Pursuit of the Apocalypse (10 page)

“You haven’t been kidnapped, you stupid skank. You’re a prisoner. You’ve been arrested.”

“For what?”

The small, angry woman threw up her arms and turned toward the door before turning back. “For the charge of ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ And if you keep up this ‘help me, help me’ bullshit I’ll tack on some more years for the charge of ‘fuck you,’ do you get me?”

Erica took a deep breath and let it out. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me? You’re the one who wiped out a truck full of hard-working people. Or do you not remember that just like you keep forgetting to shut the fuck up?”

Erica crossed her arms. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she found the words. “You’re talking about the truck full of raiders that came to rape, kill, and enslave my family and friends for doing nothing?”

“Don’t use the ‘R’ word, you bigot. Have some fucking decency.”

“The ‘R’ word? What the ... those men were trying to kill us!”

“Those men were trying to feed their families. And feed the people of Alasis and towns like ours.” There was actual spit flying from this woman’s mouth. “Maybe if you bothered to check your privilege you could see the world through someone else’s eyes, you selfish, privileged whore.”

“So I should have just let them kill me and my friends and take what we had worked so hard for?”

“Oh, me, me, me, mine, mine, mine. It’s just all about you, isn’t it? Twenty-four, seven it’s just blonde bitch, blonde bitch, blonde bitch. You make me sick.”

Erica looked to the faces of the two men. Looking for a little validation that this was even real. Their faces were frozen in a neutral expression. Their eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in a distance that didn’t exist. She looked back to the woman. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me is called caring. It’s called empathy. It’s called being a human fucking being. I guess what’s wrong with me is that I care about hungry people a little more than you do. I guess what’s wrong with me is that I can think about something besides what the world owes me.” The woman spun and stomped back to the door. She ushered the men out of the room and grabbed the doorknob. “Now sit in your cell and shut the fuck up or I will remove your motherfucking larynx with my motherfucking bare hands. You are infringing on my right to a quiet fucking day.”

The door slammed and Erica heard the deadbolts engage. She heard the chain being collected and strung across the door. Over it all she heard the woman yelling at the two guards for letting the prisoner make so much noise.

Erica walked over to the window and stared out onto the campus. “What a bitch.”

TWELVE

“Because it’s a weird place. That’s why.” Willie flung a rock at an old store window and smiled as it formed a whole and collapsed the entire pane. It wasn’t worth as many points as a good solid holer, but it made a much more satisfying sound.

“But that’s where they went. So we have to go there.” Coy threw a rock at another window and frowned when it struck the aluminum frame and fell to the ground.

Willie smiled. He was two points up on this match of Smashy, Smashy, and there were only a couple of throws left. He picked up another rock and selected his target. “But it’s weird.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Weird like how is it weird?”

Willie held his throw and thought for a minute. He chose his example and spoke. “Okay. You know how when you see a pretty girl and you tell her she’s pretty?”

Coy smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“If you do that there, they lock you up.” Willie resumed his stance and lined up his target again. He was going to break the window Coy had just missed. It would throw his friend off his game. Most people failed to appreciate that Smashy, Smashy was as much about strategy as it was about smashing things.

Coy screwed up his face and shook his head. “What?”

Willie paused. Coy was obviously playing his own mental game. Trying to freeze him out and spoil his focus. “Yeah, even if you really mean what you said about her. And even if it’s a nice thing. They lock you up.” Coy’s game wasn’t going to work. Willie threw the rock and watched it connect with the window. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter. “Dammit.”

“Just for talking to a girl?” Coy asked.

“Yeah.” Willie sat down on his bike. “And also if you hurt someone, they lock you up.”

“Well, they do that lots of places, Willie.”

“Sure, if you break an arm or a leg or if you knock ’em out, but there you can get locked up if you just hurt their feelings.”

“No way. You’re making that up.”

“I swear I’m not.”

