"They're not my friends," I say, concentrating hard on each word so it doesn't come out slurred. "I don't know them, really. I've never hung out in SIM with other people before, like with people all logged into SIM together in the same room. I just wanted to try something real."
She laughs—the first time I've seen her smile. She's wearing tiny jingle-bell earrings, and they make a bright, tinkling sound whenever she shakes her head.
"This is the first time you've ever been outside the city, isn't it?"
"Are you kidding? Going to that party was the first time I'd even left my house. I mean, I've been places in SIM—like my family's been taking virtual vacations every year since I was little because they think it's important for me to see the world—but we never really go anywhere."
Her lips curl up on one side and she shakes her head at me.
"What?" I ask. "Do you, like, hang out in the woods all the time or something?"
"You want to see something real? Check this out."
She reaches into the backpack and pulls out a folded piece of paper. I scoot closer, look over her shoulder as she opens it. Her hair smells like the forest around us—musky, green, alive.
"Holy shit," I say. "Is that a map?"
"Obviously. How do you think I knew how to get here?"
The map is ink-drawn. I've never seen anything like it. It's covered with a maze of multi-colored roads, all dotted with little X's. A graceful squiggle of lines dances across the top. Those are words. They've got to be.
"Did you make this? How'd you learn to write?"
She lays the map in front of us, carefully smooths the folds. "How'd you not learn to write?"
I narrow my eyes at her. She's not smiling, but it's got to be a joke. Not even my grandparents write by hand anymore, and they're Facebook generation. I concentrate on the squiggles, strain to decipher the words, but I haven't read anything without the assistance of a computer since I was little. All the concentrating and trying to act sober is starting to give me a killer headache. Jesus, it takes superhuman effort to stay present outside SIM.
"What's the deal with all the X's?"
She frowns and snatches the map, shoves it into the backpack.
"Wow. Okay. Never mind then." I lean back and squeeze my eyes shut against the blossoming pressure in my brain. A product-mover whirs and bumps overhead, wheels barely touching the bridge, delivering packages of food, clothing, computer parts—pretty much anything that can't be faked in the virtual SIM network—right to everyone's front door. It's so different down here, away from the automated efficiency of the city. The ancient concrete is cold under my palms, and I feel gritty dirt and grass poking up through the cracks. Fat brown vines snake up from the forest, wind around the massive pillars supporting the highway overhead. A shriveled pine tree pushes up beside one of the pillars in an unevenly matched competition for the sun. This is the longest I've gone outside the SIM network. Definitely my first time in a cold, dirty forest. The novelty is starting to wear off.
And then she touches my hand.
Electricity shivers up and down my spine. I've never been so completely and totally here, in the now. I've never—God—I've never been touched by anyone real besides my parents before. I'm breathing hard, pushing little white clouds into the cold air. I don't remember ever being so keenly aware of breathing, of the rhythmic inflating and deflating of lungs, of how we need to do this—suck air molecules in and out, in and out—or we—
She pulls her hand away, laughs again, earrings jingling.
"Wait, aren't we going to—?" I say it without thinking, instantly regret it.
"Aren't we going to what?" She giggles, jumps to her feet. "How do you think this works? I lure you out into the wild, beautiful world and make you feel things, and then you have some revelation about how you're wasting your life hooked up to a computer and I reward your enlightenment with passionate sex? No, Kelvin. Sorry to disappoint you, but this story we're weaving together isn't so predictable."
Hot embarrassment stings my face. I stumble to my feet and the world tips. I think I may throw up. "Eva, I thought...I don't know what I thought. Sorry."
She places a hand on my shoulder, steadies me, shooting another bolt of electric energy up and down my body. "Don't worry, Kelvin. I brought you here for something better. Something beautiful and real, just like you wanted."
She skids down the steep concrete curve of the overpass.
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
"Come on," she calls over her shoulder.
I swallow hard, push down the nausea, pinwheeling my arms wildly as I half run, half fall after her. I almost crash into her at the bottom of the slope, but she presses her palms against my chest to stop me. She grabs my hand and pulls me away from the overpass, onto the overgrown path we took from the party. We clamber up a steep slope. She's still gripping my hand—kind of too hard, actually.
"Watch." Her voice is soft, breathy.
We're high enough now that I can see over the treetops to the ancient highway system running across the overpass. A parade of automated product-movers zips smoothly along the roads. There are hundreds of them, maybe thousands.
"What are we watching?"
"The death of fiction, of course." She squeezes my hand. "The birth of something new."
And then I see it. The gray backpack. It's still resting silent and ghost-like where we were sitting under the overpass.
I feel the explosion before I see it, a powerful burst that blows me back, smashes me to the ground, searing light and sound following fast. I clamp my hands hard against my ears and curl into a tight ball. My ears feel like they're bleeding, like if I let go of my head my brain will seep out over the rocks around me.
I look up, my palms still pressed against my ringing ears. Eva is beside me, legs pulled to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. The look on her face is so serene it makes the tiny hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The overpass is burning blue-hot. My nose stings from the acrid smell of smoke.
