The Apocalypse Fugitives

by Peter Meredith

  "Be smart Jillybean and be safe," he said. She nodded but wouldn't reply.

  Because you're going to try to free him, aren't you? Ipes asked in outrage. She wouldn't reply to that either. Her mind was shifting gears—she needed to see everything and understand everything she saw before she was locked away.

  Her quick eyes took in Al's key ring as he snapped it off his belt, noting the first key on the bunch unlocked the heavy steel door. She next memorized every inch of the lobby on the third floor as they passed through it. She saw it complete and instantaneous like a Polaroid: just feet ahead was the school teacher's desk, two chairs sat on either side, cards were strewn on the flat wood between them. To her right was the door to the stairs, propped open by a third chair to let the air circulate.

  Oh, the air flowing through was so clean compared to the fetid horror of the prison hall that her mind was momentarily taken away from the task of escaping. She breathed deeply…

  Forget the air! Ipes cried.

  Right…Jillybean forced her mind back to the work of seeing and understanding: they passed the elevator doors on her left—on her right were two more doors, restrooms for boys and girls. And then they were at the cleaning closet which sat upon the breech of the shorter hall. There were more doors down there but they were all traps that would lead to nowhere, except possibly the furthest which sported an exit sign above.

  "Here you go," Al said, thumbing through his keys. "Home sweet home."

  He opened the door, expecting Jillybean to be as compliant and sweet as she had been but she balked, pushing back against his hand. "It's dark in there. Can I get a light, please?"

  Hannigan had seated himself at the desk with his back to her; he said, "It's nighttime it's supposed to be dark."

  "But I'm afraid of the dark," she pleaded. This was technically the truth. In a normal situation Jillybean did find the dark made certain scary situations more frightening. Of course she chalked it up to an over excited imagination combined with the natural fear of the unknown and thus she tended to mitigate the effect through logic. In this particular situation she wasn't afraid of being in the dark, but simply afraid she would miss something important because of the dark.

  The cleaning closet was a mess of boxes and brooms and stacks of chairs. It was all exceedingly dim because the sole source of light was a candle on the desk five feet away. If she had light there was a chance she could see something that would help her escape.

  "Sorry, sweetie," Al said. "We only get one candle a night. In you go." He thrust her in before she could utter another peep and the door clicked shut behind her. The dark was immediate and seemingly very deep, she ignored it completely, listening at the lock. There was nothing but the murmured voices of Al and Hannigan.

  "Farts," she said, giving into emotion and cursing.

  So we can't escape, Ipes said. At least it smells better in here. At least we have that.

  "Of course we can escape," she said. "That part I have figured out. I just don't know how to save the others."

  Forget about them! If you know a way out, let's get going.

  "Oh, hush you silly zebra. I can't forget about them. That would be selfish. I just don't…know…" Jillybean trailed off as her mind explored everything she knew about the prison, about the guards, about the spare combination of materials on hand.

  Ideas and counter ideas flowed though her mind: fulcrum levers to lift the cell doors off hinges—metal caps on top made it impossible. A mixture of cleaning solutions to create a poison gas, rendering the guards unconscious—if there were indeed any in the closet the cloud would probably kill her too in the process. A trick to isolate one of the guards—and then what? Over power him with her cuteness?

  All the ideas were missing key components or relied on abilities she or Ipes didn't possess. In the dark, she slumped against the wall, defeated. "You were right, Ipes. I'm not as smart as everyone thinks. If only I started reading those books sooner."

  You did your best, the zebra said, patting her gently. What is that? Your nose? Sorry, but I can't see anything.

  "It was my eyeball."

  Sorry, he said again. He paused just long enough for his segue to come out awkwardly, So…about our escape?

  "It's too dangerous."

  Please! Nothing is more dangerous than just staying here. You know what will happen if they sell you in New York, don't you?

  "I know, or I think I know," she said with a long sigh. The sigh was her way of saying she was defeated. There was no way she could free everyone. She turned her mind to her own escape and felt she had to warn Ipes: "The escape will hurt."

  Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the good of the team Jilly. That's what your dad would have said and I'm right there with him.

  "Good because I'm gonna have to bite your butt."

  My butt? How would that…? Why would you…? No stop! Turn me right side up. Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

  "Stop whining," Jillybean said around a mouthful of zebra fur. "It's for the team, amemeber? Here…all done."

  You bit a hole in my butt, Ipes said in shock. I have a hole in my butt.

  Jillybean giggled. "Join the club. Anyway it was for a good cause. I need some of your fluff."

  Not my fluff! Oh jeez I think I might faint. He made a noise like a duck and then asked in a quavering voice, Am I fainted? Is this what fainting looks like? It's all black and I can't see. Wait…maybe I died. Is this what dead looks like?

  "Shush," Jillybean said, sticking the wad of fluff in her mouth. It was time to concentrate again and he wasn't helping. When the fluff was just wet enough she knocked on the door.

  "What?" Hannigan asked.

  "I have to go bathroom."

  "Hold it," Hannigan said.

  "I can't. I have to go real bad and there isn't a bucket or anything." She didn't know if that was true or not since the closet was so dark, but she needed the door open to begin instituting her plan.

  "Then go on the floor," Hannigan suggested. Jillybean had not counted on this level of callousness. It threw her plans out the window. Thankfully Al wasn't completely dead inside.

  "We can take her to the bathroom," he said.

  Hannigan snorted, "You watch her then. Remember, she's special."

  Jillybean made sure to show no signs of being of special. Meekly she stood there as the key went into the lock, the door opened and she smiled. Al smiled back and allowed her to walk ahead of him, letting the door swing closed behind. She used the bathroom and then reversed the entire procedure acting completely normal.

  Only at the door did she do anything different. She stopped in the doorway and beckoned Al down to her. "I think you're way nicer," she whispered in his ear as her left hand felt along the door jamb until she felt the metal strike plate and her finger felt the bolt hole. She plugged it with the wadded stuffing that Ipes had donated.

  "I think I am too," he whispered right back and then straightened.

  "Act natural," she said as though she had just concluded a pact.

  "Oh right," he agreed, stepping back quickly and letting the door swing shut just as he always did.

  Just before it closed, she yelled out, "Goodnight Mister Hannigan."

  "Goodnight brat," he yelled back, masking the fact that the sound of the door shutting was slightly different than normal. It had closed but had not locked.

  Jillybean held onto the knob and tried to get her breathing under control. Her racing heart would have to calm on its own.

  Now what? Ipes asked.

  "We wait."

  She had been a prisoner for six hours and she had already caught many nuances that had mostly gone unnoticed by everyone else. The chief of which was that Hannigan was lazy. It was always Al who went to do the hourly prisoner checks and he always took a minimum of thirty four seconds to walk through the door, amble down to the end of the hall and amble back. She also knew that Hannigan was a smoker; the smell of tobacco hung all around him like a cloud.

  "And that's what
means a chain smoker," she whispered to herself. One last aspect she had noticed was the fact there wasn't an ashtray in evidence suggesting he went somewhere to do his smoking.

  How long do we wait? Ipes asked. There's going to be a shift change eventually and they'll figure out that the lock isn't working.

  "I guess we go the next time Al checks the cells." Just saying it made her hands start to sweat.

  The wait was a good thirty minutes and not a second of that went by that the little girl didn't have her ear pressed to the door. Finally, there came a little beep, beep sound of someone's watch alarm going off.

  "Can't wait to get rid of this lot," Hannigan said. There was the scrape of a chair, the jingle of keys and the squeak of the steel door opening. Then silence for the span of fourteen seconds. She knew exactly how long because she was counting slowly to thirty four and each number that slipped passed her silent lips made her heart beat heavier and heavier, however at fourteen there came the crinkle of cellophane. A second chair eased back and Hannigan's footsteps slowly retreated—without the sound of a door opening. She had expected him to move off into the bathroom, but he hadn't.

