The Scattered and the Dead (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Series (55 page)

Not sadness. Hatred.

Not blue feelings. Red hot fiery ones.

All of the passion and despair and energy that drove people to do all that they do in the world, all of that life force channeled into hatred for one’s self that swelled up so huge that it couldn’t be contained. Maybe society needed to turn that into a Hallmark card version of what it really was to be able to deal with it. They needed to make it small, a smiley face with the smile turned upside down. But it came from the same place that murder came from, the same place that rape came from, the primal place that seethes and flails and finds satisfaction only in inflicting pain and death and destruction. It was those things turned inward instead of outward.

He rubbed one hand against his neck, feeling the smooth skin give way to rough at the place where the stubble began under his chin. He wondered if the black crept up there now, dark lines threading over the curve of his throat and moving out of view beneath his facial hair.

He thought it strange to be human just then, strange to be a walking bag of meat, the smartest of the apes, strange to live in a world that pretended that the animal part of him was less real than the social constructs all around. When he touched the gun, his fingertips grazing over the metal, he knew that life and death were real, that somehow they hadn’t quite seemed real before, back when he wanted nothing more than to kick his feet up and watch TV. Before, all of the fake things seemed real: TV shows and sports and political theater masquerading as policy debate and investment portfolios and real estate deals and picking out new appliances and the hope of trading in the station wagon for something a little sportier once the kids were a little older.

But no. He was a hunk of meat, a group of muscles, a four chambered heart squishing red blood cells loaded with oxygen and nutrients to his oversized brain. And now the scenario had tasked him with destroying the meat, defiling the flesh, blowing a big red hole in the oversized brain so all of the blood poured out like water spiraling out of a bathtub faucet.

He touched his neck again, felt the warmth and the thrum of the pumping blood against his palm. He closed his eyes, and his pulse fluttered against his hand, his ribcage shaking like the walls of a building about to buckle in an earthquake.

Again his fingers took their places on the handle and trigger of the gun, and again he lifted it. He stared straight ahead, his eyes locked on a bottle of WD-40 on the shelf across the room, the gun bobbing and weaving at the bottom of his field of vision. His shoulders twitched a few times, that little quiver like getting a chill.

He closed his eyes and slid the gun between his teeth again.

Ray

North of Canton, Texas

2 days before

Heat shimmered off of the road now, the midday sun making his eyes want to pinch closed rather than look at the bright light reflected off of the white line running parallel to them.

The plaza in the distance became their destination – a mini-mall with surplus clothing shops and a Gamestop. What came next would be pretty simple, he thought. They just needed to pepper spray somebody and take their car. They could even grab some deeply discounted jeans along the way, maybe.

The pepper spray canister bulged in his pocket, not quite visible if you didn’t know to look for it, he thought, but he felt his pants tighten around it with each step, a little fabric pinch and then a release. He stared down at it while he walked. Maybe you could see it, if-

“Question,” she said.

He looked up, waiting for her to go on, feeling a little self-conscious to have his pants and crotch gazing interrupted. She finished her thought in a deadpan:

“Is that a can of police strength pepper spray in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

He laughed. He hadn’t seen that coming from her. It made it funnier that she kept a totally straight face, staring off into the distance, almost looking distracted.

“Real question,” she said. “How are we going to pick?”

“Pick?”

“How are we going to... you know... pick a car, I guess?”

“Oh.”

His eyes scanned the businesses on the horizon again, swinging down from the red signage of Gamestop to the movement on the ground before it.

People moved to and from cars. Even with the apocalypse upon them, people still wanted video games and ponchos and Skechers. From this distance, they looked small, their shoulders slouched, their movements indistinct, somewhat aimless.

His head swiveled over to take in the mouth of the lot. It stirred with life as well. Minivans and SUVs thrummed in and out in rhythmic bursts like the parking lot was inhaling and exhaling soccer moms.

He zoned out watching these moving parts, his mind going all the way blank for a good 90 seconds, and then he remembered that she had asked an interesting question: how would they pick a car? Better to think of it as picking a car than picking a victim, too. She was smart.

“I don’t know. It’ll be just like shopping for a new set of wheels, maybe,” he said.

Erin

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

52 days after

Erin made certain they approached the building from behind. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise. They hid their bikes behind a rusting blue dumpster at the back of the strip mall.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

Erin watched Izzy’s eyelids snap shut. She took a small hand in hers and led Izzy around the side of the building.

“What is it?”

Erin turned back and saw that Izzy had opened one eye a crack. She stopped walking and stuck a finger in Izzy’s face.

“Cover those little peepers!”

Izzy slapped her free hand over her eyes. Satisfied, Erin continued around the building.

“It’s a surprise. No peeking.”

Their feet scuffed over the gravel of the mostly empty parking lot. When they were nicely centered about a hundred yards in front of the building, she took Izzy by the shoulders and squared her toward the facade.

“OK, open them.”

Izzy’s mouth popped open at the familiar logo, eyes zigzagging over the letters and the cartoon mouse on the sign.

“Chuck E. Cheese!”

“Happy birthday, Izzy.”

Izzy clapped her hands together.

“You remembered!”

“You only mentioned it like every day for the past week.”

As they crossed the parking lot, Erin scanned the area. She didn’t want to linger in the city longer than they had to, but she wanted to do something nice for Izzy. It was her birthday, and she was still a kid. She deserved a little fun now and again. Plus, it made it so their trek into the city wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Chuck E. Cheese was one of the few places they’d come across with all of its windows still intact. Erin tugged at the door, but it was locked.