Coy picked up a stone and lined up his throw. He connected with the cracked window and smiled when the rock crashed through. He waited a moment to see if the pane would collapse. When it was obvious that it wasn’t going to happen, he turned to Willie and smiled.

“Dammit,” Willie said. It was a holer. The game was tied. He picked up a stone he had been saving. It was smooth and round. A two-holer would put him over the top, but it was a risky throw trying to put a second hole in a single pane.

Coy pressed the mental game by not shutting up. “So this town is mostly kids then? That should make them less dangerous.”

“No. Full grown adults.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

Willie chuckled. “I swear I’m not.”

“You’ve got to be. If they’re grown-ups, how can you hurt their feelings?”

Willie palmed the stone. He wasn’t going to let Coy do this to him. He’d finish the conversation and then finish the game. “It’s surprisingly easy. Sometimes it’s mean things. Sometimes saying nice things hurts their feelings. Sometimes what you’re wearing can hurt their feelings.”

“How can what I’m wearing hurt their feelings?”

Willie shrugged. “Like I said, it’s weird.”

“But, that’s where the lady in the woods said they went.”

“She would have said anything, for us not to take her back there.”

Willie waited to see if they were done. He felt the smoothness of the stone itching his palm. If any rock could grant him a two-holer, it was this one. Coy was either out of questions or completely confused. Tolerance had never made much sense to him either, but he’d seen it firsthand once, so at least he could believe it.

Coy sat quietly, and Willie took his stance. He lined his shoulders up perpendicular to the window and let his arms fall to his side before shaking them out. He picked his place and pulled back his arm. He envisioned the second hole. He saw the second hole. He took a breath and held it.

“But we have to go, right?” Coy asked. He was playing the mental game better than he ever had before. “Because that’s where they went.”

Willie gasped and held his throw. “Yeah, we do. But if we go, you don’t say anything. We don’t say anything. I don’t want them mad at me.”

“We’ve escaped from jails before.”

“They don’t just make you a prisoner. They make you a slave. Did you see that thing above her booby back there?”

“Yeah. What was that?”

“It was a T.”

Coy didn’t get it.

“For Tolerance, dipshit.”

“Oh.”

“She was a slave. They don’t do nothing for themselves in that town. They make other people do it for them. You’re sentenced to what they call your Fair Share, and they work you until you die.”

“Wait. So they’ll lock you up for saying nice things about ladies. Or wearing things that hurt their feelings. But they have slaves?”

“Like I said ...”

Coy looked away. “Yeah, you said it was weird.”

“Really weird.” Willie spun quickly and let the stone fly before Coy could say anything else. The rock struck the pane in the opposite corner of Coy’s hole and broke through.

The initial crash was followed by a slow crackling.

Coy was on his feet.

Both men watched in silence as the crackling slowed and eventually stopped.

“Ha, two-holer!” Willie shouted. “I win. Let’s go.” He moved over to his bike and hopped on.

Coy stared at the window and muttered. “Damn, a two-holer.”

THIRTEEN

Erica couldn’t break the window. The sound would bring She-Bitch and the Dumb Bastards back into the room for an encore of frothing and screaming.

If the room was closer to the ground she could risk it and make a run for it. But, the room was four stories up and, more importantly, the ground was four stories down. If she was going out the window she would have to take it slow.

A concrete ledge outside looked wide enough and stable enough for her to skirt along if she was careful. She couldn’t see where it led to, but it had to run by another window somewhere. If she could reach an unlocked room or a stairwell, she could get back in and hopefully find her way out of the building and off the campus.

She studied the ledge. And the distance to the ground. It was a six-inch ledge and a forty-foot fall. And not only was the ledge scary, it was wet. She turned and studied the room again looking for any other way out. The ceiling was solid concrete just like the floor. The air vents were no larger than a single cinder block. There was only the one door leading to the hallway and the trio of terrible people outside.

She considered the window option again. Especially the forty-foot fall portion of the plan. It was dangerous, but it was quiet. Falling would probably be a better fate than whatever awaited her in Alasis.

