And Guest

by Raymond Vogel



  And Guest

  By Raymond Vogel

  As far as we can tell, this is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Raymond Vogel

  All rights reserved.

  I’m looking in the mirror for answers again, hoping that the new me has them. I tuck my hair behind my ears to look at the young stranger that hides there now. He could be in his early twenties, and the soft skin and thick fur remind me of someone I used to know. But the piercing green eyes warn me not to be fooled. I miss the old brown ones.

  “Why couldn’t they make a ‘don’t have to shave’ virus? What’s the point of living forever if you still have to shave?” I begin to hack at the fur with the last morsels of charge left in my trimmer. I need to at least get it manageable before I can use the razor.

  I can still hear the warnings that have been coming from all my e-casters and kitchen appliances for the last week. The riots are getting worse, getting organized, spreading. They’re calling themselves “remnant soldiers,” a clever name for self-exterminators. Now they had managed to import guns into California for the first time in decades. A lot of them too, from the sound of it. The police might as well try bows and arrows for all the good their stunners will do. I don’t think I can procrastinate leaving for much longer. At least, not safely.

  Carol’s probably already gone. Lucky for her, overreacting might save her life this time. I can picture her dragging her new husband along, poor guy, while she crams picture frames and those glass figurines of hers into the transport. They’re right to leave Long Beach before the remnants can take over. Those lunatics will head straight through to the waterfront property to pillage in luxury when they’re done sweeping clean the slums. California dreams really do come true.

  I have to pull the trimmer away from my face to puff out a small laugh.

  My beard looks short enough now, but where did I put the razor? I rummage through beer cans and fast food bags until I see it stuck in some shaving cream on the counter. Well I guess shaving cream would be nice, too. I tuck the hair back again so I can see what I’m doing. What am I doing? The world’s ending, and I’m getting ready like I’m going to a dinner party. Carol would be so proud.

  A loud banging on the door makes me almost cut myself. It can only be Syd, coming home drunk from his night shift and wanting to bother me. He’ll go away if I ignore him.

  “Tom, you in there?”

  I can hear the high pitch of his voice on my side of the double-paned soundproof door like it’s been left open. It wouldn’t be the first time. Syd’s round face peeks into my bathroom to confirm this disturbing thought. I didn’t even remember to set the door guard.

  “Get a shirt on, Tom. They’re already on Willow.” He pauses. “What – are you shaving?”

  “Brushing my teeth.” I smile. “See.” I wipe off the shaving cream with deliberate care and then toss the towel onto the pile on the counter. I put on a t-shirt and my black leather jacket – one of the few things I knew I’d be sorry to lose in early December.

  “Here,” Syd says. He hands me a silver chain with a cross. “For luck.”

  I had been wondering where that went. I laugh. “It can’t hurt. All right, I’m ready. What’s the plan?”

  He leads us out onto the landing before answering. “No plan. We just move in the opposite direction – and we go as fast as we can.” Then he’s down the steps and onto Magnolia Avenue. The virus had put quite a bounce into those stout legs of his.

  The pop of a gunshot comes from up the street, and Syd’s body collides with the pavement. Laughter and cheering follow, and I’ve become one with the wooden planks of the second floor landing, my nose shoved between two boards like an ostrich head buried in sand. Now the gunshots are everywhere, and the celebration is covered by screams. I want to go back to my apartment or run to my friend, but the grip of fear keeps me pinned down.

  Then I feel the boards creek and see from the corner of my eye that my neighbor Manuel has opened his door. I try to warn him without lifting my head. “Back. Inside. Slowly.”

  “Tom? I thought you were dead just lying there.”

  I can see from his shadow that he’s leaning over me to verify, as if there aren’t a hundred killers with illegal guns wandering down the street.

  “Back inside, or they’ll –” Another shot interrupts me, this one from much closer. All six foot two of Manuel crashes onto my back and shoulders. I don’t think I could move if I tried, but it felt like a good idea to just keep lying there still. Maybe they would overlook me.

  I can feel every footfall against my forehead as the shooter bounds up the steps. Another shot cracks the air around me, and a new sharp pain begins to burn in the small of my back. A second later, I welcome the cool unconsciousness that takes me down into darkness.

  I’m awoken with Manuel’s heavy torso being dragged off of me.

  “Little Tommy? That you?”

  The thick Irish accent of the man patting my face sounds remarkably like Father Aldridge from my childhood church. I guess I’ve died after all – and somehow made it to the side for the good kids.

  “It is you. I thought you lived over in Cedar Court these days. Good heavens child, you almost didn’t make it through that one.”

  My vision is starting to clear, and I can see the red-stained bullet he’s holding between his fingers. It doesn’t look as dangerous as I had thought it would. I reach around my back where the pain had been, and there’s a small hole in my jacket and shirt. The skin underneath feels soft and tender, but it’s already healed shut.

  “Yep, this thing almost killed you. I bet you’re glad for the virus now, aren’t you?”

  “Father Caerwyn Aldridge?”

  “In the flesh. Sorry I couldn’t come out sooner – you were safe where you were and I had to keep hidden.”

  “Is it still Tuesday morning?”

  “Late afternoon. Bullet must have missed all the vital stuff thanks to Manuel. Well come on, we gotta go before the next group gets here. I happen to know of a luxury eco-island just about ready to leave. I’ll take you with me.”

  “I thought the remnants had them too. The news said they had all come ashore to get the virus.”

  “Not this one. Maybe because it’s new, I’m not sure. One of my, er, wealthier parishioners invited me to be their spiritual guide. It could be quite a long journey now that we all live forever. I thought it sounded like a good challenge. Haven’t you noticed that they’ve been rebuilding Shoreline Aquatic Park? No? Well anyway it’s not really a park – it’ll be heading out into the Pacific as soon as everyone’s aboard.”

  Then I realize what had been bothering me about Father Aldridge. He looks exactly as he did when I was just an altar boy – a thin face with tight jaw and a hooked nose, like a welter-weight boxer who got lost and wandered into a pulpit. The black robe and white collar complete the picture from my memory. Only the glasses are missing, and his eyes look like mine. I take his arm and get to my feet. I feel strong, considering I’d been shot this morning. Nothing seems amiss when I look around, but I’m still nervous being out in the open. I doubt I’ll be so lucky with the second bullet.

  “Ah, no worries Tommy. They’re long gone now. Headed toward the beach homes to celebrate, I imagine.”

  I give him a blank look as I process what he’s telling me. That sounded exactly like the direction he wants us to go.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I suppose.” I don’t feel near as hopeful. Then again, after a few decades of enjoying a stress free life telling Long Beach
doctors and lawyers to be good and donate so they can go to heaven, I’d probably feel more optimistic in general. That, or verging on insanity – I guess either way it explains his bravery. Why is that so comforting?

  I follow Father Aldridge to the end of the landing and down the steps. Part of me wants to shake Syd, just in case – if I didn’t already know better. I don’t know why he stopped to take me with him. Maybe he didn’t have other friends. I wish we had more time so I could, I don’t know, try to call his relatives or something.

  I look down the street at our path forward. Long Island, or at least my little part of Magnolia Avenue, has been murdered. The dead lie in entryways and on sidewalks. The bad guys in this movie had won the battle. Transports are all either folded into their street posts or missing. Windows and doors are all at max opacity. Even the beach tram overhead is silent and empty.

  “How far from your place