A New Day in America (16 page)

“What’s this?” he says, reaching toward her neck.

He pulls out the chain that Naomi wears around her neck. The small vial with tiny flakes of shrapnel rests in Lawlor’s meaty palm.

“That’s my
shake
,” says Naomi.

Lawlor gives the vial a soft rustle and hears the
shhh
noise.

Naomi smiles, like she almost always does at the sound.

“How precious,” he says, standing. “Tommy, you got a clear enough head to get yer ass beat at poker and not cry about it?” he asks, walking away.

“Clear enough to clean you out.”

“
Tonight
then,” calls Lawlor.

“Well, he sure liked your necklace,” Leila says to Naomi.

“I think he was looking at something else,” says Nos.

Tommy rummages through a cardboard box full of eyeglasses, trying each one on and immediately setting them aside.

“Hundreds of people gone,” he mutters, “and not one of them has eyesight as jacked up as mine.”

“Keep looking,” says Leila.

“So Nos, what took you so long to visit?” asks Tommy.

“Stuck it out back in Brooklyn. Sheltered in place.”

“So why’d you leave?”

“Ran out of food,” he says, thinking of the rash on Naomi’s neck. “The disease hit you hard out here?”

“Very hard.” Tommy tries on another wire-framed pair and then tosses it back down on the table with the others. “One day every third person just woke up with that rash. Dead within days. Tried to quarantine, but the rash spread too quickly. We were lucky, being on base. Had gas masks handy. Then there was a supply drop. Tons of inoculations. Still, about two-thirds of the base was wiped out.”

Supply drop
. The thought of the New York inoculation operation makes Nos itch. “You know anything about the disease?”

“Deadly. Untreatable, incurable. Strain seems to have weakened somewhat, takes longer to kill, and some folks who have it are still alive. But in the end, it’s all the same.”

All the same. Dust
.

“Ah-ha!” Tommy wears a pair of bright red lady glasses that curve up at the corners. He blinks. “I can see!”

“Can you see yourself?” asks Leila.

Tommy takes off his lady glasses and looks at them and then puts them back on. He sighs.

“You look like Ms. Kezepas,” says Nos.

“Third grade?

“Second.”

“Nine fingers and old lady glasses,” says Tommy. “If I were religious, I would think that God is teaching me humility.”

“And since you’re not, what do you think?” asks Leila.

Tommy smiles at Leila, finally able to see her properly. “I think—” he begins, and looks to Nos and then Naomi. “That…” he trails off, examining the little girl closely. “Oh, no,” he says, his face stricken.

The rash
.

“Please, you can’t let anyone know what’s in this case,” Nos tells Tommy. They are back at quarters, this time in Nos’ room. The door is closed. Leila’s dogs sit and look at Tommy, Leila, Naomi, and Nos as though trying to figure out what’s going on. They can feel the nervous quiet in the air. Everyone else’s attention is fixed on the suitcase.

“Of course,” says Tommy.

“I mean it, I know how you get.”

“What do you mean?”

“Talkative.”

“
Talkative
?”

“How did the Tooth Fairy know every goddamn thing about this base?” Nos demands, half smirking.

“Easy, bro. He cut off my fuckin’ finger.”

“Troop health, munitions storage, fuel supply—you might as well have given him the blueprints. You’re supposed to be trained to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“Sorry we’re not all super-special fucknuts like you,” Tommy snaps. “Tommy Greene, pleased to meet you. Card player. Base hobbit. Friend to orphans, stray dogs, and hookers. You hear the word ‘hero’ in there?”

“And lost causes,” says Nos. “You used to say ‘lost causes,’ not orphans.”

“Well,
fuck
lost causes,” Tommy growls. He then looks at Naomi and collects himself. “Sorry,” he says to her.

Maybe he’s sorry for saying ‘fuck.’ Or maybe he’s sorry because she’s the biggest lost cause there is
.

“A lost cause is the only cause I got left,” says Nos. He leans in close, so only Tommy can hear. “Now I don’t care if they cut your fucking
cock
off,” he whispers, holding up the briefcase. “You don’t tell anybody about this case.”

“Still the bully,” says Tommy. “You want my lunch money, too?”

“Still talking. That’s your problem, you talk too much.”

“Everyone has their strength.”

