2136: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by Matthew Thrush

  ‘I'm sorry it took me so long to get back. I had hoped your parents would have been here.’

  ‘They would have liked to have seen you,’ I said.

  He nodded his head and managed a tight smile.

  ‘I would have liked that, too.’

  He stood up and walked over to the front windows of the shop and peered out. I walked over and stood next to him. The clouds had lost their menacing whip, but continued to cast their black hood over the world. Something dark hit the window in front of me and I stared at the mysterious substance. A few seconds later another one hit lower on the window. More black drops began to pick up intensity until the porch was being bombarded by the black mystery. I saw several of the people who were braving the sudden calm only to be lashed by the new droplets. Their blackened bodies ran back to the porches, clothes soaked to the creases in the crud. They stood there underneath the rafters as the black goo leaked onto the porch.

  Parker was looking at the sheets of black rain descending from the bleak sky as if it were normal.

  ‘What's that?’ I asked. There were hundreds of tiny black dots along the window in front of me by now. I touched each one with my fingers as I traced an imaginary line between them.

  ‘Oil,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Oil?’ I asked incredulously. ‘How is there oil raining from the sky? The oil's been all dried up for months now. The Metallics drained all the pumps at the gas stations in our precinct and surrounding areas. All that's left is what you see here.’

  I motioned to the red plastic tubs stacked along the back wall. There used to be rows of them, but now there were only three. I wasn't even sure if they were all full or not.

  ‘It's oil,’ he repeated, and unlatched the bolt along the door. He stood at the precipice of the door and the porch as if he was deciding whether he should enter into the chaos, or remain sheltered. I saw his face tighten as if he made up his mind and walk out. He kept along the walls avoiding as much of the black rain as he could, but it was useless. The black crude oil bounced off the porch and splashed onto his boots and pants. In a matter of moments he was covered from the waist down in black.

  He tapped on the window with his knuckle and motioned for me to come out. I stood by the doorway and peaked my head out.

  ‘Grab those tubs and bring them to me.’

  I started to turn around, but his voice stopped me.

  ‘Is there a funnel in the shop?’ he asked. ‘Or something like it?’

  ‘I'll look.’

  I could hear the roar of the sky as it poured down on us. This new, heavier liquid pounded and filled the water puddles in the square until the water gave way to its lustful downpour.

  I rummaged through Roxx's wares in search of something that looked like a funnel. I grabbed an apparatus that mimicked a funnel and an empty barrel along the wall and went back to the front. I returned two more times for the remaining tubs. I was right—empty.

  I brought one at a time out into the rain. Parker was staring off into the sky.

  He turned to me the moment I stepped onto one of the porch floorboards.

  ‘You find it?’ he asked.

  I held up the foot long cylinder tubing of an old water hose and piece of broken glass from a light fixture.

  ‘Will this work?’ I asked.

  He scrutinized the gear, then nodded his head. He motioned for me to bring them over. He took the first empty tub in his hands, sat it at his feet, then shoved the hose down the opening and adhered the broken glass to the opening.

  ‘Any duct tape?’

  I held up my pointer finger and ran back into the shop. I returned moments later with the duct tape.

  ‘You're lucky,’ I said with a curt smile. ‘If there's one thing we have in abundance here, it's duct tape. There was an old factory here that made construction and household supplies. Duct tape was one of their top demands. It seems to be the only source of nails and screws we got these days.’ I laughed as I tossed the silver heavy-duty duct tape to him. He snatched it out of the air and pulled a long piece free. He used his teeth to tear it then tossed the roll back to me.

