United States Of Apocalypse (2 page)

“
S
top running
, Talbot!” It was a relatively comfortable seventy-two degrees out, which was a blessing in this blistering summer in the city. Unfortunately, it was only eight in the morning, and the weathermen were calling for mid-nineties by noon. Corporal Lawrence “BT” Tynes of the New York City Police Department was sweating profusely through his uniform. “I just had this cleaned,” he hissed under his breath.
When I catch the little turd, I’m taking out my dry-cleaning payment with my nightstick,
he thought.
Provided no one is filming. Fuck it...even if they are.
He grinned.

It was at this moment that Michael Talbot turned to gauge his pursuer, the near-maniacal look of the cop spurring him on. “No way, man. Have you ever seen the size of you? Plus, you got some googly-eyed thing going on.”

“I know where you live, prick. You don’t stop now, I’m going to burn it down.”

“That doesn’t seem very professional.” Mike considered himself in good shape. He had to be to run from the trouble he regularly generated. His crime was petty, but he always made it worse by running, and he’d yet to meet a cop that liked to run. He just couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t shake this one. The man was almost twice his size but moved with an ease and grace that belied his mass.

He ran down an alleyway, fearful that at the end would be a brick wall—and the cop’s fists. The official report would say the perp had slipped and fallen, but his face would look like a truck had run over it.

“Oh, thank God,” Mike breathed out harshly. A ten-foot chain-link fence capped the small alley. Mike timed his steps so that when he launched he would be nearly three quarters up.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Tynes yelled.

Yeah, okay,
Mike thought.
Just when I’m about to get away, I’m going to stop. Doubtful, asshole.

His sneaker-clad foot missed threading the needle in the links. He slipped a foot down before his hands grasped tight and he pulled his legs up. Mike sprang from his spot, throwing his whole body up, his right underarm just above the pointed barbs atop the fence. In one deft move, like a gymnast on the parallel bar, he hung in a brief handstand before his momentum took him to the other side. The cop’s baton struck the top of the fence with enough force to crack the heavy bat in two. Mike dropped down and turned to look at the cop. A mask of fury was on the man’s face. His hand was on his holster.

“Halt,” Tynes said as he pulled his revolver free, dropping the now useless baton.

Mike laughed, though inside he felt his guts twist into knots. He put his hands up halfway and grinned nervously at the cop. “You going to shoot me for running numbers? Seems like a lot of paperwork for such a small offense.”

“Bookmaking, resisting arrest. I’m sure by the time I think of all the charges, it’ll be worth it. Plus, between the dry cleaning and the busted stick, I’m out almost seventy-five bucks.”

“I’ve got twenty-two on me. How about I give that to you and we call it even?”

Tynes bowed his head. “When am I going to be able to stop chasing you, Mike? You’ve been in New York what, two, maybe three years? I’ve seen you more than my wife in that time.”

“Hey man, that’s not my fault.”

“Of course it’s your fault. When are you going to meet a nice woman, settle down, have some kids?”

“A family man? Me? Are you kidding me? I’m a free spirit. I couldn’t get tied down like that. And kids? They’re just needy little germ factories. You’re freaking me out just talking about it.” As Mike was talking, he kept glancing around and backing slowly away from the angry uniformed cop..

“Mike, I can’t just let you go.”

“I’m not sure you have much choice, big man.”

“Why do you always run?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you ever taken notice of the size of you? You’re like a fucking Godzilla running through Tokyo. Well, I guess since it’s New York, you’re more like King Kong.”

“Was that a racist remark? Was that because I’m black?”

Mike got a perplexed look on his face. “Huh?
Racist
? No, man, it’s because you’re a fucking giant. Listen, I’d love to stick around, and we could work through some of your marital problems, but I have to get the hell out of here; you guys never seem to work alone.”

“You’re forcing my hand, Mike.”

Mike turned and started to run. He’d made it five feet when the projectile lodged into his hip. His entire body went as rigid as a board. If not for the immense pain he was in, he would have been happy that when his thigh caught the edge of a dumpster it spun him so that he landed on his side instead of his face.

“Fu … fu … fu … fu.” He could not finish the expletive as his body convulsed in spasms. He was afraid of snapping his spine from the rigidity.

“I warned you.” The cop had scaled the fence and was bending over, looking at him and mercifully pulling the electrically charged leads from his body.

“No … no … not cool,” Mike finally sputtered out.

“Hurts like the dickens, doesn’t it? I mean, I wouldn’t know personally. I was never one of those stupid sons of bitches who volunteer to be stunned. Who does that crap? I’ve seen enough people do headers from it to know I have no desire to experience it firsthand.”