“And every strength is also a weakness. You realize, that toothless bastard, Ishmael or whatever you call him, could have shot you dead? But you had to tell him you’re a lefty, didn’t you? You should have caught a bullet right in your flapping lips.”

“He cut off my finger,” Tommy begins, his face growing cold sober. “He took me and my friend, Ace. My roommate. My wingman. We were stripped naked and tied up.
Two mouths,”
he said. “
And one bite. So who bites?
A man came between us and cut our binds. Then he dropped the knife between the two of us. Ace is a fighter. Was. He would have torn me apart. But I saw a pistol sticking out of the guy’s belt, the one standing right there. Right by my right hand. Ace hesitated. You know, cuz we’re buddies. I grabbed the gun and banged a bullet between my buddy’s eyes.

“When they bound us up, I was cracking jokes. Talking too much, as you say. Ishmael, or the Tooth Fairy, whatever you call him, asked why I cracked so many jokes. I said it was a defense mechanism. He said he saw my defense mechanism, and there wasn’t nothing funny about it. Said I was too dangerous to have around their camp with my trigger finger intact. So they hacked it off with a cleaver and seared it shut with a branding iron. Yeah, they beat me for days until I told them everything I knew about the base. But I had to let that bastard know that he didn’t beat me. That I played him. I wanted the last thought in his mind to be that
I won
.”

Nos sits beside Tommy on the bed and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “An impossible situation,” says Nos.
One life or another. A proposition of equal value. Still, some would throw themselves on a grenade for their friends
.

Tommy tries to read his brother’s expression. “I know,” he says. “I’m a shit.”

“Just cuz you’re not an angel doesn’t make you a devil.”

Tommy shrugs. “At least I kept my mouth shut about it,” says Tommy.

“Until now,” says Nos.

“And I’ll keep my mouth shut about that briefcase. You’re the last family I got left.”

Nos nods.
This isn’t the same kid I knew. Something changed. Or something is changing. End of the world, you can’t go back
.

Nos opens the briefcase. Tommy’s eyes scan the rows of vials. Nos puts on a pair of latex gloves. He takes one vial out and fills a needle.

“Naomi, come here hon.”

Knowing what’s coming, Naomi rolls up her sleeve.

“What is it?” asks Tommy.

“Treatment,” says Nos.

“There’s no such thing.”

“There is. As far as I know, this briefcase is all there is in the world.”

“Is it a cure?”

“No,” says Nos. “But it will keep her alive.”

“Until?”

“Until it runs out,” he says as he pricks his daughter’s arm with the needle and plunges forty milliliters in.

The auditorium is packed with all base personnel with any non-essential duty. The wounded are in wheelchairs in the aisle with IVs in their arms. Revelation soldiers are intermingled with base troops. The crowd is quiet as a briefing for a dangerous mission.

Three men are on the stage—General Westbrook, the Chaplin, and Colonel Peters, a stout balding man in a standard uniform sporting the Revelation’s flaming chalice on each arm.

Peters has the floor. The room is spellbound.

“There are hundreds more militias like the one we just defeated. They hoard food and resources as thousands of Americans either join their lawless butchery or starve. Yes, Americans chosen by God to survive the curse of the disease now find themselves dying of famine. For these heathenish militias, starvation works. Hunger turns our citizens into the slaves of warlords.

“We must fight back. We must hit first. We must restore the rule of law. We are the country’s last hope. We are better trained. They are outgunned. We are outmanned. They are outclassed. I know which side I’d rather be on.
Oo-rah
.”

Hoots and
oo-rahs
rise from the crowd.

Nos watches Westbrook sitting in his chair onstage.
In other words, no more hiding on base
. If Westbrook takes Peters’ words as offense, he doesn’t show it.

“In partnership with General Westbrook, Fort Dan will be rebuilt. Stronger and better suited to task. We will leave a contingent on base to lend a hand. I ask that those of you who wish to join our mission and meet the enemy head on to sign up. I’m calling all able-bodied men to serve their country.”

Peters picks up a clipboard with a blank sheet and holds it up.

