The Apocalypse Fugitives

by Peter Meredith

  "They must be under the pontoons," someone screamed in panic. Michael began telling his people to watch over the edges, but they were reluctant. At least two of the men had pistols aimed at Captain Grey and looked ready to fire when one of them saw Jillybean. "Hold on! That's a little girl. Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

  Jillybean took full advantage of the confusion; like a sparrow she zipped past the stunned captain and made for the closest tent. After the briefest hesitation in which she took its measure she slashed at it with her sharp knife.

  "Uh, Jillybean?" Captain Grey asked, looking just as shocked as the people gathered on the other boats.

  Forget it, Ipes moaned to the captain. We're doomed. She's lost it!

  She ignored them both and in a few seconds she had cut the tent near in half. It flapped wide and at first looked like an opened clam, but when she grabbed one side and rushed to the front of the boat, the tent resembled a kite that was about to fly off on the growing wind.

  "Tell her to stop that," Michael ordered. "You aren't going anywhere, you know." The facts didn't back up his statement. The interlocked boats were still easing on an arc to the east while the lone pontoon was continuing on, slowly north. Michael saw his brother Shawn was at the anchor spool working the hand crank, but no one had yet corrected the angle of the propeller. "Someone turn that damned motor!"

  When he glanced back he saw Jillybean working like mad tying down one edge of the tent to the front, left side of the pontoon. Her movements were mostly a curiosity until she went to tie down the other side of the canvas tent and then everyone saw what she had built: a sail.

  "Untie me! I can help," Grey shouted, hurrying up to her.

  "No time," she replied, as her little hands tied down the tent, using its straps and stakes. "Lean right here. Put your weight here."

  Ipes saw the tent fill with wind and immediately the boat heaved to and began pressing ahead. When he glanced back to the Floating Island he saw that they had corrected their course and was now forty yards back but gaining. Had they been in a real sailboat they would have shot away from their pursuers, but the pontoon was handling and moving like a great wallowing pig. Their main problem was that the make-shift sail was tied to the railing which was way too low to catch all the wind they could.

  They're coming, Ipes warned her.

  "Yep," she replied. Without looking back she took one of the tent poles and stuck it up in the center of the sail lifting it. This helped, but not by much. "Please turn around, Mister Captain Grey, sir, so I can cut you free, but don't take your weight off the edge of the tent." When he turned, she started sawing at the ropes that bound his arms.

  It took a full half minute. Had she cut him free right off the bat there was no telling how close the Floating Island would be to them. As it was they had lost ten yards of their lead. Once he was free she released the top edge of the sail from the rail and handed it to him. "I need you to lift this edge as high as you can. It'll make us go faster. I'll start on the next sail."

  "No," Grey said. "I'll do it. This one is pretty slapdash as it is."

  "I don't know what slapdash means," she said. "But I know I'm not tall or strong enough to hold the edge of the sail up and that's what means we'll get caught."

  He gave it a glance and saw that she was right. "Get working on it then, quickly."

  She left him gripping the edge of the canvas with both hands and went to the second tent. This one she cut with a little more exactness. Ipes knew she didn't know what "slapdash" meant, but she had a guess that it meant sloppy or something close. She cut the tent down the middle and took it, flapping and barking in the wind to Captain Grey.

  "Can you please hold this edge, Mister Captain Grey, sir?"

  "It's just Sir or Captain, but not both," he explained, taking the top edge in his left hand and then stepping on the bottom edge. He was now spread eagle. "This is going to be the slowest get away in the history of the world."

  "Is it?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

  It sure seemed so to Ipes. The Floating Island was being nudged along by a little electrical motor and was doing about four miles per hour at its full power, while their lone pontoon was doing just less than that. A man could walk faster.

  She tied down the second edge of the tent and Captain Grey groaned from the new strain as the wind took hold and the pontoon began to pick up speed. It was almost unnoticeable, but they were increasing their lead by a few yards with each passing minute.