“To … to … too bad.” Mike still felt like every muscle in his body was in a constant spasm, and the pain was not subsiding—at least not fast enough to his liking.

R
andall Chan did not
bother to drag the body off the roadway. The police would be here soon enough to investigate, but in less than three hours, there would be nothing left. No body, no vehicle, no spent shell casings, and certainly not him. He and his crew would be traveling as far west as they could before the devastation was wrought. He wasn’t sure if they’d make it, but that was secondary to the success of his mission. For three years, he had lived among the Americans, pretending to embrace everything the corrupt and greedy country stood for.

Like anywhere in the world, there were good people here, and a great many of them would die, and soon. But he felt it was for the greater good. If the giant, cancerous country could be brought to heel, the rest of the world might be saved from its particular brand of justice. He had firsthand knowledge of the brutality the Americans could inflict upon their enemies. He had lost his father when a platoon of Army soldiers had raided his village early one fall morning. After determining he was the leader of the small village, they had dragged him outside their hut, stripped him naked, and publicly shamed him before the lieutenant who led the men put a bullet in his brain. They’d accused his father of aiding and abetting a known North Korean spy; that it was true mattered little. The point was he’d been accused, tried, found guilty, and sentenced all in a matter of minutes.

Randall understood his father had been guilty of a crime and needed to pay. That they also beat his mother to the point she could no longer function on her own was entirely another affair. She was innocent; she’d not known what her husband had done and was merely guilty by association. She’d gone from a caring, loving mother, to someone who had frequent outbursts about the spiders that crawled beneath her skin. Oftentimes, she would rip through her flesh with her fingernails until she bled profusely from the self-inflicted wounds.

Randall was a few years older when he’d ended her suffering. He’d come home from selling some pieces of fruit he’d found, to find his sister hiding. Their mother had beaten the small girl, breaking her arm and giving her a concussion. Randall saw his mother lying on her bed. She was chewing on some poppy when Randall thrust a pillow onto her face. That she did not resist proved to Randall that her life meant nothing to her; she knew what she’d done had been irrevocably bad.

T
here was
a working gas station but not much else. Not even a street light, just two sides of the road and a few stores. To Darlene, it felt like she’d walked onto the set of a Western, and she expected to see the fronts of the buildings hiding faux rooms within.

She got out of the car, and an old man wearing a baseball cap and sporting a long, graying beard greeted her. Darlene wanted to say “Howdy, Sheriff,” but decided against it. No use in pissing off the locals, even if she was only passing through, and he might be the only one living in this oasis.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “Need some gas?”

“Yes, sir.” Darlene looked past him to the small gas station building. “Any chance you have snacks and a bathroom?”

“We got both, but they’re not in the same room.” He grinned. “You understand.”

Darlene laughed. “I think I need to take care of food and a bathroom break first, then work on filling the car up.”

“I can do it while you’re busy.”

Darlene shook her head. She didn’t know if he was just being polite or creepy, and she didn’t want to find out. “I’m in no rush.”

“You might not be in a rush to drive away, but the way you’re doing the Pee Pee Dance, I’d say you’re in a rush to do something. Key is on the counter.”

Darlene blushed. “Thanks.” She found the key and went into the bathroom, glad she’d found the gas station before she’d pissed her pants.

She went to the sink to wash her hands and throw some water on her face; she was appalled at the reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t slept in days—and then no longer than a few hours at a time—and she looked it.

She needed to change her clothes, too. There was only so much perfume a girl could spray to mask the smell. Her thong had been riding up her ass for miles, and she was sure she was chafed.

What are you doing to yourself?
she asked her reflection. She was running away not only from her dad’s death and chilly Maine, but also from her basic needs and responsibilities. She needed a real meal. Candy bars and soda weren’t going to be enough.

She made a promise to her twin in the mirror that she’d find a normal restaurant, not fast food, and have some decent food, then find a motel to sleep for a dozen hours or more, shower with real soap, and relax. Maybe find one with a pool and buy a good book to read. Really, what was the rush? She had quite few things on her list, but a snack and a full tank of gas were first.

When she went back into the gas station, the man was behind the counter, his feet propped up with a
People Magazine
in his lap.

“Thanks,” Darlene said, dropping the key on the counter. She grabbed three candy bars and a cold Coke.

“I didn’t pump your gas, ma’am,” the guy said as he flicked through his magazine. Either he was a speed-reader or he was just looking at the pictures.

“Where am I?” Darlene asked, putting her food and drink down on the counter. She looked around for something to read besides magazines.