And then I see it. A dozen flames, a hundred flames, a horizon full of tiny blue flames.
"Did you think we were the only ones out here tonight?" Eva's hand covers mine, but this time I don't feel electric shivers. This time I feel numb. I feel nothing.
The X's: overpasses. The product-movers: all gone.
"Why did you bring me here?" I can barely hear my own voice over the ringing in my ears.
"To watch." She squeezes my hand. "To witness."
We sit there, holding hands, and witness my world burn.
Ia Ia Cthulhu Fhtagn
Armageddon Has Begun
Kim Alan
Editor: Sometimes Lovecraft got it too right.
Below the Sea of Galilee
In a cauldron of tar, and salinity
Where no life can survive
The dark evil incarnate did arise
From the mysterious depths
Of the bottomless pit it leapt
The Beast was not the metaphor
Of ancient gospels’ lore
But an immense physical manifestation
A mountain of all that is evil, incarnation
Each inhalation of his respiration
Stole light from Earth's horizon
Expelling sulfured air in exhalation
His putrid breath was an abomination
With his right paw he swept away Gaza
With his left he crushed all of Mecca
Then looking towards the heavens in triumph
In a grotesque glare of defiance
He bellowed a hideous howl of victory
So all God’s children clutched their ears in agony
Except for the one, the one called Abaddon
Who greeted the “Living Darkness” with adulation
“Ia Ia Cthulhu Fhtagn, Ia Ia Cthulhu Fhtagn!”
“My Great Lord, begin the Armageddon!”
An Acceptable Loss
Jacalyn Schnelle
Editor: Ma
ke no mistake, dreams drive us onward toward heights we never knew we could surmount. Reality is what happens when the dreams can no longer hold us up. Which is stronger? Which has the right to survive?
ATTENTION!!
I HAVE BEEN BITTEN
If you are reading this, you are in danger, for I have discovered I am too much of a coward to simply end my life.
In an attempt to minimize danger for you and yours, I will place all shelf stable items and nonperishables in the foyer, and lock myself further in the house.
If you are willing to end my misery, I will be forever grateful, but I understand if the risk is too great.
Please forgive my weakness,
Roy Phillips 5/12
"Four days ago."
"Yeah, the poor bastard has definitely turned by now. Do we leave him, or help out?"
Eileen sighs at the note, which he painted way too carefully on the front door. She’s squinting at it thoughtfully, ignoring my twitches, like we have all the time in the world to consider this. Like we aren't in constant danger. Nothing can rush her when she gets like this, and the rest of our group depends on me to get stuff done when our smart but kind leader checks out over moral issues.
Morals aren’t important anymore, though. Survival is. Eileen is damn good at keeping us safe, and even mostly sane, but she is not good with the whole “acceptable loss” concept. To her, there is no such thing, no need for such a thing. There will always be a way to make it work.
Me, though? I'm a realist. I want to grab those cans and go. We still need to scout for a safe place to rest, and the sun is beginning to dip low. There is no time for her to chew on her lip and consider variables. We have people that depend on us, three of 'em kids, and we can't take another night of nonstop driving. A few of our drivers are about to crack as it is.
I move forward, too wired to be gentle with her, too afraid to coax her to reason. This cul de sac is in the middle of a grouping of hills, and if we weren't so low on canned veggies I never would have agreed to this stop. The kiddos need their goddamn vitamins, though. Our group will eat right even if it literally kills me. Which, okay, it is starting to feel like it might. All the more reason to get the fuck out of Dodge as soon as possible.
The door has warped a bit in the recent wet weather, but it opens easily enough, though its horrible screeching noise does make my teeth itch. Inside it's all classic middle-class, middle-America, and the cans, unopened packages of crackers, and water bottles are all right there, just like he said. There are even maxi pads and toilet paper, and I have never been happier to see them. Thank you, God, for TP; that is almost as good as the veggies and water.
I carry armloads of supplies to the nearby RV. I need to focus on something outside myself before I get overwhelmed, so I tease Rebecca when I see her peeking out one of the windows. I ruffle Michael's hair, and do what little things I can to put our people at ease. I'm not as good at it as Eileen is, but she's vanished into the house while I had my back turned. I'm not good at hiding my nerves, and my feelings are getting to the group, the adults snapping at each other over shit like where to put the supplies, the kids fighting over a toy. There's nothing I can do to stop this but to get us all the fuck out of here. Unfortunately, this thought dies as Eileen calls to me from a window.
An upstairs window.
I. Am going. To kill her.
Upstairs. I’m running, and she meets me. She talks fast. She knows me too well to let me talk right now. "Erin, I had to. I heard something, so I investigated it—carefully!—and I've—"
She cuts off, and I realize she's pale. Her gun is in her hand, but it's like she doesn't realize it. All her gun safety and precision is gone suddenly, and I'm scared. I've never seen Eileen like this, not even when one of our RVs got stuck near a horde and we had to carefully transfer all our people and supplies to other vehicles across the roofs as the undead swarmed around us. She had been quiet that day, but had kept calm. She’d even made the switch between cars a game for the little ones. Managed to make them laugh while death had surged around them.