  What if he went to the stairs to smoke? We'll be stuck.

  She knew there was only one way to find out where the man had gone to. At the count of twenty two she cracked the door and peeked out. Hannigan was a shadow in the dark hall, almost undetectable save for the orange ember of his cigarette.

  He was only some twelve paces away, leaning against the wall, but which way he was facing, she couldn't tell. It doesn't matter, Ipes said. You're committed and you only have ten seconds left.

  She knew. Her countdown was loud in her own head: ten, nine, eight…

  Jillybean slipped out of the door and hurried for the stairs with hunched shoulders, hoping Hannigan wasn't looking her way, hoping that if he was, he was too engrossed with his cigarette to notice the shadow creeping out of the closet. Four, three, two…

  She was beyond the desk and at the stairs when she was caught. It wasn't Hannigan that caught her, it was Al. He came through the steel door one second early, only four feet from where Jillybean stood on the top stair frozen like a statue.

  Chapter 29

  Deanna Russell

  Cape Girardeau, Missouri

  The muddy, subterranean zombie had her by the throat with one hand and as it pulled her under, a second hand slapped across her face, covering her nose and mouth. It yanked her deep and crushed her into the silt and muck at the bottom, practically burying her in it.

  Deanna went wild, kicking and twisting, but the thing was too strong and in seconds she was a foot deep in the river bottom and losing feeling in her extremities from lack of oxygen. Then, miraculously she was pulled up. No longer fighting, she allowed her body to be brought to the surface where the iron hand released its grip across her face.

  A low voice spoke into her ear, "Don't say a word, only moan. Uhhhhhhh." Her mind was sullied by fear and confusion; she tried to wiped the mud from her eyes but the heavy hand came back to hold hers down. "Moooooan!"

  Slowly it dawned on her that this was Captain Grey under layers of filth and that he hadn't been killed after all, because…because he was muddy?

  "Uhhhhhh," he said again, hanging his head and slowly moving his arms like a…a zombie would! Now it clicked. He no longer looked anything like a human; he looked like all the rest of the beasts in the river.

  "Uhhhhh," she said, trying to imitate him. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back and didn't want to let go. She had been so close to death only moments before that she was suddenly greedy for life, even his.

  Grey allowed her to hold on to his hand and together they moved slowly, very achingly slowly along following a group of zombies as they made their way down river and around a bend. Even then he didn't let up in his disguise he slogged to a point where the banks of the river weren't so steep.

  "Watch me," he said under his breath.

  He went up the bank as a zombie would, uncoordinated and dull, making sure never to act quickly or deliberately. It was a perfect act and not a single zombie looked his way. When she went next, she felt stupid, playacting the part of a zombie, especially with him watching so closely under his mud-matted hair hanging just above his eyes.

  Eventually, she made it to firm ground and the two lost themselves in the thick vegetation. "Thanks," she said.

  He laughed angrily. "It was nothing, absolutely nothing."

  "You ok?"

  Covered in mud as he was, he looked like a madman straight out of the wilderness where he might've spent years trying to convert the chipmunks to Christianity. "Nope, I'm not ok."

  "What's wrong? And don't say nothing." She needed him whole and mentally sound and that meant he couldn't hold things in.

  "The real question is what's right? Nothing's right. I keep doing the same old dance and nothing ever gets better. Death and I just keep going round and round and I'm just about sick of it."

  "I'm glad you stuck with it a little longer," she said, taking her pinky nail and delicately scratching mud from the corner of her eye. "You saved my life."

  "And what about their lives?" he asked pointing vaguely northward. "What about that fool, Neil?"

  She did the other eye and then in an unladylike display she worked a finger into her ear, saying, "This wasn't his fault, Grey. I believed the River King just like you did. It doesn't make him a fool unless you're a fool as well."

