Apocalypsis: Book 1 (Kahayatle) (10 page)

“Holy crap, Bryn.
 
Are you Wonder Woman now, too?”

“Adrenaline.
 
It’s not going to last forever.
 
Come on, let’s go!”

I grabbed the bike and ran it into the house, its wheels barely touching the ground.

I fast-packed our backpacks with Peter working as my assistant.
 
I shouted out items and he handed them to me, rushing around the room to grab things as fast as he could.
 
I had both backpacks done in less than three minutes.

“Try it on,” I said.

Peter couldn’t even get it on his back himself.
 
I stood behind him and lifted it up, waiting for him to get the straps over before letting go.
 
He nearly collapsed under its weight.

“Try this one instead,” I said.
 

I’d thought they were the same weight but for some reason this second pack didn’t have the same effect on him.
 
It was mine, and made for long distance hiking.

“It’s better,” he assured me.
 
“I’ll take this one.
 
After I put on more weight, we can switch.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lancelot,” I said.
 
“Just get your bike and let’s go.”

“But what about Buster?” he asked.
 

We both looked down at the fuzzy pink thing who was looking up at us with the happiest face a dog could possibly have.
 
He’d just heard his name, and apparently to Buster, that always meant good things.
 
His tail was wagging like mad, making his whole butt wiggle.

“Hold on,” I said, letting a frustrated sigh escape me.
 
I rushed to my bedroom and rummaged around in an old toy box my dad had bought for me when I was five.
 
I grabbed the bag that was in there and came out, dropping down to squat near Buster.

“A
Hello Kitty
backpack?”

“Shut up.
 
It’s old.
 
It’s all I have.”

“You’re going to carry Buster around in a Hello Kitty backpack,” he said.
 
“Why can’t I have a camera for things like this?” he asked the air around him.

I shoved Buster into the bag when he refused to go willingly.
 
He poked his head out of the top as I buckled it down and strapped it to the front of me.
 
Buster took the opportunity while my hands were busy to lick my lips.

“Buster, no lip licking!” I growled as I wiped his dog saliva off with the back of my hand.
 
“Gross.”

“He’s kissing you … awwww, that’s so sweet!
 
He likes Hello Kitty as much as you do.”

I gave Peter the stink-eye.
 
“Keep it up and you’re going to be the Hello Kitty commando, got it?”

“Yes, Sir!” he saluted.
 
“I mean, Ma’am!”

I grabbed the heavier backpack and put it on, grunting with the weight, fearing I wasn’t going to get very far with this thing on.
 
It’s a good thing we only planned to move a few hours a day.

“Ready?” asked Peter.

I looked around at my family room, taking in all the things around me.
 
My eye landed on the photo of me and my dad in the Everglades.
 
I walked over and slammed the frame down on the edge of the table, breaking the glass.
 
I pulled the picture out and folded it up, sticking it in the pocket of my jeans.
 

“Now I am.”
 

I paid little attention to the blue stain that was left behind on the frame’s backing piece.
 
It had rubbed off of the picture that was now in my pocket.
 
It briefly reminded me how my dad liked to put details on the back of every photo he developed, so we’d remember when and where it was taken - as if I’d ever forget.

We wheeled our bikes out the door, avoiding looking at the severed head as best we could.
 
We climbed onto our bikes once we were on the sidewalk and took off, pedaling as fast as we could, heading out of the neighborhood to parts yet unknown.
 
I couldn’t help but look at the cop’s house as we rode by.
 
The brown X which I now knew to be the canner’s invitation to a bar-b-cue, was still on the door, looking so innocent and yet so sinister at the same time.
 
I wondered if I’d ever get the image of that monster looking at me out of my mind, praying I’d never see him again.

CHAPTER FOUR

I COULD HEAR PETER PANTING behind me.
 

“Are we there yet?” he gasped out.

“If you ask me again, I’m going to speed up and leave you behind.”
 

Buster reached up to lick me again - for the hundredth time in the last half hour that we’d been riding.
 
My chin was totally sticky with dog drool.
 
I tried not to get mad about it since I knew he thought he was doing me a favor.

“Can we just stop for a minute?” he pleaded.

“No.
 
We’re almost there.”

“Where’s there?”

“The army-navy surplus store.
 
They might have something we can use.”

“Ha!” yelled Peter.
 
“As if we could carry more things.”

He had a point, but I had to try.
 
If nothing else, Peter needed replacement shoes.
 
His weren’t going to last very long.
 
They were the kind of sneakers cheerleaders wore, not the kind you could use for walking and hiking any distance.

We rolled into the parking lot a few minutes later.
 
The store was actually just a small warehouse, back in the middle of a bunch of them in a commercial section of town.
 
I could see already that someone had been there before us; the glass of the front window was broken and things were strewn out on the ground in front.

I got off my bike and motioned for Peter to do the same.
 
I put Buster’s bag down on the ground and he ran out of it, dancing around a few seconds before going to lift his leg on a nearby plant.

“I’ll go check it out.
 
You stay out here.
 
Give that fuzzy pink thing some water while you’re at it.”
 
I looked at Peter’s bright red face and heaving chest.
 
“Get your breath back while you wait too, would ya?”

He lifted his hand weakly in agreement, but didn’t say anything.
 

I was pretty sure he wasn’t even capable at this point.
 
I needed to find some food for him in here if at all possible.
 
The kid had almost zero stamina and definitely no body fat to fuel his exercise.

I picked my way over the rubble, Buster following me closely for a while before running off to check things out on his own.
 
