Enter the Apocalypse

by Gondolfi, Thomas

  "Thanks," she muttered, and ran it through her gently curled black hair with long, slow strokes.

  Charlie returned to watching the sky. The sun was somewhere out there, its rays warming some unseen part of the horizon and adding more light to contrast against the starry black monoliths that towered against the sky. He pulled out his phone and thumbed it on. It was now only a few minutes before five. The early shift waking up to watch the first news broadcasts would know, very soon. The insomniacs on the Internet would know already, of course, but Charlie hadn't seen anyone on the trail from their apartment complex in Washington Heights into the park at the edge of the city limits. If anyone else had gotten a jump ahead of the crowds, they had stayed well-hidden.

  He thumbed his phone on again, stared at the time. When had the phone woken him out of his dozing stupor? He wracked his brain, trying to remember, and cursed Jason for not calling his cell phone. He cursed Lisa for insisting on keeping the land line, and cursed himself for giving in to her arguments about keeping a physical line open in case of emergencies. He stared daggers at the back of her head and then made himself breathe evenly. Maybe she had the right idea, he told himself. Maybe Jason wouldn't have done what he had done if it was just our cell phones. Some kind of detection algorithm, or a scrambler that blocks connections to cell signals. Who knows what they have there?

  They didn't have much time, regardless of the exact moment that Jason had called. There were still quite a few miles to go until Charlie felt they'd be in the realm of safety. Over the river and through the woods and let's hope the wind is blowing in any direction but ours.

  "Lisa, how drunk was Todd when you called him?"

  There was a silence, followed eventually by "what does that matter?"

  "It matters because he might have just brushed it off. He might have thought we were trying to pull a prank on him."

  "He said he'd be here."

  Charlie rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

  "Sure," he said, "he said he'd be here, but he's not. He's now, god, ten minutes late? Fifteen almost? What do you suppose is keeping him?"

  "You're such a shit, Charlie," she said, and each word was a crack from a .44 Magnum. "Don't talk about Todd like that. You're just jealous that I'm waiting for him and I wouldn't wait for you."

  Charlie bit back a reply that would have just deepened the argument. He watched nervously as his phone went from 5:01 a.m. to 5:02 a.m.

  "Look, let's save the you-and-me bullshit for later. Much later. We need to move."

  "We're not moving anywhere until Todd gets here."

  "FUCK TODD!" he screamed. The entirety of the phrase frightened him badly: the way he suddenly lost control, the volume of the words, the invective he poured into the word "fuck," the way it echoed off the trees and seemed to come back at them, ragged and ghostly. He put a shaking palm to his forehead and came away with a slick of sweat on his skin.

  Lisa got off the bench and walked away from him, back down the path that they'd come from.

  "Where are you going?" he asked sullenly. When she didn't respond, he gestured at her with exasperation and walked away in the opposite direction.

  You've wasted enough time waiting around for her he told himself firmly. Too many years of your life. Time to cut your losses and live. He marched through the park, keeping his eyes firmly on the line of trees on the other side. As he neared them, the sound of the river grew louder; eventually it drowned out his thoughts and brought a sort of natural zen into his head. The bank of the river itself was only a few yards into the trees at the edge of the park. He stopped at the water’s edge and stared into the dangerously quick flow. To him it remained a largely unknowable black force in the early morning dimness.

  Unbidden, the thought of Lisa's hair on his pillow, curled and springy jumped to his mind. The dusky scent of her perfume, the way her neck curved back to accept his lips upon her throat, her shoulders, her chest, all taunted him. The indescribable feeling of her body spooning into his as they slept ached through him. The memories stoked the magnetic fields of his heart, or the electrical impulses of his soul.

  Was it his soul?

  Was Lisa entangled with his soul?

  He stared at the water. It gave no answers except the meaningless gurgle of its black flow.

  "Fuck Todd," he muttered.

  He turned around and headed back for the park.