  He twisted the tape around the bottom crease of the broken glass (our funnel) and the hose, being careful to seal it tight. I stripped another arm's length of tape from the roll and handed it to him when he motioned to me. He twisted it over the other piece, but this time expanded its reach. After one more strip our makeshift funnel was complete. He rose from his crouched position, grabbed the hose by the funnel end and the gasoline tub and walked into the oil rain. The rest of his body turned from the worn brown leather to a mat black. While he was doing that I went back into the shop to find some more hose ends and anything I could use as a funnel. I came back with three more strips of hose or tubing made for bathroom plumbing and some bowls which I then proceeded to break the bottoms off of. I fastened the duct tape around the hose and tubing and my mouthpieces just as Parker had before and after seven minutes or so I had two more functional funnels. He grabbed the tubs and the funnels and brought them out into the rain and set them next to the first.

  We emptied Roxx's shop of any and all appliances that could store or catch the falling oil from the sky. Oil was a precious commodity, and something we could use to make gasoline to extend our search parties' reach when harvesting nearby towns and cities for supplies or food. The Market soon looked like a scrap yard with all the buckets, bowls, cups, and pots sitting in the mud gathering up all the oil they could. As these filled up I poured the black oil into the 50-gallon barrels inside the shop. In two hours we had filled the five barrels to the brim, all three gasoline tubs, and ten pots and bowls with oil. The moment we placed the last bowl inside, the rain stopped. The clouds lost their black hue and returned to their grey tint.

  ‘We finished just in time,’ Parker said.

  ‘Good timing,’ I agreed.

  We weren't the only ones taking advantage of the oil storm. The entire community was outside in the Market scooping up the oil with their own buckets and gasoline tubs. In a matter of hours we became the oil capital of all the precincts within a 150-mile radius. Parker and I walked into the open, avoiding as many of the oil puddles as we could.

  ‘Has this ever happened before?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I pointed with my eyes to all the black around us.

  ‘Ah, an oil rain. Yes, it’s happened before, but a long time ago.’

  ‘Too bad it doesn’t rain oil more often. We could have used this.’

  ‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘Does your godfather have a vehicle?’ he asked me suddenly. I was thinking about how I hadn't watered my baby trees in almost a week. I hoped they were still alive and hadn’t been caught in the oil rain.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Roxx. Does he have a mode of transportation?’

  I didn't respond right away. I stopped at the edge of the trench and looked down at the mud blotches. We were at the edge of the new river the flash flood had formed. By now the water had slowed to a trickle; most of it had washed through to continue its damage elsewhere. All that was left was an empty pit of mushy rock and dirt covered in black oil splotches. Only a fragment of the bridge the men had constructed a few days ago remained. The rest of the metal beams and platforms had washed away. So much for crossing to the other side without getting dirty or risking falling and breaking a bone. At least for now we could walk down into the moat and climb up onto the other side.

  I finally answered Parker's question as I rotated away from the river.

  ‘I've seen a bike in his storage shed before. But he hasn't touched that in years. I don't even know if it still works,’ I said.

  ‘I'd like to see it,’ he said, and started walking back towards the shop.

  ‘Parker,’ I called out. It felt weird to say his name. ‘It's not in town. I'll show you.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  The intensity in his eyes could steal your breath away, but when he smiled you felt
like there was no one you could trust more. Why I trusted him, I will never know. I didn't even know the guy.

  ‘You up for getting a little dirty?’ I asked, with a grin on my face.

  He squinted his eyes in confusion.

  I pointed down into the moat nature had provided for us.

  ‘We have to cross over to the other side. We had a bridge, but…’ I pointed to the scrap metal that was dangling over the edge. ‘The storm kind of took it.’

  ‘Looks like we're climbing then,’ he said.

  ‘Looks like.’

  ‘I prefer getting my hands dirty anyway,’ he chuckled, and squatted to his hands and knees and climbed backwards into the ravine. I followed close behind. His hands were outstretched as I jumped down into a large puddle of black goo.

  It splashed onto his chest and face.

  ‘Sorry!’ I couldn't help but smile nervously.

  He took a neckerchief out of his back pocket and wiped the black oil from his face.

  ‘It's fine. Anyone who thinks they'll be able to stay clean in this world is in for a rude awakening.’