I ignored him and instead focused on finding stuff we might need.

I found some foil packed, dried meals behind the counter - they looked like damaged merchandise or maybe stuff someone had returned.
 
I guess none of the raiders had bothered to look back there, which is why there were still around … lucky for us.
 
I also found mini fishing poles and line and hooks, so I grabbed those.
 
There were three poles, four spools of line and a box of hooks.
 
But I really hit the jackpot when I got to the back part of the store.
 
This place apparently also did some sales in mountain bike and camping supplies.

Buster must have sensed my excitement because he came running back to me all excited, bouncing around while I worked to drag the thing I’d found to the front of the store.

I got to the glass door and said, “Get off your butt and help me.”

Peter jumped up and ran over.
 
“What the heck? … What is that thing?”

“It’s a mini trailer.
 
You attach it to the back of a bike and put your crap in it.”

“Oh my goodness,” he said, jumping up and down and clapping, “it’s like we won the lottery or something!”
 
He couldn’t have looked more gay if he’d tried.

I smiled at his happiness.
 
“Seriously, I think we did hit the lottery.
 
Now put your damn bag in here.
 
Make a spot for Buster Brown too.”

“He’s not Buster Brown.
 
He’s Buster Pink.”

I rolled my eyes.
 
“Whatever.”

I went back into the store and grabbed the few other things that had caught my eye on the way out, making two trips to get it all.
 
I took a pair of military-style boots for Peter in his size, four pairs of work pants - two for him and two for me, socks, camouflage t-shirts, the last six pairs of work gloves they had, the fishing stuff, the damaged meals, a tiny single-burner camp stove with ten containers of fuel, one frying pan and a pair of tongs.
 
With the things my dad had already made sure I had and this stuff, we were all set.

“Who’s going to tow the trailer?” Peter asked.

“Me for now.
 
When you get more fluffed out, maybe we can trade off.”

“How do we hook it to the bike?”

“I’m not sure.
 
But there are some tools behind the counter and the instructions are here, so we can figure it out.
 
Hurry up, go get them.
 
I don’t want to hang out here any longer than we have to.”

An hour later we finally had the thing hooked up.
 
Peter and I made a good team.
 
He read the directions and handed me tools while I did the work.
 
I’d never really considered myself a handy person before, but doing this made me feel confident.
 
Not only can I escape the clutches of cannibals bent on my destruction, I can also do mechanic-type work.
 
Next project: building a house in the swamp.

“Come on,” I said, dropping the tools into the small trailer.
 
“Let’s go.”
 
I looked at the dog.
 
“Buster, get up in the trailer.”

He just looked at me.

“Get in the trailer, Buster.”

“You have to use hand motions.
 
Show him what you mean,” suggested Peter.

I pointed to the spot in the trailer that had been left empty for him.
 
“Get in there, you stupid, fuzzy, pink thing!”

He jumped into the trailer and wagged his tail at me.

“I swear to God, he’s smiling at me.”
 
I stared at the dog, frowning, worried for my sanity.

“He is.
 
I can see it,” agreed a delighted-sounding Peter.

“Stupid dog.”

“He’s not stupid,” insisted Peter as he climbed on his bike.
 
“He’s brilliant.
 
And brave.
 
Without him we’d be … ”

He didn’t say the rest of his sentence but I knew what he was thinking, so I finished it for him.
 
“We would have been cooked.”

“Exactly,” said Peter quietly, as he rode past me.

I got on my bike and took a few tentative pedals forward and found the trailer surprisingly easy to pull behind me.
 
I turned a few circles around the parking lot and it just followed behind, bumping very little over the cracks and dips in the asphalt.

Peter began talking to the dog again, using his higher-pitched voice.
 
“You like that, don’t you Buster Wuster?
 
Pinky dinky?
 
Doggy woggy loggy?”
 

“Stop, you’re making me sick to my stomach,” I said, as we wheeled out of the parking lot and back to the road.

“What’s the matter?
 
Is Brynnie winnnie getting angry wangry?”

I aimed my bike for him, narrowly missing and sending him nearly into the ditch.

“Hey!
 
Watch it, lunatic driver!”

“Don’t baby talk at me or I’ll be forced to put you down.”

“You heard that, Buster!
 
She just threatened me with euthanasia!”

Just my luck.
 
I’ve hooked myself to a nutcase poodle-lover who thinks he can talk to dogs.

I shook my head, ignoring his blather in favor of watching road signs, looking for the one that would direct us over to Interstate 95.
 

It was time to head south.

***

We got to the highway forty-five minutes later.
 
We would have gotten there sooner but we mis-read the map twice.

“Finally!” shouted Peter.
 
“We made it!” He was so full of glee, it was hard not to smile.

We took the on-ramp up to the highway surface.
 
I was nervous about being out there this exposed, but it was still relatively early in the day and there was plenty of room to make evasive maneuvers if we were seen by anyone.
 
Plus, there were plenty of abandoned cars to hide behind.

Peter came up beside me.
 
“Why are all these cars here?
 
They don’t have bodies in them.”

We passed by an older Honda, its driver-side door open.
 
“I was wondering the same thing, but then I decided it wasn’t adults who were driving them and just died at the wheel.
 
I think these are cars that kids were driving when they ran out of gas.”

“Ohhhh,” said Peter.
 
“That makes sense.
 
I wonder where they are now.
 
The kids, I mean.”

“Who knows?
 
I just hope they stay the hell away from us.”

“Would it be so bad to have others join our pack?” he asked, looking over at me.