Mr. Christopher’s wound had not been a complicated one. Some cleaning, some stitching, and it wouldn’t be long before she found herself back in the trunk of the old Cherokee breathing the fumes from the busted exhaust system through a gag in her mouth.

The fresh air on the other side of the window seemed like her best option no matter how high it was. She could make it. It couldn’t be that slippery. She could find her way back inside the dormitory, then out of the crazy town and make her way back to New Hope. Jerry would know to look for her there.

Erica took a deep breath and lifted the frame. It refused to move. She pulled harder and got no response. There were no latches holding it shut at the top. She searched the frame for bolts or nails and found nothing holding it closed. She checked the base of the frame and saw the problem. It had been painted shut with a hundred layers of latex paint.

She tried the window again thinking that maybe because she knew why it was stuck, it would no longer stick. But that’s not how things work, and the paint didn’t even crack. She was going to have to scrape it off with something.

The shelf that had held her clothes held nothing else in it. She tried to pull the shelf itself away from the wall but it wouldn’t budge either. She huffed in frustration and examined the rest of the room.

There was only the bed. She pulled the mattress back to reveal the springs beneath. It was made of hundreds of interlocking metal rods. Nothing large enough to swing at a small, annoying woman with much effect, but one would probably be pointy enough to scrape several semesters’ worth of paint from a window.

Erica tested the springs with her hand and found the loosest ones to be in the middle of the bed. She worked quietly but with the confidence that she would have plenty of time to cover her tracks if she heard the door.

A combination of applying and releasing tensions, pulling and twisting, and swearing and cursing finally prevailed and a mattress spring segment came free in her hand. Each end of the metal rod was folded under itself and far too smooth for what she needed.

Erica let the mattress fall back on the bed and sat down. The gap in one end of the rod was wide enough to slide over the bed frame’s rail. She pulled at the end in her hand and slowly worked the rounded end open into a hook. She tested the end by rubbing it over her finger and decided the sheared end would be more than enough to scrape through the paint.

She moved back to the window and tested the small tool. Dragging it across the painted seam produced a thin, rubbery peel of white that curled underneath the hook. Satisfied with the test, she brushed away the strip and went to work.

Years of touch-up paint yielded to the bedspring as she scraped it across the bottom of the frame. The white strips piled up at her feet as she brushed each away. Within a few minutes she could see the original seam and she paused to examine the sides of the frame to see if they would need scraping as well.

The chain outside scraped against the door and Erica jumped. She dropped to the floor and brushed the paint scrapings into her hand before dumping them in her pocket. The dead bolts offered their warning and Erica jumped to the bed. She tossed the tool into the sheets and pulled her knees up onto the bed. She’d been doing nothing. Nothing at all.

The door swung open and the trio walked back in. This time the woman didn’t follow the men. She rushed in ahead of them and began with the screaming.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t think to think you might try to go out the window?”

Erica stood up and opened her mouth to answer but quickly realized she wasn’t quite sure what the question was. “What?”

The woman pushed her aside and tore back the covers until the tool dropped to the ground and bounced across the floor. One of the men picked it up and put it in his pocket.

Erica tried not to show any disappointment.

The woman continued to scream. “You might as well get comfy, whore. You’re not going anywhere until they decide to drag your ass back to Alasis for the trial or beheading or whatever it is you deserve.”

She didn’t raise her voice or shout back, but Erica had to know. “Why are you such a shitty person?”

“Because you’re ignorant and everyone knows you don’t deserve respect if you’re ignorant.”

“Ignorant of what?”

The woman nodded and slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Exactly. You’re so ignorant you don’t even know what you’re ignorant of. You don’t even know what you don’t know. So sit down and be stupid quietly for a change.” The woman turned to leave.

“You know what they’re going to do to me,” Erica spoke in an even tone. There was no pleading with this woman. Pleading would get her nowhere. All she could do was appeal to her humanity. If she had any. “You’re a woman. You have to help me.”