  "I'm not going to be able to hold this for very long," he said after only a few minutes. His face was already going red with the effort of holding the two sails up.

  I thought he was supposed to be strong, Ipes said.

  "He did get shot a couple days ago," Jillybean allowed. She glanced around at the mostly empty pontoon. "Try to hold on while I find something to brace the sails with."

  You could try the left over tent poles? Ipes suggested.

  "Naw, too weak."

  Ipes glanced at what little she had to work with: a few boxes of food, a couple of sleeping bags, some clothes and the left over rope that had been around the captain's hands. The zebra blew out in despair. They were going to be caught for certain, he figured. And what would happen to him? Would they toss him over board? Or would they unravel his stitches and let him "fluff out"? Or would they hang him on one of the stupid Christmas trees like a decoration?

  That was it!

  Jillybean! The Christmas trees, they're tall and sturdy! We could put one up front and tie the sails to it. He smirked at her and added: Now who is the smart one around here?

  "Not you," Jillybean said. "Your big nose was practically right in them and you didn't see the trees were welded in place? How do you think I climbed up them?"

  I don't have a big nose, Ipes said, moodily. Jillybean was too focused to reply.

  "There's got to be something," she murmured. She went to the rail and saw that it was made of aluminum sections that she could lift up and out. They were only three feet long, which was too short. If she had the time she could fashion a brace and set them in an X in order to distribute the…

  "Jillybean!" Grey called out. His arms and legs were no longer stretched into an X. The strain was causing them to crimp in. "You better hurry. I'm getting tired."

  "Is it all of you that's getting tired or just your arms?" she asked.

  Angrily he demanded, "What difference does it make?"

  She pulled up a section of the railing and carried it to him "Are your legs tired, or your back?"

  "Jeeze! It's my hands, arms, and shoulders. Is that good enough for you?"

  "Yeah, that is good," she said.

  While he stood staring at her in disbelief she put the railing over his head so that the rungs rested on his broad shoulders. Next she grabbed the extra rope and began tying the tops of the sails to the rungs. "I'm going to turn you into a mast, if that's ok," she said in his ear. "When it's done, all you'll have to do is hold up the railing by basically standing up straight."

  Ipes could tell Captain Grey wanted to be mad, but when the ties were in place he let his hands drop and only a groan escaped him.

  "That's better right?" she asked. Before he could say anything she noticed a slight imperfection. She began tying the lower part of the sails to his ankles.

  "And if we crash and sink?" he asked dryly, watching her. "You got a plan for that as well?"

  She looked past him to the shore line which was less than a quarter mile off now. "We won't crash. At least not yet."

  "Not yet?" He looked over his shoulder in alarm.

  "There's nothing to worry about until we can go faster." She went to one of the cardboard boxes and shoved it with all the strength in her body until it was right at Grey's feet. "Now stand on this. The sails haven't reached their full po-ten-tial. Potential is what means we can go faster than this."

  It did indeed.

  Their lead had grown to about fifty yards and once Grey stood on the box they seemed to be run
ning away from the slower boat. Jillybean jumped up and down in excitement and had just shouted: "We're going to make it!" when the first gun shot rang out. The air hissed as a bullet passed through their screen of Christmas trees and went off into the blue.

  "Get down!" Grey cried. Jillybean had frozen in place but now she ducked down and cowered at the captain's feet. "Stop your damned shooting!" Grey raged in a voice of thunder.

  "Stop your boat," Michael called back.

  With a look of desperation, Grey glanced behind him a second time. Ipes had a perfect view. They were three hundred yards off shore and the wind was picking up in their favor.

  "We have to stop," Jillybean said. There was a hitch in her voice as tears had replaced triumph in the blink of an eye. "You're too much of a target up there. You'll get shot for certain."

  "Ok!" Grey yelled to the other boats. "We're stopping, just no more shooting. There's an innocent little girl here." Grey stepped down but kept the railing on his shoulders. "Jillybean, lay down. Put your head behind that other box of canned goods. You'll be safe there."

  "Aren't you going to stop?"