  "Oh, I am a fool. Neil and I are just like this." He held up two intertwined fingers. "We both thought we could shepherd a group of misfits across the country in the face of ridiculous dangers. We thought we were doing good. Ha-ha! We thought we were heroes! That is the definition of foolishness."

  "From what I heard you were heroes."

  Grey's stare was fierce. "At least you got the tense right. We were heroes." She didn't respond to his self-pity and it switched off like a light. He scratched at the drying mud on his chin and said, "Just when I was getting through to him."

  "It sounds like you're giving up."

  "I am. Between us we have one weapon with sixteen rounds in it, while that rat-bastard…" He paused long enough to throw a rock angrily up stream. "…has to have upward of a hundred men, probably a lot more. And a lot more firepower. I saw at least two fifty cals and every other guy had an AR. Hell, the one guy who wasn't armed to the teeth was the River fag."

  "So we are giving up," Deanna said, sadly picturing the women she had escaped with and knowing what cruelty they would endure. Those faces pleaded with her to do something, and she wanted to, only she didn't know what to do.

  "Of course not," Grey said, giving her an incredulous look as if she had just accused him of liking to take long walks in the rain. "I'm just belly-aching." He dropped down into grass and stared at the ground. Deanna sat down in front of him and picked at a stem of long grass, remembering how she used to stick stems like this through the gap between her teeth back before braces.

  The soldier grunted, "The only one not armed is Sadie's dad, and he just happens to be the one guy we need to persuade."

  "How do we get to him? The place wasn't a castle or anything, but it is just the two of us. Unless you think you can make a zombie army like that little girl did."

  He replied with, "Mmm." Taking a stick he drew out a map of the campus in the dirt and then sat tapping the stick on his knee. "I don't think a zombie army will help. We could get beyond the fencing, but after that they would be useless. No we need to get to him, but he doesn't show himself not even to gloat. Most megalomaniacs would've come out on that bridge to watch our capture in person, but he didn't."

  Deanna spat out a speckle of dirt that her tongue discovered among her teeth and said, "Well, if he didn't come out for that, I don't think he'll come out for anything."

  "Not unless he had a very big reason too," Grey said with a sudden smile.

  Her eyes widened as she caught his train of thought. "Very big, as in bridge big? Are you going
to blow it up?"

  "Only if I have to," Grey answered, turning serious. "I'm betting it's the only link between east and west. If this country is ever to have a chance of getting back on its feet it needs to stand at all costs."

  "I'd blow it up in heart beat," she replied and meant every word. "Why would I want to keep in touch with those people in New York? They're a bunch of cut throats and slavers? No thank you."

  "I'm trying to look long term." He squinted west where the world was a brilliant orange. "We should get moving. I want a change of clothes and a boat to cross back over the river. There's got to be hundreds around here."

  "A boat? We just made it to this side. What the hell is over there that we can't find over here?"

  "Fort Campbell, home of the 101st Screaming Eagles that's what. It's sixty miles south east of here. They'll have all the explosives I need to blow that bridge sky high."

  They found a small stream that was rushing to join the Mississippi and dunked themselves to get the worst of the mud off, each keeping a lookout for the other. Deanna did her best not to notice what a striking man Grey was and when she did notice she rebuked herself calling to mind the other soldiers she had known so intimately.

  She knew the comparisons between him and the soldiers from The Island weren't fair in the least, however the shock of her near death experience had faded and she was once again growing cold inside. He didn't seem to notice or care. He was driven.

  Their clothing situation was quickly remedied; in the third house they explored, Grey came down stairs wearing baggy grey sweat pants and a triple extra large hooded sweatshirt that almost concealed the M4 across his back. He went to the kitchen and commenced to shred the outfit, leaving it dangling around him.

  "Zombie camo," he explained. "You'll need to do the same to yours."

  She looked down at herself. She had taken her time going through three different closets to find clothes that were rugged, comfy, stylish, and that fit nicely. Now she was expected to ruin her outfit?

  He must have read her mind. He jacked a thumb over his shoulder, saying, "The lady who lived here was big, we can be a matched set."