Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  The man barely had time to nod before their waiter arrived and spoke. “Hello, and welcome to the Governor’s House. I will tell you about on our specials, but would you like something to drink first?”

  Skull answered. “A plate of cheese and bread along with a bottle of good red wine. Chilean, I think, a Shiraz if you have it, but don’t put me in the poorhouse. I’m on vacation, not rich.”

  “I know just the thing,” the waiter replied before departing.

  Skull sat back in his chair and appraised the man across from him, who seemed to be relaxing. “I presume you know my name. Call me Stephen Fisk. That’s what my documents say. It might be less awkward if I know who you are.”

  “Colonel Frank Cerullo. I’m the Defense Attaché in Caracas.”

  “Venezuela,” Skull said slowly, things starting to fall into place in his head. “Let me guess: you were born in Texas?”

  “Houston. Still have lots of family there, although I’ve denounced the Texas cause and made sure to have angry phone calls and emails with my family back there for the record.”

  “Smart. I’m guessing the Embassy in Venezuela has no idea you’re here right now.”

  “No. Took a few days leave and caught a ferry over here. They don’t even have a computer system to track travelers. All they do is look at your passport.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place.”

  The waiter returned with the food and the bottle. He poured a small amount into Skull’s glass and allowed him to approve it.

  Skull nodded in appreciation. “Excellent.”

  The waiter smiled and poured two glasses before setting the bottle down and leaving them.

  “So,” said Skull, picking up a piece of dry white cheese and biting into it. “I was led to believe that you’re an official representative of the Republic of Texas, authorized to negotiate a contract with me on their behalf. Is that true?”

  Cerullo looked around nervously before nodding.

  Skull took a sip of the flavorful wine before continuing. “This would go better if you relax and act like we’re old friends. Drink some wine. Taste the cheese. Blend in.”

  “All right.” Cerullo took a sip.

  “Tell me what the job is and then I’ll tell you whether I’m interested in doing it or not. If I am, I’ll tell you my price.”

  The man looked surprised. “I was told you’ve already agreed to the job.”

  Shaking his head sadly, Skull set his glass down. “I’ve agreed to hear about the job. You don’t get as old as I am doing this type of work by agreeing to things without knowing the details.”

  The man hesitated, as if he wanted to be somewhere else.

  “Look,” Skull said, “it’s obvious you didn’t ask for this little task. You got family with you in Caracas?”

  “Wife and two little girls.”

  “And if you get caught doing this job it’s not only bad for you, but them as well. So, let’s get through this and on our way. Whatever the Texans told you to expect is out the window. They’re not here. It’s just you and me. Let’s figure it out.”

  Cerullo took a deep breath and let it out slowly before nodding. “It would be best if I’m on the four o’clock ferry going back, so I’m not late for dinner. If I’m not there, my wife might call work.”

  “Right you are. Let’s get down to business. Why is Texas willing to pay my extremely overpriced fee?”

  The man looked around again.

  “Stop doing that,” Skull said. “It only draws attention. I’ll stop the conversation if anyone gets close enough to hear us.”

  Cerullo glanced down at his lap as if trying to remember something. Eventually, he looked up. “They want you to escort a man to about two dozen cities along the east coast of the United States, where he will build devices and leave them in the hands of trusted agents there.”

  “What type of devices?”

  “I don’t know.” Cerullo rubbed his eyes. “And I don’t care.”

  “Who are these agents?”

  Cerullo shrugged. “People like me. Before the vote to leave the U.S., representatives of the new government reached out to me, and others I presume. They asked us to falsely swear loyalty to the United States and publicly condemn the Texas rebellion.”

  “That’s a dangerous game. Especially someone with a family.”

  “Tell me about it,” Cerullo said, finishing his glass of wine before refilling it.

  “Who is this man I’m supposed to babysit?”

  Cerullo shrugged again. “Theodore Herschel is his name. Some scientist. Whoever he is, the Republic thinks highly of him.”

  Skull thought for a minute. He had to take the job in order to protect his relatives that Vergone had kidnapped, but he also had to put on a good show.

  “Okay,” Skull finally said. “Seems like an easy job. I’ll do it for twice what you offered.”

  The man fidgeted. “I don’t know how—“

  “I know how this works. They told you I’d already agreed to a certain payment, but that was only the beginning of the negotiation. Tell them I’m taking the job and to double the amount. I expect to see half the payment in my account by tomorrow morning. Believe me, they’ll agree.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Now...how am I supposed to meet Mister Theodore Herschel?”

  The man looked around again before catching Skull’s frown. He pulled a small piece of paper out of his wallet and passed it to Skull, who opened it up and looked at it. Printed there were the details of a date and time window to meet at a bar near the fish market in Panama City, along with a general description of the contact.

  “Everything you’re doing here, you can talk your way out of. Everything except this.” Skull held up the piece of paper. “This could get Mister Herschel killed and you thrown into prison.” Skull folded the paper back up and laid it beside the man’s wine glass.

  Cerullo looked at the paper as if it were a poisonous spider.