  "Nope. With those trees in the way they'll only be guessing what they're shooting at it. I think it's all a bluff. I get the feeling they aren't bad people. They're just afraid."

  I'm more afraid than them I bet, Ipes said. I don't have a box to hide behind and I can't swim and no one cares about a little zebra anyway.

  "I care," Jillybean said.

  Then why did you say I have a big nose?

  "Sorry," Jillybean said sheepishly.

  Just then another shot rang out. The air cracked above their heads. "I said stop!" Michael demanded, his voice noticeably diminished. They were still pulling away, just not as quickly.

  "I'm trying," Grey yelled back. "We don't have an anchor or anything." To Jillybean he said, "That was a warning shot. It was nowhere near us. It'll be ok."

  "Show yourselves," Michael called. "Or I will have my people shoot. We have some real good shots here."

  "Do you also have real killers with you?" Grey answered back. "Is killing a little girl what you people are all about? Because any stray bullet could hit her and it would be on your head."

  There was silence from the other boat and the pontoon rode on. It had reached eight miles an hour. It wasn't exactly blistering but their lead was up to a hundred yards.

  Grey stood there with the section of railing around his neck, his face tight, his eyes trying to pierce the fake trees. Finally after a few more minutes he smiled. "Yes! They're slowing down."

  "That was a close one," Jillybean said, hopping up and glancing back. The Floating Island no longer had white foam in front and the little wake it had created behind was calming. In celebration she did a little dance step as if they hadn't just been chased and shot at. For his part Ipes was glad that he was soaking wet because he was afraid he had wet himself when the first bullet passed over head.

  Two minutes later, Jillybean warned, "Brace yourselves. We're about to…"

  There was a crunching noise followed by the sound of sand gritting up against the twin pontoons under the platform. Captain Grey pulled off the railing and Jillybean cut the ropes that went from his ankle to the sails.

  He groaned and began stretching. While he did, Jillybean went through the box he'd been standing on. She held up a brown jar. "Can we have this? It's peanut butter. I love peanut butter and they did shoot at us and kidnap you and they were really mean. I think we deserve it."

  "Go ahead and take it," Grey said. "It's you who deserves it. Thanks for saving me."

  "Oh that was nothing," she said. "It was fun, really. I especially liked making the ship go. It was like a pirate ship, don't you think? 'Cept ours didn't have cannons. Cannons are what means big guns that…"

  "Hush," Grey said, gently. "We shouldn't stand around. Those guys are going to want their boat back and besides, I know what cannons are."

  Grey led the way into the forest. He carried a big stick in one hand and a heavy rock in the other. Jillybean had the peanut butter and Ipes. The zebra felt safer with her. He also began to feel sleepy. The walk back to Smith Road was very long and very slow. Without real weapons, they were forced to hide from monsters or creep along at a snail's pace. It was after eleven and the stars were blinking above when they finally found the turn off where Neil had parked the Humvee.

  For a moment Jillybean thought her eyes were fooling her; she thought the army vehicle's camouflage was better than she had given it credit for because it was nowhere to be seen. She turned a little circle. "Do you see the car?" she asked Captain Grey.

  "No. It's gone."

  Chapter 9

  Deanna Russell

  Central Illinois

  The back of the truck was a scene either stolen from the deepest layer of hell, or poured from the cracked skull of the most insane sadist. In the dark, people cried and screamed and begged to be killed. When the truck went up hill, blood ran hot and coppery half-way up Deanna's calf. It was so wet and fresh that it seemed alive, surging in waves looking for a way out.

  Whenever the blood slid her way Deanna cringed and cried. She had known misery for a long time, but never anything like this. It made her feel, different, or maybe warped as though the rules of life had abruptly changed. It was as though anything was permissible now if it meant ending the horror.

  She was not alone in this. "Stop!" a woman screamed. "Stop the truck! I want out." She began tearing at the canvas that separated the bed of the truck from the metal box of the cab in front. When she couldn't get through she turned and ran for the tailgate right where Deanna sat.

