boy, that sure sounds like pissin’ in a Folger’s coffee can. Damn, I used to have to do that when I would travel with this guy Cody back in ‘bout 1982. Once he got going, man, he wouldn’t stop for nobody. Used to have to sit in the backseat, whipper out, and pee right into that can.”

  “Where were ya’ll going?” Virgil asked as he handed the flask back to James.

  “Tucker was a travelin’ Bible salesman, and a mean son-of-a-bitch at that. I would tag along, playing a coupla songs. He would give sermons. Boy could that man get heated ‘bout that old book. He’d be hootin’ and hollerin’ like the devil was there himself!”

  “Yikes,” Virgil whispered.

  “I used to play this one song, ya’ll ever heard of it?”

  Nathaniel began humming a tune as an example of what he would play; both former baristas agreed they hadn’t heard it.

  “Anyhow, I only traveled with Cody for a bit, he wasn’t a big Elvis fan, and I wasn’t a big fan of fire and brimstone and what not.”

  “Tell me about it,” Virgil said while James pulled onto Wyatt Road. As they traveled down the road, Nathaniel rolled down his window and took a big whiff of air.

  “Now, boys, I know for a damn fact ya’ll don’t get that kinda air in Austin. Take a sniff of that delicious aroma, Virgil, smells like country, pure un-citied country. No tall buildings out here neither. No sir. Just fresh country air!”

  Nathaniel smiled and put his hand out the window and stroked the wind with his right fingers.

  “This the place? Bunch of sculptures and whatnot?” James pulled up to what looked to be the main office of the trailer park. The park sat in a nice flat area, accented by a few giant oaks and various pieces of garbage. Some of the larger chunks of garbage had been made into some animal sculptures.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Does your friend have an old beat up Dodge truck?” Virgil asked.

  “He sure does. Ol’ Cody used to get some mighty fine women with that ride back in the day…these country women sure do love a good truck, love a good preacher too. Ha! Nowadays though, Ol’ Cody spends more time running this place and brewing up moonshine than chasin’ harlots. Those were the days, though...” Nathaniel looked off into the distance, lost in a memory. “Anyhow, you boys be careful. The old bastard can be a little grouchy, ‘specially towards city folk.”

  “I’m from Huntsville,” James reminded him.

  “Shit, that’s city compared to out here.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “So ya’ll let me handle the talkin’. I’ll go in first then come and get ya’ll. Just point me towards the door.”

  ***

  Nathaniel followed James’ directions to the office door and found it easily enough. James and Virgil watched him slowly walk up to the door, and let himself in.

  After about a minute of sitting in silence Virgil finally commented on Nathaniel. “Well, he sure is a strange dude,” he said as he opened his bag and pulled out a stick of deodorant. He slathered it on, and offered it to James, who declined.

  “I would say so.” James smiled as the warm whiskey wiggled
languidly down his parched throat. His phone buzzed and quickly glanced at it. Another message from Rush Hannity. Damn, I’m missing his show.

  “Seems chill as fuck though, just saying.”

  James looked at his watch and sighed. “Well, it’s a little after four o’clock. If we can get this moonshine, we should find a place to stay around here and give it a taste. I doubt we’ll meet God, but we’ll at least get fucked up.”

  Virgil cracked a smile. “You know I’m down. After my experience last night, I’m definitely ready to meet God again, or at least one of his compatriots.”

  “Compatriots? Really, Virgil? Man I can’t tell who is stranger, Nathaniel in his Elvis costume and all his blind glory or you, a day-tripper-Krishna-meeting-former-barista-shaman.”

  “No one said I was a shaman, man, careful with these terms!”

  James started laughing again as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

  “Shit, if we do meet any entities tonight, I’ll be the one laughing. I have firsthand experience now.” Virgil pondered for a brief moment. “Hey, would you consider meeting an angel an Armageddon skill?”

  “Do you mean, like, is there a diplomatic way to handle an angel encounter during Judgment Day?” James asked as he lit a cigarette. “Because if that’s what you mean, then I would say yes. You don’t want to piss an angel or an entity off, right?”

  “For sure. Hey, do you remember how we used to always talk about breaking into a shop or something?”

  James thought back to the conversations they had had on especially slow nights at the coffee shop and smiled. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t had to do that yet, huh? Well truthfully, we haven’t really stopped much, just at Hope’s, and then at that gas station. There’s no need to break into any places as of yet but there might be. We could classify all these topics under ‘being observant and going with the flow’ which itself is definitely an Armageddon skill.”

  “I wonder if picking up strange blind men could be classified as ‘going with the flow?’”