I’m seeing none of that strength in her now. I can feel everything below my waist going weak and watery, and she must see this on my face because she grabs my wrist, squeezes it till the bones grate together. She's done it before, and I've done it for her, a makeshift method for keeping the panic at bay. It works again this time and I take a deep breath. In. Out. In. Out.
Neither of us can ever fall apart, no matter what happens. She and I are the strength for our people. “So,” I ask her, "what did you find?"
The bite is a disease. I know, we know, the usual stages, and the order they occur in on average. Averages have outliers, though. I've known that since high school stats, so when Eileen tells me Four-day Roy is still completely unaggressive, I can kind of understand. Every disease has someone that can hold it off for way longer than they're “supposed to.”. Roy's just the statistical anomaly we were bound to meet sooner or later. Eileen is not very appreciative of this probability.
Of course, I’m not real appreciative of her telling me she wants to spend the night here with him, so I guess we’re even. “That’s a funny joke! Haha! Okay, we should be done, so let’s go.”
“Erin. Please. I know you think this is going to be another disappointment—”
“No, no! I know this is going to be a suicide mission.”
The disappointed look she pulls out is one I’ve only seen when she wants to manipulate people. Instead of helping her case it makes my blood pressure go through the roof. I am not being unreasonable here. I am, in fact, being the opposite of unreasonable. I am being mega reasonable.
“Eileen. Get in the RV.”
She draws herself up, towers her two extra inches over me, and swells with self-righteous anger. “No. He may be the hope—”
So I grab her shoulders and yank her back down to my level. “Our hope is time, Eileen. We have to keep moving for at least three years, or until enough of those shambling fucks rot to immobility that we can be safe in one place. Our hope is not a dude that hasn’t died fast enough.”
“Sorry I haven’t gone more quickly,” from a voice behind Eileen.
I pull her next to me. I bring my gun up. I fire. He doesn’t drop.
I intended to put one through his head. Instead I shoot through the goddamn floor because Eileen smacked my gun hand downward. I can’t even turn on her because there is a goddamn bite victim right in front of me.
I step away from my partner to make sure she doesn’t get in my way this time. Refusing to take the hint, she interposes her body with that of my target.
“Erin, this is Roy.”
“No, nonono, we’re not friends here. I don’t need to be introduced. I need to shoot him in the head, and we need to leave because the sun is setting soon.” The bite victim, whose name does not fucking matter to me, is pale and sweaty. He’s leaning back against the wall, maybe can’t support his own weight. He’s a bit shorter than usual, kinda chubby, and balding. I’m honestly surprised he’s lasted so long, especially alone. Probably, I’d be doing him a favor by putting him down. Shit, he’s been bitten; I’m definitely doing the dude a favor.
I bring my gun up again, and bite victim just looks at me. I’ve never had to take out a noncombatant before. The ones we’ve lost to the bite have all had the good graces to finish themselves off, sparing us the trauma. This shit hole, though, has decided he’s above all that. That he has the right to take away another little piece of my humanity.
Eileen smiles luminously when I lower my gun again, but it falters when I just look at her. I know she can see how angry I am; no one has ever understood me that way she does, and that means she knows how furious I am at being stuck as the asshole just because I want to protect our people. Seriously, fuck her morality.
I turn to leave, feeling both of their eyes on me. I don’t care. “We need orders within the next five minutes, Eileen. We still need to find a safe place to spend the night. And we don
’t have time for this bullshit.”
I rumble down the stairs, hearing her call me, and I don’t stop.
***
She’s made the right call, this time, and while I don’t really like the place we found to stop, it’s better than driving all night and probably killing ourselves. We found a gated community and drove through to make sure there were no stumblers on the grounds and that the whole area was actually fenced in. Apparently, a lot of “gated” apartment complexes and communities just have kinda...I don’t know, ornamental? sorta gates that don’t do squat to keep things out. This one’s good enough, though, and the kids are settled in after a big dinner that had plenty of vegetables. Most of the adults are crashing too, but Eileen and I are on the roof of our RV, sitting surrounded by our big bolted-down planter boxes. It’s nice up here. Smells like tomatoes. Hopefully the plants will be mature soon.
“Erin, I know you’re not listening.”
I’m really excited for the cucumbers. I wasn’t even a big fan of them before the epidemic, but now I’m drooling at the prospect.
“I need you to listen to me, please. This doesn’t feel like that outlier thing—”
Does vinegar spoil? I’ll have to ask Keelan. He always knows the weird food facts. I’ll have myself a cucumber and tomato salad with vinaigrette.
“The disease usually takes hold in a day, Erin! It’s been five!”
Wait, is vinaigrette even made from vinegar? Or is that just something I assumed because of the name?
Wait. “Four days.”
She’s looking at me, serious, and shaking her head. “No. He told me it took him a day to find a safe place, set down the nonperishables, and paint that note. It’s been five, Erin. Tomorrow, if he still isn’t sick, it’ll be six.”
Enter the Apocalypse Page 6