Apocalypsis: Book 1 (Kahayatle) (26 page)

“How about if we go to the place with the canoes and see if maybe we can stay there today?
 
Then we can take them out tomorrow morning at four or whatever.”

I shook my head.
 
“I really don’t want to travel through the swamps at night, in the dark, our first time out.
 
We need to see where we’re going not only so we can find a good spot but also so we can find our way back out again.”

“I’m agreed with dat,” said Bodo.
 
“I think we can risk doing dis today, if we hurry.
 
I doubt dat da canners are going to be out in canoes on da water dis early in da morning.
 
Besides, dare prey is on da land, not in da water.”

I looked at Peter and he shrugged, apparently not disagreeing with the plan.
 

“Fine,” I said, looking down and realizing with slight disgust that Buster had taken advantage of my preoccupation and was currently several hundred licks into cleaning my hand.
 
I grabbed his muzzle and closed it, turning his face up to look at me.
 
“You’re a punk, you know that, Buster?”

His butt wiggled, carried away again by his tail wagging.
 

“Stop licking me, you freak.”
 
I let him go and he jumped out of my lap, barking once at me, obviously excited about the prospect of being called a punk and a freak.
 
I guess so long as someone was talking to him, he was happy.
 

It made me think of Celia, all alone in that crazy shell shop.
 
She’d been so starved for affection she’d asked the girl she’d tried to beat to death two minutes earlier for a hug.
 
I looked at Bodo, busy packing up our brochures, and Peter pouring out some water for a happily expectant Buster - and once again thanked my lucky stars I had found them.
 
Or that they had found me.

We were almost to our goal, and knock on wood, we were all still alive - over two hundred and fifty miles later.
 
Now all we had to do was find some water transportation, figure out how to use it, and not get eaten by alligators or deer-eating snakes before we found a place to live.
 
Simple.

***

Our ride over to the canoe rental place was uneventful.
 
We were no longer on the highway and there were very few abandoned cars on this simple, two-lane side road.
 
We passed an occasional broken down roadside fruit stand, but saw no signs of life aside from ourselves.
 
To our left and right were big waterways, some of them flowing and some of them still, dotted with large sections of treed areas, the edges made up of huge roots that looked like elephant trunks, growing right down into the water.

“Look,” said Peter, pointing up ahead.
 
“There’s a sign for the canoes.”

It promised a turn-off in two-tenths of a mile, and a few minutes later there was a faded red arrow pointing us towards a dirt road that disappeared into a forest of pines and high shrubs.
 
The thick vegetation made it impossible to see more than a few feet in.

A strange harmony, unique to the singing cicada bug, rose up around us, lending a spooky air to the place, as we slowly pedaled our way over the sand and pine-needled pathway.
 
We had to slow down for Peter because his bike tires kept catching in the soft surface, throwing him off balance.
 
Eventually he gave up and walked instead, pushing his bike next to him.

“I luff dat sound,” said Bodo, “but I’ve never seen da bugs dat make it.”

“Yeah, me neither, and I’ve lived my entire life in Florida,” I said.

“I have.
 
In a bug museum once, stuck with a pin.
 
They’re like a big fly, but longer rather than wide.”

“It always reminds me of humidity for some reason,” I said quietly.
 

“They come out in summer, so that’s probably why.”

Busters head came up and he sniffed the air.
 
I was a little nervous about his reaction to the area, but when he didn’t growl or bark, I figured it wasn’t a person he was smelling.
 
Even so, I kept glancing towards him as we moved down the road, ready to take his clues for my early warning sign that something was up.

We came around a bend in the road and a smallish green shack came into view.
 
Next to it was a small picnic area and a pitiful looking playground with a single swing and a faded fiberglass slide.
 
I got off my bike and moved closer to Peter.
 
Bodo dismounted too and moved in front of us, the trailer following smoothly behind.
 

I stopped for a minute, lifting Buster out of the basket and putting him on the ground.
 
“Go see if anyone’s there, Buster.”

Peter looked at me and frowned.

“What?” I asked, defensively.

“You’re sending the bald poodle in as our front line of attack?”

“Why not?
 
He’s little and fast.
 
No one’s going to hurt him.
 
And he’ll bark if he sees or hears anyone.”

Peter shrugged.
 
“I guess.”

I pulled my gun out of my backpack, deciding that if someone was hungry enough, they might see Buster as a nice little Happy Meal, and maybe I should be prepared to back him up.
 

But Buster was totally unconcerned for his safety.
 
He sniffed around gaily, peeing on the edge of the slide, the swing set pole, and then the side of the building before wandering off into the bushes to scare some birds.
 
He only hesitated at the door of the shack and sniffed the air a few seconds before moving on.

Bodo parked his bike near the front door of the shack.
 
It was shut and locked.
 
He rattled the handle a couple times just to be sure.

I put my bike next to his and walked a little farther past where we had stopped.
 
Just beyond the shack was a drop-off that led down to a dock.
 
On a small beach next to the dock was a tall rack with six canoes all stacked on it, three by three, chained together and locked up tight.
 
There were two rowboats and one small outboard motor boat, pulled up on the beach, also chained together.

“We have to get into that shack.
 
All the boats and canoes are locked up.
 
Maybe the key’s inside.”

Bodo disappeared around the right side of the building and then reappeared a few seconds later on the left.
 

“Dare’s a window here in da front and a small one in da back.
 
Neither one iss broken.
 
I think dat’s weird.”