  She didn't get far. She fell over the bodies of both the living and the dead that littered the floor. There was a tussle and a grim-faced woman punched the raver in the temple and laid her out cold.

  Deanna didn't know what to think of the raving woman; she only knew she wanted the shoes on the woman's feet so that she could keep the blood off her own. She felt like a rat. All she could think of was getting "stuff" and running away. She wanted the woman's shoes, figuring that knocked out as she was she wouldn't miss them. And Deanna wanted the flashlight that Jackie Broderick kept whipping around, blinding people or using to show off the bloody horror all around them in brief, ugly bursts. And she desperately wanted water to get the taste of Jenny Fine's blood out of her mouth.

  Supposedly, there wasn't any water in this truck. She had called and begged for water, just as some of the other women had, but no one 'fessed up and said they had any. Deanna knew better. Someone had a canteen, only they were rat-hoarding it away, hiding it beneath their baggy army shirt or maybe they were sitting on it. Deanna grew desperate for water and when the trucks passed over a little stream she cried out for them to stop.

  The other women took up the call, but the trucks didn't stop and their screams were wasted on the night.

  Eventually Jackie Broderick put her flashlight to good use. She started beaming it around the floor at the crumpled bodies. "We should do something about them," she said.

  "Leave them alone," Joslyn said. She had somehow managed to wiggle between two other women and looked to be using them as protection against the possibility of further gunfire. Smartly she sat on the bench with her knees to her chest in order to keep her feet out of the blood. "They're all dead so what does it matter."

  "We should throw them out the back," someone else suggested.

  Deanna was at the back. The bodies would have to pass near her or over her and that would drive her right on past the edge of sanity, she just knew. "No…no we can't do that," she babbled. "That—that would uh, leave a trail. We should just leave them where they're at. It's safer that way,"

  "Also they're not all dead," Jackie said, pointing with her flashlight. "Look at that one. It's still moving."

  Veronica, the woman who had passed out the uniforms said, "That's Tina. Maybe we should put her out of her misery. Deanna shoot her, ok?"

  Jackie blinded Deanna with her
flashlight; it felt like she was under a full-blown spotlight and she cringed behind the arm she threw across her face. "Someone else do it. I can't," she pleaded. She meant that not only as an excuse not to have to shoot anyone, but also as a literal statement. She didn't know how to work the gun.

  "Of course you can," Veronica said. Her voice was jittery and creaky, nothing like the way she usually sounded which had always reminded Deanna of a kindergarten teacher at story time: soft and warm. Now she was suggesting killing a wounded woman. "Just point and shoot, ok? Point and…"

  "No," a voice said. It was as weak as coffee steam lifting off a mug, but it stopped Veronica in midsentence and froze Deanna's soul. Jackie shot the light at Tina. Her eyes were open and her mouth was working soundlessly. She was white as the whitest cloud, except where the blood had pooled in the hollow of her throat and that was a color of red normally only found in hell.

  "I didn't mean it," Veronica said quickly.

  Tina looked like she was chewing on cotton and swallowing it dry. It was awful but no one could look away. The truck ground on but in the back it was quiet. They simply watched Tina as she lay there dying. No one said anything or moved until a bump rocked them and Tina gritted her teeth. Then Deanna remembered a part of her humanity; she stuffed the gun in her pocket and went to her.

  "Are you ok?" she asked. Deanna knew that she had never in her life, asked a more ridiculous question but it was what came popping out of her mouth because just then there seemed to be no barrier between her unthinking brain and her mouth. "I mean is there anything I can do? I don't know much, but…hey, wasn't Gloria a nurse? Where is she?" Deanna tried to squint around the unhelpful beam of light in her eyes but couldn't make out a single face.

  "She's right here," Tina answered, patting her lover's corpse. Jackie shot the light away from Tina very briefly. What was left of Gloria turned Deanna's stomach sour leaving her ripe to puke once more.

  "She's hurt," Tina said. "Worse'n me."