  She was back on the bench, curled up, sobbing softly. He took a seat at one end of the bench, near her feet.

  "I am jealous of Todd," he said, hunching forward to stare at the grass. "I'm jealous because I let our relationship deteriorate without bothering to do a damn thing about it. I'm jealous because he shows you passion and acceptance when I showed you indifference. I'm jealous because here, at the end of all things, you're curled up on a bench waiting for him, and not me."

  Lisa sat up and wiped at her eyes. "I didn't make it far. I got into the woods and realized that if Todd did show up, there wouldn't be anyone waiting there for him."

  "Too true."

  "I don't think he's showing up, though."

  "Well, he's nearly a half hour late now. If he was going to come, he would have been here already. If he's on his way...well, it'll be a fight to get anywhere in the city this morning."

  "What if your brother was wrong, Charlie? What if...I don't know, what if you heard him wrong?"

  "I don't think so," he said, closing his eyes. He could vividly recall the panic in Jason's voice, the way his words tumbled over themselves in a rush to get everything out. Nuclear containment—Zero forward contagion vector—Minimize losses. Jason was usually so calm. So serene.

  "I guess he would know," she said. "What do you think they're doing right now?"

  "Probably gathering into some bunker across the Potomac, the bastards. The butchers." He spat into the grass, and realized that he could see it fairly clearly now. The sun was on its way up. "I'm sure they'll let staff in, so he should be fine. Otherwise..." He stared up at the sky, growing golden with the dawn. "I hope it's quick, and painless."

  They sat in silence, and eventually Lisa moved herself directly next to him on the bench. He put his arm around her and together they watched the light slowly stretch itself across the sky.

  "We should go, I guess," she said after a few minutes.

  "It's probably too late anyway," he said casually. His sleeplessness was creeping over him again, and now the last thing he wanted to do was to get up off the bench.

  From somewhere in the city a fusillade of sirens erupted, followed closely by an answering cry of dozens of car horns honking insistently.

  "It begins," Charlie said.

  Wiping her eyes, Lisa got up off the bench and extended her hand to him. "Let's go," she said.

  He hesitated a moment but accepted her help up.

  They made their way in silence toward the woods and the river. As they approached the riverbank Lisa's hand found its way into Charlie's. They watched the river flow, and Charlie felt as though he'd somehow come to be in some folk tale of the Black Forest, set down centuries before. We're children lost in the forest, with an unimaginable force of evil bearing down on us that we can't see.

  He said, "Do you think—"

  The river and the woods around it lit up luridly, as though the noon sun had appeared directly behind them. Every leaf, every rock in the water, every blade of grass was thrown into sharp relief by a harsh, all-encompassing white light. They both instinctively covered their eyes. Charlie screamed on reflex.

  The rumble that followed swallowed his screams. The bass roar seemed as though a god had awoken and exhaled its morning breath over the world. The seismic response followed, shaking their feet and causing the water of the river to splash upward in protest. Finally came the shockwave of air, dissipated somewhat by the distance between the river and the city itself, but still powerful enough to knock the pair off their feet and into the powerful flow of the disturbed river.

  "Charlie!" Lisa screa
med. Charlie splashed around wildly, trying to find her hand in the churn of the current. Water went into his eyes, his nose, down his throat. His entire world became the river, and he struggled mightily to make it to one side, to find the earth and to dig his fingers into it and to never let go.

  Instead, he found a hand, grasping at his own hand with fevered strength. He shook his head, trying to get the water out of his eyes. He saw an outline of a human being with curly black hair, one hand grabbing onto a bush growing out of the river bank and one hand straining white-knuckled in an effort to hang onto him.

  "Don't let go," Lisa yelled. "I can get us up, just don't let go."

  Charlie looked at her, and looked at the bush. She'll never be able to pull us both up, he thought. We're done for. He looked at her hand, going white in the effort to hold onto him. “Don't let go,” she says. Well, isn't that my problem? Isn't that why I'm here?

  He began to wriggle his hand beneath her pincer grip.