“Still got that bobby pin?” Erin said.

Izzy produced the little twist of metal from her pocket. She kept begging Erin to let her try picking the locks. Might as well go for the full birthday spoil-a-thon.

While Izzy worked at the door, Erin ran through the last few days. For the thousandth time, she bemoaned the fact that they still hadn’t found a gun.

First they’d tried the Rod and Gun Club in Presto. With a name like that, you’d think it’d be some kind of firearm cornucopia. But it turned out to be more of a banquet hall type of place, like an American Legion. The only difference was they had targets set up in a shooting range out back.

Next they searched Presto’s lone pawn shop, but it had been cleaned out of everything but some older model TVs and an electric guitar with the neck snapped off.

Save for hoping to come across a gun in someone’s house on one of their scavenging trips, Erin realized they’d need to brave the city if she was serious about finding a gun.

According to the trusty phone book, Cabela’s was the best option. They left first thing that morning, taking along only their ditty bags, food, and water. Erin stowed the utility knife in her pocket, just in case.

They rode out toward Presto before veering onto the highway. As her bike bumped over the rumble strip that marked the shoulder of the road, Erin’s eyes followed the serpentine line of cars extending into the distance. It was still now, of course, most of the cars literally bumper-to-bumper. It kind of reminded her of a snake. A big, dead snake.

Several times they had to get off their bikes, walking them around a big pile-up or through a tight squeeze of vehicles. Even though the sporting goods store was only about ten miles away, it was three hours before they arrived.

As soon as she rolled up and saw the jagged hole in the glass out front, Erin knew their chances were slim. But she tried to keep her hopes high.

They entered the store, stepping through the gaping glass mouth. Everywhere she looked, merchandise was strewn about. Like a tornado had gone right down every aisle.

When they reached the firearms section, Erin’s shoulders slumped.

“Damn,” she said.

The racks were empty. Even the display models had been taken.

A giant faux mountain rose from the center of the store, complete with taxidermy mountain goats, ram, deer, and wolves. One of the stuffed goats was captured mid-climb, legs akimbo. How bizarre that this used to be someone’s full time job. Some person dedicated a lot of time to stuffing that goat, but not just stuffing it. Posing it in a very precise manner so that it would look natural. And alive.

The full-size diorama was one of the only areas of the store that looked untouched. They skirted around it, searching for any other gem that might prove useful. Since most of the looting had happened in the dead of summer, the winter wear section hadn’t been picked clean quite the same way. Erin snagged good cold weather gear for each of them — coats, gloves, and boots. And just as they were leaving, she spotted a water purifier wedged behind a garbage bin. Someone must have dropped it on their way out.

So it really hadn’t been a totally wasted trip. Not by a long shot. But they were still without a gun. Still without a means of protecting themselves. Unless she counted the box cutter in her pocket.

Izzy wrenched the bobby pin from the lock and sighed.

“I give up.”

Time for a little vandalism. Or did it not count as vandalism now that everyone was dead?

Erin picked up a grapefruit-sized rock from one of the landscaped islands in the parking lot. She weighed it in her hand for a beat before heaving it at the glass.

The stone thudded into the window, then ricocheted off, springing back like a rubber ball. They stared at the series of cracks spiderwebbing out from the point of impact. Then they looked at each other and started laughing.

“It bounced!” Izzy said.

Erin stepped forward, lifting the rock again.

“Must be some kind of safety glass.”

She threw the rock a second time, and it crashed through the weakened glass, tiny shards tinkling onto the sidewalk.

As usual, Izzy waited while Erin scoped the place out. Inside smelled musty, abandoned. She found a set of keys behind a counter toward the back and pocketed them.

Before poking her head into the kitchen area, she plugged her nose, assuming it would be a mess of rotting food. The emergency evacuation map bolted to the wall next to the door caught her eye, the little hallways and doors marked in black, the sequence of lines denoting a stairwell. The red dot declaring “YOU ARE HERE.” Did those disaster plans ever actually work? When the shit hit the fan, did everyone form an orderly line, moving single file to the nearest exit? Or did they run to the doors in a panic, pushing to be the first out, trampling anyone who got in their way? In her experience, it was always the latter.

She kicked the kitchen door open with her foot, glanced around. All was still.

The door labeled “Manager’s Office” was locked. She left it alone and called out to Izzy.

“Race you to the ball pit!”

After wading through a waist-deep sea of colored spheres for a few minutes, they headed into the series of tubes above. Erin felt a tingle of static electricity on her scalp. It built as she scooted through the maze.

She slid down into another ball pit and exited the play area, jangling the keys on her finger.

“Hey Erin!” Izzy called out from above.

Erin turned and looked up in time to see Izzy stick her open mouth on one of the little tube windows. She took a big breath and blew out, inflating her cheeks.

Erin raised both fists, two thumbs up.

“Nice. And very sanitary, I’m sure.”

The keys clanked together as Erin flipped through them until she found the one she was looking for. She unlocked the little compartment and took a Skee-Ball in hand. Then she swung it behind her like a bowling ball and rolled it up the chute.

“Forty points! Woo!”

When Izzy emerged from the tube maze, Erin handed her a cup filled with tokens. Even though they were useless, there was something about the metallic clink that made the experience a little more authentic.