“Yeah.
 
It’s not like this place is out in the middle of nowhere,” said Peter, looking at me fearfully.

I went up to the window and tried to look in, but it was pretty dirty, on the inside and the outside.
 
I turned to the guys.
 
“Should we break it?”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Peter.
 
“We have to get those boats loose.
 
And I’m tired of riding this stupid bike.
 
My butt crack is permanently bruised.”

“I hear ya,” I said.
 
“Bodo, what do you think?
 
Should we break this window or the one in the back?”

“Dis one.
 
The udder one is too small.”

“Fine.”
 
I walked up to it and hit it with the butt of my gun.
 
A few seconds later the smell hit me.
 
I threw my hand up to my face and backed up.
 
“Oh, crap.
 
Someone’s dead in there.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Peter, his face now hidden by the t-shirt he’d pulled up to cover his nose.
 
“Anyone who died before wouldn’t still smell, would they?”

“Well, at least we know it is safe to go in,” said Bodo, moving towards the window with a large stick he’d found on the ground.
 
He used it to bust out the rest of the glass.

“Unless, of course, they died of something other than the disease that killed the adults,” said Peter.

I shook my head.
 
“Well that’s a friggin sunny thought, isn’t it?”

“I’m just saying … we should be careful.
 
There’s got to be a reason this place is pretty untouched.”

“Maybe no one bothered to come out here because it’s a piece of crap that has nothing but canoes and bait.”

Peter’s face lit up.
 
“Maybe that’s the smell … rotten bait.”

Bodo had cleared all the glass and dragged the trailer over so he could stand on it.
 
He was looking inside when he said, “No, I don’t think so.
 
It’s definitely people.
 
Two of dem.”

“Oh, crap,” I said.
 
“Can you tell how long ago it was?”

“Not long.
 
A few days or a week, maybe.
 
I’m not an expert in dead thingks.
 
But dey are not moving, so I’m going in.”

He laid the blanket that had been covering the grenades over the windowsill, and lifted himself over the edge, disappearing inside headfirst.
 
His feet were the last things we saw before we heard a crash.
 

“I’m okay!” came his voice from inside.
 
“I chust knocked over some gas cans.
 
Empty ones.”

I went over to the window and climbed up on the trailer to look in.
 
Bodo was getting to his feet when he saw me.
 
“Come andt join me.
 
Dare’s food in here!”

I glanced at Peter over my shoulder.
 
“I’m going in too.
 
Are you okay out here with Buster?”

“Sure.”
 
He took his backpack off and got his gun out, laying it on his bike seat while keeping a hold of the handle.
 
“I’ve got it covered.”

“Okay.
 
I’m going to find those keys first.
 
Then we’ll start loading canoes.”

I boosted myself up onto the sill and straddled it.
 
Bodo grabbed my waist from inside and lifted me, setting me down in front of him.
 
I looked up, realizing nervously that we were only inches apart.
 
He was taller than I’d ever noticed before - I had to look up to see his face.
 

He was smiling and his eyes were practically sparkling he looked so happy.
 
He held out his arms.
 
“Hug for good luck?”

I shoved one of them away, trying not to smile.
 
“Get real.
 
I’m not hugging you with dead bodies behind me.”

“Dey can’t see you,” he said, not at all dissuaded by my rejection, his arms still out and in position.

“Maybe some other time.”
 

“Okay.
 
I’ll hold you to dat, you know.”
 
He dropped his arms.

“I’m sure you will,” I mumbled, as I turned and took a few tentative steps towards the cadavers on the floor.

Both of them had been shot in the head.
 
The small caliber weapon that did the messy work was lying nearby.
 
One of the bodies was much smaller than the other - skinny and sickly looking.
 
I couldn’t tell if it was that way from the process of decomposition or from the fact that the living person hadn’t been well before the bullet had entered her brain.
 
I could tell she was a girl by the dress she was wearing on the day she died.

“Dare’s a note here,” said Bodo, picking up a piece of paper from the nearby counter.
 

“Read it.”

“To whom it may concern … my name is William.
 
My sister’s name is Rachel.
 
Dis business used to be ownedt by our parents before dey died.
 
Rachel is really sick.
 
She has leukemia and is dying a very painful death.
 
She asked me to end it for her and I finally agkreed.
 
But I know dat once I do it, I won’t want to be here alone, so I’m going to go with her.”
 
Bodo paused a moment to clear his throat.
 
I could tell it was starting to constrict on him, choking him with the emotions he was trying to hold back.
 
I was suffering the same problem.
 
“She doesn’t know it, and I didn’t tell her, because if she knew I planned to shoot myself too, she would change her mind and refuse to let me end her suffering.
 
And I know she really wants to go, so I don’t want to stop her.
 
But I wanted someone to know what happened so dey wouldn’t think I was just some crazy murderer.
 
I love my sister.
 
She’s all I have left.
 
So thanks for reading dis.
 
Take whatever you want.
 
The keys for da boats are in da cash register.
 
Sincerely, William.”

Halfway through the letter, my throat was hurting with the ache of unshed tears.
 
By the time Bodo was done - his own voice having gone scratchy and heavy with sadness - I had begun to cry.
 

Bodo came from behind the counter and around the back of the shelves to join me by the window again.
 

He stood there in front of me for a few seconds before I said, “I’ve changed my mind about that hug.”

He reached out and pulled me to him tightly, dropping his face down to rest his chin on the top of my head.