  He patted me on the shoulder in a motion to continue.

  ‘You go first, and I'll give you a lift,’ he said.

  The trench the flash flood had formed wasn't too deep. It was only about ten feet or so, but the moment you placed your hands and feet in the mud, they sank down as if you were standing in quicksand. By the time we got to the top, I was panting.

  ‘Wow, why was that so difficult?’

  ‘I have an excuse. I'm old.’

  We caught our breath for a few seconds before I led him down an old road into the stray remnants of the town. The Market wasn't actually the town, just a parking lot by an old market where we had all set up camp. It was also closer to the reservoir where we got most of our water. Thinking on it now, it had to be full after all of that rain.

  We walked about half a mile or so before the first signs of civilization began to pop up. My ankle was getting better, but it still ached with each stride. I was just glad I was able to walk.

  ‘What did you do to your leg?’ he asked as we were passing an old Ford pickup. It was just an empty carcass of metal. The engine was long gone, having been foraged of its worth.

  ‘I had an accident,’ I said.

  ‘What kind of an accident?’

  ‘I fell down a dark hole into an unknown world I never knew existed.’

  ‘Poetic,’ Parker joked. ‘Did you find the answers you were searching for when you went down into this dark mysterious place?’

  ‘Actually, I did.’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘And much more,’ I whispered under my breath. ‘So where were you all of these years? Why haven't I heard about you before?’

  We passed by a dilapidated law firm building, ‘George's & Sons’, overgrown with rust and dead weeds. Weeds can grow in any environment it seems, kind of like cockroaches. They always found a way against all odds to survive. If we all perished, the roaches would inhabit the earth once and for all. The adjoining shopping center to its immediate left looked like some Popsicle sticks jutting out of the concrete earth. They too were covered in overgrowth. Many had lost their roofs to the hurricane winds or straight up collapsed in on themselves. I'm sure the roofs lay at the bottom of the building in broken and battered piles of brick and rubble.

  ‘I was in Camp Grayling,’ he finally conceded after a long time.

  ‘You were a refugee?’ I asked.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘How did you get out of Camp Grayling? I thought you said it was like a prison once you were in.’

  ‘It was,’ he said curtly. ‘And, it's complicated.’

  I didn't press the issue. From what little he had told me before about the National Guard base turned FEMA camp, it wasn't pretty. And if he was in fact one of the refugees within its walls, where the same fences and wires that were supposed to protect had become a prison, the fact he was here was probably not a good sign. I could only imagine what he had to do to escape.

  I instinctively swiveled my head wondering if someone was following us.

  With all the fallen buildings and empty streets, it wouldn't be hard to find us. We were a red flare sticking out in the sky. Anyone from a mile away would see us coming. I felt my stomach swerve at the thought. Even though SIND had tried to restore order to the ground, there were rumors of a group who refused to bend their knees to the system. The Rind, as they called themselves, supposedly survived in underground colonies and would raid shipments coming from the Pavers. As far as I knew, it was all just propaganda and gossip. I had never met anyone from Rind, let alone seen any signs of their legitimate existence.

  I stepped over fragments of stone and brick, and a fallen statue of Benjamin Franklin that had split down the middle. His face was still looking towards the sky with those all-knowing eyes as if to say, ‘I knew this was coming.’ Yeah, well...why didn't you warn us then? Truth is, he had. We just chose not to listen.

  Roxx's storage was a warehouse near an old Jiffy Lube. It was the original hub for the Metallics before they found the Market and turned it into a thriving economic system of trade and bartering. I found the tin can along the side and tilted it. The copper key was still there. I went around to the front where Parker was patiently waiting. He was watching the streets like a guard dog.

  I couldn't help but wonder if someone was coming after him. If he had only stopped in town to hunker down for a few days until the threat passed by, then he was hiding. And if he was hiding, that meant they were looking for him. Who they were, I have no idea, but it probably wasn't anyone we wanted to come stomping around here looking for an escapee. They very well could just take us all in, seeing as our town was nearly wiped off the face of the map from the last storm.