“You’re a few miles from Chico, California,” he said with a smile. “Smack in the direct middle of nowhere. This here one-stop is our own little secret. Off the main highways, far enough away so the rest of the world doesn’t know we exist. Population of one hundred twenty.”

“What’s the name of this quaint little town?”

He shook his head. “Only the locals know the real name. I’m a fourth-generation member of the community. Settlers heading out west in the beginning of the country, on their way to gold in San Francisco, got tired of traveling. A caravan settled in this area and never looked back.”

“Very nice. Any chance you have a restaurant or a hotel in town?” Darlene asked.

She could try to keep driving but her body was exhausted. Maybe a quiet little spot like this would be the perfect place to hide, too.

“By restaurant, do you mean a place to buy a sit-down meal?”

“Yes,” Darlene said, unsure if he’d ever heard of a restaurant, much less knew of one.

“And by hotel you mean pay for a room to sleep in?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s generally what it means.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not really. Me and the missus have an extra room. Hasn’t been used in a couple months, but my wife could air it out for you. Put down some fresh linens. She’s making pot roast for dinner and invited a few folks over. I’m sure we have room for one more chair.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Darlene said. “How far did you say Chico was?”

He looked disappointed. “Not too far at all. I don’t mean to be pushy, ma’am. We just don’t get many strangers coming through, and our goal is for them not to leave as a stranger. I don’t mean that in a creepy way, either.” He smiled. “And you’re not the only newcomer in town this week. A couple stopped and had dinner with us a few days ago. They went out to San Francisco, got bored, and came back. They were looking for a quiet place to relax and enjoy the great outdoors. No smog and noise pollution here.”

Darlene felt her eyelids closing and she fought it. “Thank you, but I think I’ll keep going.”

“No problem.” He opened up his magazine again. “I’ll turn the gas pump on for you.”

Darlene went outside into the heat and filled her car with gas, wiping the sweat and dirt from her face. While she was doing it, she ate the candy bars before they fully melted and drank half the soda in one pull.

She looked around the immediate area and sighed. It was gorgeous. It was hot but not crazy humid, and there was no snow in sight. She was sure it didn’t rain too often, either. And it was truly in the middle of nowhere.

The gas station attendant had mentioned a “couple” in town. They went to San Francisco and were bored. Darlene thought she might also get bored there. There was no reason for her to drive there, anyway. One spot was as good as the next, especially when there was no real destination in mind. As long as it wasn’t Maine or surrounded by well-meaning but annoying family, she would be fine.

She didn’t know if it was the gas fumes or her lack of sleep or both, but she got light-headed for a moment and leaned against the car.

When she shook it off, she saw the man standing in the doorway of the gas station looking worried.

Darlene smiled and gave him a quick wave. “I’m fine.”

“Sun get to you?”

Darlene shrugged. “I think all of it is getting to me.” She glanced at the gas pump and pulled cash out of her pocket, meeting the gas station attendant halfway and handing him exact change.

He tipped his dirty ball cap. “You have a pleasant drive, ma’am. I hope you swing back this way on your return to Maine.”

Darlene was shocked. How did he know where she was from?

He grinned, obviously reading her face. “Your license plates, ma’am.”

She sighed and felt her face flush with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I’m just tired. And obviously not good around strangers. I need to go before I say something stupid and put my foot in my mouth.” She looked away and walked-ran to her car.

What an idiot
, she thought.
You’ve seen too many bad horror movies. Just because it’s a throwback gas station from the 1950s with a single attendant who is overly friendly, you imagine he has bodies strung up in the garage.

If he did, Darlene didn’t want to see them.

She had the windows down and the wind whipped her hair as she took off west. The farther away from Maine, the better.

She blinked and missed half the town (whatever the secret name of it was), and was on a semi-main road in minutes. It was yet another stretch of lonely highway, just like the songs said.

Darlene tried to find a radio station but got nothing but static. The next time she got to an actual city she’d buy a car charger for her iPod, which had been dead and useless the last couple of days.
You can plan every trip down to the last detail and then get derailed by something as simple as an eight-dollar plug
, she thought.

A few more miles down the road and the monotony of the landscape was getting to Darlene. She bounced in her seat and shook her head to scare away the cobwebs, but it was no use. She wouldn’t last another hour driving like this.

She swore she would stop and park at the next restaurant or hotel or gas station. She needed a power nap but didn’t want to pull over randomly on the side of a sparsely travelled road.

Pretty much any parking lot would suffice at this point.