“There’s not a moment to waste. You may ask, why not stick with the Army or Marines or wherever your past allegiance may be. You may ask, why the new symbol? We have formed the Revelation Guard Corps for unity and righteousness. All creeds now join as one. Loyalty, duty, respect, selflessness, honor, integrity, and personal courage unite us all. Our armed forces can no longer operate under divisions of any sort. Our symbol is the flaming chalice for the fires we will set to our enemies. The message to these militias is ‘don’t even think about it.’ Don’t even think about hoarding our grain and corn, we will crush you. Don’t even think about murdering Americans for trying to eat a loaf of bread, we will burn you alive. Don’t even think about it.”

“
Don’t even think about it!”
The crowd reverberates.

“You are all here because you were saved by the Lord our God to survive the first wave of the End of Days. Now is the time to thank the Lord by doing His work on earth. Rest assured, He will reward you with the gift of eternity. You are all here because at some point you heeded the call to serve your country. Today, I am merely asking you to renew those vows.”

He sets the clipboard down on a table onstage.

“Convoys move out at dawn.
Oo-rah
.”

Applause erupts as Colonel Peters returns to his seat, and the Chaplin takes the podium.

“All of the good men and women of this base have borne witness to the three miracles that took place in our church. Three of our most devout sons have already been called to Heaven at the Lord’s side. Samuel Brock, Ed Hanes, and Rodney Carpenter all vanished without a trace as they worshiped in our chapel, leaving only the hem of their garments. I believe the coming of Colonel Peters and the Revelation Guard Corps is yet another miracle, and I now suspect this to be the fourth of many. Join his most righteous cause with my blessing.”

But his words seem unnecessary. Hundreds of men are already lined up to scribble their names on the clipboard. Westbrook sits, smiles, nods, and stares.

Tommy and Nos sit at the cafeteria, munching on mushy bowls of hot oats. Compared to the MREs, it’s a delicacy.
Bland never tasted like so much spice
.

“Giving it any thought?” Nos asks.

“Please. Life on base is too good. Besides, I can’t take all that holy roller talk.”

“A non-believer,” a voice interrupts. Lawlor approaches with his own bowl of oats.
Second time he’s snuck up today. The man has the ears of a fox
. “In the face of so many miracles?”

He muscles himself onto the bench beside Tommy.

“If the fact that you’re alive isn’t proof enough of divine providence, Tommy Nine, I don’t know what is.”

“The reason Tommy is alive,” Nos grins, “is sitting right next to him.”

Lawlor’s tan face lights up.

“What’re you talking about?” asks Tommy.

“Lawlor. He saved your neck. He shot your would-be executioner straight through the ribs.”

“Laws, I never knew you cared. Let me shake your hand.”

Lawlor gives Tommy his hand, eyes on Nos. “When did you figure it?”

“After you didn’t shoot me. I was up in the Little Bird, had the fucker in my sights, nailed to last rites.”

“Missed?”

“Gun jammed. Should have meant your head, Tommy, but a gunshot came out of nowhere. By the time I looked up, that savage dropped his axe and spun around. Shot had to come from right around Lawlor’s position. Nice piece of work.”

Lawlor nods. “Glad to do my part. I was out hunting when the shit went live. Had myself already set up outside base.”

“What were you hunting?”

“Raiders,” Lawlor says nonchalantly.
Like he’s saying ‘deer’ or ‘coyote.’
“So, you boys fixin’ to join the mighty cause of the Revelation Guard Corps?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“Still thinking about it,” says Nos.

Tommy flashes him a look of surprise.

“
They got an aching need for Special Forces Operators. Still, don’t know how long I could take all that Jesus talk,” says Lawlor.

“I thought you believed in the divine righteousness of the mission,” says Nos.

“There is a certain divinity in declaring war, I’ll give you that. One man trying to kill another? Existence itself on the line? I’d reckon the winner in that situation is destiny’s darling. Two men fighting for which of ‘em the universe, or God, or whatever sees fit to go on living? I can’t think of a greater validation of one’s existence.”

Tommy chuckles. “I can. I can think of
tons
. First and foremost being that two men can’t validate
anything’s
existence. Sounds pretty gay to me, and I hear that God don’t like ‘gay.’ If anything’s divine, it’s a woman, and if there is a God, it’s between her legs.”

Lawlor bellows a loud laugh, thundering through the cafeteria. His laugh has a strange mix of performance and menace.

“You’ll have to excuse Tommy Nine,” says Lawlor. “He should know that whatever God may be,
He
can’t be bought. Boys like him are the consumers that fund the world’s oldest profession.”