  ‘Don't worry,’ I said. ‘No one comes over this way any more. Not even the Pavers.’

  I saw the anxiety in his eyes when he flashed them my way. His right hand was nestled on the backside of his hip on something under his vest.

  ‘Can't be too careful these days,’ he said. ‘The world's a dangerous place when humans aren't the only thing you have to worry about.’

  What was he talking about?

  The copper key rattled against the dead bolt as I tried to keep my hands from shaking. The key slid into the locking mechanism on the thick heavy-duty Grade 70 towing chain looped through the warehouse's door handles. The lock snapped open and I tossed it to the ground and unwound the chain. I hesitated before lifting the bay door. I was just a little girl the last time I had been here. I didn't know what to expect when I opened the door.

  For all I knew, the warehouse could be full of unknown gadgets and trinkets, or worse, something or someone else. And with how on edge Parker was acting, it had me worried. If it was anything like the mysterious tunnel system under the city that connected to an abandoned bomb shelter, then we were in for a surprise. What else about the precinct did I not know about? What else were the broken shells of the old city and their rubble hiding in their shadows?

  ‘Ready?’ I asked, peering back at Parker.

  He placed both hands on his hips; feet shoulder width apart.

  He nodded.

  The bay door squeaked as I slid it open. I immediately started coughing up my lungs as a dust cloud rushed out as the opening door released pressure. I heard the walls squeak as the air filtered in. I held my hand over my mouth as I walked in, Parker close behind.

  ≈ Chapter 18 ≈

  Alveoli can only sustain the pollutants of a nuclear fallout for so long before they clog from the porous fumes and radiation in the air.

  I could feel my lungs straining to find oxygen in the muddled haze that filled the entire storage warehouse as Parker and I crept in. With the grey gallows from the sky drifting in through the open sliding door, the interior took on a minced glow. I held my hand along my nose and mouth to ward off the toxic ash floating in the air. The musk tasted like ash from a chimn
ey sweep, heavy with gasoline and iron aromas. I felt the pain begin at the crevices of my eye sockets before it slid its acidic fingers along the contours of my eyes. After three more steps my eyes were forced closed by the burn and I struggled to blink. With my eye lids firmly shut, I reached into my knapsack strung over my shoulders and felt for the hard plastic and rubber siding of my gas mask. My fingers found the strap, pulled it out, and nestled the mask over my face with expert precision. I allowed the air to settle before I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. The air-purifying respirator buzzed as I took in several deep breaths through the filter.

  That's better. The stiffness in my chest relaxed. I looked over my shoulder to see how Parker was fairing, fully expecting that he would be crumpled over in a heap coughing and wheezing. To my surprise, he had beat me to it. He already had his mask on. From my vantage point, it looked like an MCU-2/P Mask. The same the Air Force used during Desert Storm when forces converged on Iraq.

  Parker looked like an alien as he walked towards me.

  ‘The musk is pretty heavy in here,’ he said. He zipped up his jacket to the tip of his neck and over the gas mask. ‘High-octane oil or natural gas, I would presume,’ he said. ‘Might be a leak.’

  ‘Good we don't have any lighters around here,’ I said.

  I walked further into the warehouse. The dim glow of the sky projected only so far into the darkness before it stopped in an abrupt line. My legs were coated in the light, the darkness only inches in front of me. I could just barely make out the outline of an old Chevy Buick and a row of other cars I had never seen before.

  Parker flashed by me in a blur as he submerged into the darkness. I found myself following close behind. I bumped into several oil changing stations before my eyes fully adjusted to the darkness and I could see. The mysteries of the warehouse slowly revealed themselves as I walked through. The foreign cars turned out to be Hondas and a pickup truck. Their metal frames had been completely gutted and the cushions removed. Only the inner frame remained. Even the steering wheels and most of the dashboards were gone.