  “I suggest you pick that up and put it away,” Skull told him, taking another sip of his wine.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “It’s a free country...or it used to be, but I would suggest that as soon as our business is concluded you go into the bathroom, tear that note into small pieces, and flush it down the toilet, but that’s just me. You do as you like.”

  The man nodded and put the note in his pocket.

  “I’m going to leave now,” Skull said. “You’ll stand when I do and we’ll shake hands. Then you’ll wait in the restaurant at least fifteen minutes. Finish the wine and cheese if you like. Then you’ll go get on that ferry and go back home. If you get questioned, you will explain that you just wanted to see an old friend in Curaçao, and beg forgiveness. If you do get caught, no matter what, don’t admit to anything we have discussed. If you do, you’ll never see daylight again. Understood?”

  Cerullo swallowed and nodded.

  Skull rose to his feet and Cerullo followed. They shook hands. “Good luck,” Skull told him. “Make sure you pay the check. I have a reputation to maintain.” He then walked out of the restaurant and back toward the harbor.

  When he returned to his hotel room, Skull logged onto his laptop using an attached encryption device. He sent Vergone a brief email explaining the job Texas was hiring him for, leaving out details about Cerullo. The FBI agent might ask, but if so, Skull would tell him the contact had been a professional spook, anonymous and shadowy.

  Skull didn’t owe Cerullo anything, but there was no reason to throw him and his family to the wolves. Besides, he never knew when a friend could come in handy.

  Skull almost closed his computer, but thinking of professional spooks brought Cassandra Johnstone to mind. He logged into the secure Free Communities server. Most of the information on the site wasn’t accessible to him, but he could still communicate with his old “Eden buddies,” as Vergone called them, if he wanted to.

  Skull kept expecting them to revoke his ac
cess, but every time he checked he was still able to get inside. Of course, they would be watching whatever he did. No doubt Spooky thought he might have a use for Skull sometime.

  “Fat chance,” Skull muttered as he pulled up the application for secure teleconference. It showed that Cassandra wasn’t online, but knew that might simply be her default setting, as she never appeared to be online. He clicked the small icon anyway.

  It rang for several seconds before picking up. A man Skull didn’t recognize looked at him with excitement. “Mister Denham, please hold. Ms. Johnstone has given orders that she would like to speak to you should you call. I’ll just go get her.” The video disappeared, replaced by PLEASE WAIT.

  Interesting.

  After a few seconds he saw Cassandra appear, looking fresh and attractive as ever. If there ever were a woman that could replace Linde in his hardened heart, it would be this one.

  “Alan! Great to see you.”

  “Cassie, we both know you can find me if you need to, so why did you leave instructions to get you immediately if I called in?”

  Cassandra’s smile slipped a little. “I could find you, but last time you told me to leave you alone. I wanted to respect your wishes. I’m not chasing you around the world cold-pitching jobs.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “But now that I have you…” Cassandra said with a shy smile, “I do have a job. It’s vitally important, and we can pay.”

  “I’m sure it is and I know you can, but I’m not interested.”

  “Alan, I know there’s bad blood between you and Spooky, but –”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” Skull lied. “The fact is, I’ve already taken another job.”

  She frowned. “Not with the Unionists, I hope.”

  “No, you’ll be pleased to hear. Something else entirely. Real cushy, low risk, high pay. The sort of thing I love.”

  “What’s the job?”

  Skull tilted his head to one side. “Really, Cassie?”

  Cassandra frowned and crossed her arms. “Okay, so why exactly are you calling? Just want to catch up?”

  “Not exactly. I was actually hoping you would do me a little favor.”

  “Can I expect a favor in return?”

  Skull laughed. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I believe you’re already in my debt for salvaging that Ethiopia debacle.”

  Cassandra hesitated. “You’re probably right. What can I do for you?”

  “Find out anything you can for me concerning a Texan named Theodore Herschel. Some kind of scientist.”

  “Does this have something to do with the job you’re doing for the Texans?”

  Skull ignored the question. “Forward anything you come up with to the email address I’m sending you now.”

  Cassandra was silent for a moment. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Cassandra’s mouth opened and then closed before she spoke again. “Alan, please be careful. You know I care a great deal about you.”

  Skull ended the connection and slowly closed the laptop, pensive.

  If only that were true. So many things could be different. Is it possible?

  Chapter 9

  It had been nearly a year since that intense and scary Marine had gotten Anson Crouch across the border from Arkansas into Texas. Anson had tried to do just as the man had advised and find his family, but that had turned out to be impossible. Maybe they’d gotten away to one of the Free Communities before the blockade. Maybe they were settled somewhere in a remote region of Australia or New Zealand. It was even possible they hadn’t gotten out of Arkansas at all and were starving in some Eden detainment camp.

  At the thought of starving, Anson’s stomach growled, but he ignored it. He’d become quite proficient at ignoring the demands of his Eden-enhanced body. Eating out of dumpsters and taking handouts didn’t do much to take the constant edge off, but that desire for food was actually a comfort. It kept his mind off what had happened to his little brother Kevin and the part Anson had played in his death.