Darlene kept driving, rocking and squirming to stay awake, knowing how stupid she was being. The gas station guy was harmless and had offered her a meal and a place to sleep.

If she turned around right now, she could be back in half an hour. It would be dark soon, and despite how pretty the sunset looked ahead of her, she didn’t want to drive through this desolate landscape without streetlights or civilization.

I’ll try ten more miles and then I’ll turn around
, she swore to herself.

Darlene played with the radio for something to do so her mind wouldn’t shut off and kill her. She kept one eye on the road ahead, which was a straight, steaming blacktop for as far as she could see.

A highway to Hell
, she thought.

When the radio finally tuned into something other than static, it was more talk radio. She sighed but turned it up. Maybe someone would say something stupid and she could argue with the radio for a while and stay awake. She used to love listening to Howard Stern as a kid, before he jumped to pay radio. No matter who his guest was, she was enthralled by his banter.

“…not a drill. I repeat, this is really happening. It looks like we are under attack from terrorists. The caldera has been blown up. We are under attack,” the panicked guy on the radio was saying.

Darlene thought at first it was the same load of crap she’d heard a while ago, before she’d stopped for gas. She’d barely listened and was about to flip the dial around again. Just more ‘end-of-the-world’ garbage someone was trying to go viral with for a laugh. But this was a different DJ on a different radio station. What were the chances of someone else doing the same hoax an hour or more later?

When she slowed the vehicle down and pulled over onto the side of the road, she explored the radio dial until she found a different station, reporting the same news.

America was under attack, and Yellowstone was the first strike. A nuclear weapon had detonated, creating a chain reaction of natural and unnatural magnitude.

“Please let this be a joke,” Darlene said. “There is no way this is really happening.”

She sat in silence for the next hour, listening to the updating newscasts as the sun moved lower on the horizon. She feared that if she kept driving, she’d lose the signal.

There were unconfirmed reports of rioting in major cities already, which she couldn’t understand. Why would L.A. and San Francisco go crazy only a few hours into this mess? Where was the National Guard? The military?

Darlene had turned the car off to save gas, but with only the windows open, she was a ball of sweat again. The sun was nearly gone; dusk was behind her but she decided to head back east and see if the gas station guy was still around and the offer still on the table.

San Francisco was no longer an option.

As soon as she started the car and turned around, the radio signal got weaker. Within five minutes it was gone, but Darlene had heard enough.

She drove as fast as she dared, topping one hundred miles an hour. She was wide awake with a rush of adrenaline at the bad news. It didn’t take her long to shoot into the gas station parking lot, tires screeching and dust billowing.

“You alright?” the guy said as he ran outside. “You scared me.”

Darlene jumped out of her car. “Have you been listening to the radio?”

“Nah. Nothing I want to hear comes in this far out. Why?”

“We’re under attack,” Darlene said.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Darlene threw up her hands. “The country. America. The U.S. of A. The damn Koreans or Russians or someone has attacked Yellowstone National Park.”

He turned and looked into the distance. “That’s really far from this spot.” He turned back to Darlene. “Any secondary strikes or did it just happen?”

“I think it’s been a few hours. I don’t know. They are telling people to stay away from major cities like San Francisco,” Darlene said.

“Yes, very good idea. I need to call my wife, Pheebz, and tell her to monitor the news. I’m going to close up, too. Will you help me? I’m Herbert Brinker, by the way.”

“Darlene Bobich. Pleased to meet you again, I guess. I’m not sure what help I’m going to be closing up, though.”

“If what you’re saying is true, we don’t have much time. I need you to bag up all the food and drink you can and fill your car with it. Pack it in, and anything else you think we’ll need,” Herbert said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have the old gas truck in the garage out back. I’m going to fill it. Then I’ll lock up and you can follow me back to my property. The couple that returned from San Francisco should be coming back this way in the middle of the night, unless they got wind of what’s happening. We told them about a cute hidden spot near the lake to the north. They were going to get away for a few hours.”

“Is all this necessary? Do you think the neighbors will rob you?” Darlene asked, looking around. There wasn’t another person in sight.

“I think once panic sets in, and especially if the news is telling people to get out of the cities, eventually we’ll have our main roads filled with desperate people with nowhere to go. And they won’t have the money, or won’t want to part with their money, and they’ll loot. I’ve seen it before. I go by the worst-case scenario, which says I can kiss my gas station goodbye. In any case, we’ll need these supplies for ourselves. We can talk more about this at the house. You look exhausted, anyway. I doubt you would’ve made it a few more miles,” Herbert said. “Go fill the bags. I need to call my wife and tell her to set another plate for dinner.”