  "What are you doing?" she shouted. Charlie continued to wriggle his hand.

  "What I should have done a while ago," he shouted back avoiding the river’s desperate attempt to fill his mouth. "Get up on the bank. Head away. Avoid roads. Find shelter. Don't trust anyone," he managed to blurt out.

  He could feel her desperation to pull him back to her. Part of him revelled in that black thought. But he severed their connection by twisting his wrist upward. Her fingers wrenched open and his hand was free. The river current swept him away downstream, and his last sight was of her springy black hair, framed in the golden light of dawn. As the water sucked him down and the blackness crept over him, he took comfort in the idea that now they were both free. Let's save the you-and-me-bullshit for later, he thought, the words struggling to form in his head. In fact, let's save it for never. Cut our losses and live. Or not. Once there was a way—but there was no point in finishing the thought. They were free of each other and there was no way back home. I hope Todd finds you, he thought, his consciousness fragmenting into a shuddering finality. I hope you can be happier than—and then there was nothing, just a lifeless body carried down a swift and unrelenting stream away from a burning city.

  On the shore, Lisa watched Charlie wash away. When he was gone, she looked back through the woods as the flickering lights of the newly arisen inferno played through the fractal outline of the trees. She waited for movement, for a familiar figure to emerge from the shifting shadows, but there was nothing. When the breeze picked up, carrying an oppressive heat and a thick, burnt stench, she picked her way down the river, looking for a place to cross over and be free.

  The World Is a Vampire

  Michael Cummings

  Editor: The fuel of rage can blind to the dangers inherent in seeking vengeance.

  With the tang of his afternoon tea still fresh on his tongue, Weisband noted his visitor's choice in clothes first. He was a strong believer that the way a man presented himself spoke volumes to his character. The man waiting in his office when he returned from lunch wore a wrinkled shirt tucked into industrial gray pants, coming short of the heavy leather boots that climbed to his knees. He studied an old pocket watch, the chain attached to his double-breasted vest. The clothing spoke of Soviet efficiency, but a quick glance showed the man’s letters of welcome were from a western German bergermeister. No doubt favors had been exchanged for him to get this hearing. The leather satchel in his hands, worn and fraying in places, spoke of a man used to action with little respect for the halls of government and bureaucracy.

  Shrewdly, Weisband concluded that his visitor was a crackpot. In his experience, only the mad or those in need of mental treatment thought they could see the chancellor dressed like they had just stepped off a steamer. Weisband sighed, making no pretense of his disappointment at the intrusion. Entertaining the eccentric was his penance for being a junior member of the chancellor's staff, but he didn't have to enjoy it.

  "Thank you for waiting," Weisband said, lips curling in a fake smile. "I trust you were kept comfortable, Mister...?"

  "Seward. Doctor Seward," the man said, standing up and stretching a hand out to Weisband. In his other hand he clutched the worn leather bag to his chest.

  Weisband took it, shaking lightly. From his own jacket he withdrew a handkerchief, discreetly wiping his palm and fingers clean. Seward arched an eyebrow as he caught the surreptitious action.

  "Germs, I'm afraid, are my phobia," Weisband said, tucking the cloth back into his jacket. "We all live with fears, some more real than others. At least my affliction is harmless."

  Seward gave a polite laugh. The horrific effects of the fear bombs of the 40s and 50s were still felt in parts of Central Europe. Odd eccentricities were to be expected the farther into the continent you traveled.

  "I understand the Soviets have made some progress on gene replacement therapy in the Baltics," Seward offered. "If you are interested, I might have some contacts that could be of service."

  Weisband inclined his head. "That's very kind of you, but I doubt you traveled all the way to Budapest to console me."

  "As you say," Dr. Seward said. He took a deep breath, like a man preparing to give a great speech. "If I could have a few moments of the chancellor's time, I have something that will be of interest to the future of the republic."