  Anson groaned as he once more pushed that thought down deep. He stumbled across the parking lot toward a dumpster at the rear of a Mexican restaurant in the town of Killeen. He sometimes got lucky there and was able to gorge himself like a snake on stale chips and half-eaten burritos. The food likely would have made him ill if he weren’t an Eden, but now, like many such scavengers, he got by.

  Things could have been so different, he thought. I should have stayed with Father instead of running off to fight for the Arkansas Free State and their stupid Homeland Defense League. Kevin would still be alive if I’d listened to him. We might even be together as a family. But now, I’ll never find them. They’re gone.

  On one level, the thought was comforting. It meant he wouldn’t have to face his family to tell them his brother was dead, never admit the part he’d had played in that death. It was probably for the best, he told himself.

  Anson noticed a few stray dogs and a mass of rats at the dumpster. That was a good sign. He yelled at the dogs and drove off the rats with the stick he always carried. They scurried away with protesting squeals. He picked up the grease-stained paper sack and saw the rats had been eating a congealed blob of refried beans mixed with Mexican rice.

  His brain might have been revolted by what he was about to do, but his body would not be denied. Anson thrust the bag toward his face and started eating the leftover food.

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” yelled a voice from the back door. “Get away from here, you lousy bum!”

  Anson looked up to see a large fat man with a hair net and greasy apron. Ignoring him, Anson went back to eating.

  A painful blow to his shoulder caused him to drop the bag. He looked up to see the man had thrown a rock at him. Anson’s right arm was numb and tingling. The man hefted another stone.

  Anson ducked as the rock flew and hit the side of the dumpster with a loud clang. The fat man picked up another rock, so he grabbed the sack and ran.

  Jogging across the lot, Anson made his way back toward the main street while finishing the crude food. A man in a military uniform watched him while smoking a cigarette.

  Ignoring the watcher, Anson stood near a bus stop trying to look as if he belonged, hoping the common folk would ignore his filthy clothes that smelled of old sweat and garbage. He just wanted a minute to collect himself and figure out what to do next. The few bites of beans and rice only seemed to make the gnawing hunger worse. It felt as if an angry squirrel were trying to dig its way out of his stomach.

  The man in uniform continued to smoke and stare at him.

  Anson glared back and flipped his middle finger at the man, preparing to run away if he reacted. Instead, the man laughed and beckoned Anson over.

  “No way,” Anson said weakly, almost a whisper.

  The man shrugged and went inside the building where he’d been smoking. Anson slowly read the words above the entrance to himself.

  Texas State Guard.

  Within a few seconds the man came back, holding up a fast food bag that obviously had something in it.

  Anson has been the victim of this ploy before. Most of the time it was a bag of trash or a used diaper, a cruel trick for a laugh, but on occasion a generous soul had actually fed him. It was a gamble, but he knew which way he had to go. The possibility of food was worth whatever shred of dignity he had left. Besides, pride was something he didn’t deserve after what had happened to Kevin.

  Walking across the road as if mesmerized, Anson heard a car horn and a screech of tires. Look both ways before crossing the street, he thought and laughed, eyes still fixed on the bag. Someone was yelling at him from what seemed a thousand miles away. All of the vast universe and the immensity of time had shrunk to the a small brown sack of food twenty feet away.

  Stumbling forward, Anson snatched the bag out of the man’s hand and put his back against the wall. He spared a suspicious look for the strang
er, but the man in uniform stayed where he was and lit up another cigarette.

  Anson opened the bag hesitantly, a whimper escaping his lips.

  Please let it be food, he prayed.

  He opened the bag and was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of meat and grease. He reached down and pulled out a soggy French fry and stuck it in his mouth. Saliva flooded his mouth and he began cramming more and more fries into his maw, willing his throat to work as fast as his hands.

  Under the fries he found a still-warm, foil-wrapped package. Tearing it open, Anson found a giant cheeseburger and took a delicious bite as unbidden tears streaked his dirty face.

  “Take it easy, son,” the man said, moving forward. “Don’t want to choke.”

  Anson slid backward along the wall, away from the approaching man. He held the burger protectively to his chest.

  The man retreated, holding his hands out. “It’s okay. You can have it. It was my lunch, but looks like you need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”

  Anson ate as slowly as he could, licking the inside of the burger wrapper to get off every bit of ketchup and cheese that he could. He then ate the remaining fries, shaking the crumbs into his mouth.

  After a while, the man in uniform mashed out his cigarette in an old coffee can filled with sand that rested on the sidewalk at his feet. Then he went inside.

  Tense, Anson listened, preparing to flee if the man emerged with a stick or gun. Sometimes cops shot him with pepper spray. That was worse than getting beaten, because with nowhere to wash, the effects of the chemical lasted for days.

  “Here,” the man said, coming back out and holding something toward Anson.

  He instinctively shied away, but realized that the man was holding out a can of Coke. Condensation dripped off the sides.

  Reaching his hand out hesitantly, Anson took it and with some difficulty managed to open the top. Just the smell was enough to make him smile. It had been a very long time since he’d tasted a Coke. He willed himself to drink it slowly. Even in days of plenty, drinking cold soda too fast had given him hiccups, and he hated hiccups.