  "And you feel you, a humble doctor," he said, biting the last word out like it was a curse, "have something that the chancellor will find useful?"

  Seward puffed up his chest. "I think it's something that will propel him to the head of the Reichstag."

  Weisband considered letting this madman through. If Chancellor Hendrix was elevated to the Reichstag, it would leave an opening that Weisband was only too ready to fill. But that was not how protocol worked. "Alas, Chancellor Hendrix is kept busy. If you could leave any papers you brought, I will review them."

  Seward bit his lip. "That won't work. Perhaps if I could discuss them with you, I might convince you? And then you would go to the chancellor?"

  Weisband groaned. Protocol said he didn't have to offer his time. If asked for it, though, he couldn't refuse.

  "We can use the Habsburg room. It's old, but should suit our needs. And what are we talking about today?" he asked, leading Seward into the main concourse.

  "I have a means of securing the Republic's economic relationship with the Nippon Empire. They will be so beholden, they will have no choice but to take a side in the Cold War."

  Weisband missed a step as he walked. He had heard this sales pitch before, but something about the doctor's sincere tone caught him by surprise.

  "And how will we do that?" he asked drolly.

  "By eliminating the kaiju threat for them."

  ***

  The chancellor of the fourth republic was a study in contrasts. On weekends, away from the offices and corridors of power, Hendrix spent his time with his wife and their grandchildren. For two days at a time there was only the sound of laughter, the smell of fresh baked breads, and a hearty hearth to settle beside into the night.

  When he returned to the city each Monday, he would don his charcoal gray suit and stony face. The task of running a multinational government fell on his shoulders alone.

  He stared at Weisband, eyes dull as he sipped his morning kaffe. He set the cup down on its saucer, his gaze never wavering.

  "You understand it is your duty to act as a deterrent to these people," he said after a long silence. Weisband opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. "If I took the time to listen to every insane petitioner that managed to lie, cheat, and bribe their way into our offices, I would never get any work done. He didn't bribe you, did he? Offer you something you wanted? Money, or a woman perhaps?"

  "Of course not," Weisband said hotly, offended. "I have done everything within my powers to dissuade this Dr. Seward from aggravating you."

  Chancellor Hendrix eyed his cup, but didn't pick it up again. His morning kaffe was a ritual, a sacred time that should have been immune to interruptions. Even the mos
t junior of staff members knew to wait until he had settled in for the day. He glanced at Weisband, noting the thin sheen of nervous sweat on the man’s brow as the junior obsessively wrung his hands.

  "What did he say to make you let your guard down?"

  "He claims to have a means of bringing the Nipponese to our aid. Beholden, even, to quote him."

  "Fine," Hendrix said, though it was clear from his tone it wasn't. "I will give him five minutes. Then we must really get back to these reports on the Soviets. I hear they want to build another of their damnable nuclear power plants."

  "Another?" Weisband asked, shuffling around the desk to help the chancellor collect his papers.

  "This one near the Red Forest. What do they need so much power for, I wonder?"

  Weisband followed in the chancellor's wake, a step and a half behind.

  "Isn't there an amusement park there? Pripyat?"

  "You might be right. Find out for me. Also get me the latest figures on kaiju attacks. Might as well have numbers as ammunition to argue with this lunatic."

  "Of course," Weisband said. He hurried ahead of the chancellor, opening the doors to the Habsburg room.

  A large, ornate table filled most of the space. To Weisband's knowledge, the great family had never used the room, the name coming later in memorial of the early casualties in the fear bombings between the Soviets and the Germanic nations of the Republic.

  The chancellor sat down across the table, waving a hand in recognition of Dr. Seward.

  "You have something to share?" he asked abruptly, shuffling through the stack of papers he had brought with him.

  "Y-Y-Yes," Seward said, stuttering. Weisband hid a small smile of satisfaction. The doctor was all bluster until faced with real power.

  Seward slid a small portfolio across the table, then folded his hands together. Hendrix arched an eyebrow, glancing up. "What is this?"