Apocalypsis: Book 1 (Kahayatle) (3 page)

Peter was waiting at the fence, this time his head coming up about four inches higher than the last time.
 
I jumped up and pulled myself to the top with my biceps, only shaking a little at the muscle fatigue I’d caused with my hour-long workout.
 
As my eyes cleared the edge of the jagged wood plank, I looked over the edge at his feet.

I was laughing so hard, I had to drop back down.
 
My muscles had turned to jelly.

“Shut up,” he said.

“Dude,” I gasped, bent over to catch my breath,
 
“you’re wearing ladies heels.
 
What do you expect me to do?”

“It’s the only way I could get high enough to see over the fence.”

I tried really hard to stop laughing, but I couldn’t.
 
I hadn’t seen anything that funny in months.
 
They were electric red and about three sizes too big for him.
 
Whoever had owned them had been one hell of a large woman.

“Seriously, shut up.
 
Someone’s going to hear you.
 
The canners.”

I finally calmed down, that stupid word he kept saying being the thing that got my attention enough to control my hysteria.
 
“Why do you keep saying that?
 
Canners.
 
What the hell is it?”

“You don’t know?”

“Obviously not, since I’m asking you.”
 
I wondered how much time this guy had spent in the company of others before the end of the world as we knew it had come.
 
He seemed a bit off.

“Kids who eat other kids.
 
Cannibals.”

It took my brain a few seconds to process that one.
 
“Say
what
now?”

“You heard me.
 
Cannibals
.”

“Peter, are you feeling okay?
 
Did you drink some bad water?
 
You know you either have to heat it up or bleach it before you drink it.”

He sighed loudly.
 
“Don’t believe me if you don’t want to, but I know what I know.
 
I’ve seen things,” he said mysteriously.
 
“I just wanted to talk to you about maybe joining forces.”

“No,” I said immediately.
 
I didn’t even have to think about that one.
 
“I’m not into joining gangs.”
 
I knew I was much better off with only myself to worry about, especially since this Peter kid was obviously one pork chop shy of a mixed grill.

“I’m not talking about a gang.
 
A gang implies several people.
 
I’m talking about just two: you and me.”

“I don’t need a gang,” I said simply.
 
And it was true.
 
I had never needed much companionship before, and I didn’t miss it now.
 
I could run faster than any girl I knew and I could beat down any moron that tried to get a jump on me, thanks to my dad and his passion for krav maga.
 
The last thing I needed was a kid who was afraid of his own shadow hanging around with me, attracting all kinds of unwanted attention.

“You need someone to watch your back.
 
We all do.”

“Not me.”

“Oh, you don’t sleep?” he asked with feigned innocence.

He had me there.
 
That was the one time that I worried for my safety.
 
It had been months since I’d had a good night’s sleep.
 
Every little sound made me jump to my feet, thinking someone was coming to take my beans and noodles.
 
Or worse.

“I’ll think about it.
 
But tell me why you think I should.
 
I mean, what do you bring to the equation, other than watching my back?”

“I’m smart.”

“So am I.
 
Try again.”

“I can sing?”

“
Buzz
.
 
Try one more time.”

He sighed, his voice wavering now.
 
“I have ten jars of spaghetti sauce, one .357, and ten boxes of bullets.
 
That’s it.”

I sighed heavily.
 
It wasn’t the gun and ammo that got me.
 
Or the sauce.
 
It was the sound of utter defeat in his voice.
 

“Fine.
 
Pack your crap.
 
I’ll help you over the fence tomorrow at five in the morning.
 
Put everything in a backpack.
 
Bring a sleeping bag and any other camping stuff you have.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice more upbeat now.
 
“See you then.
 
And thanks, Bryn.”

“Don’t mention it.
 
I’m already kind of regretting my decision.”

He didn’t say anything in response.
 

I heard the bushes moving and then the sound of a squeaky door hinge, followed by the too-loud banging of his kitchen chair against the doorframe as he carried it back inside.
 
The last noise to carry across his yard before the door shut was the clop, clop, clopping of his high heels on a tile floor .
 

I returned to my house, wondering if I’d made the right decision, but knowing I wasn’t going to change my mind.
 
My dad had always said, we have to take care of people who can’t take care of themselves … and Peter definitely fell into that category.

CHAPTER TWO

I WAS UP BY FOUR o’clock.
 
I tried to tell myself it was the constant little noises that I heard outside my windows that made me caffeine-eyed before sunrise, but deep down I knew it was really just me being anxious about Peter coming over to join me.
 

I’d been alone for four months.
 
It’s the longest period of time I’d ever been without human contact in my life.
 
Now that I’d found Peter in my backyard, I was craving more time together.
 

Part of me was disgusted with myself, seeing it as a weakness - a dangerous one that could put my safety at risk.
 
The other part of me didn’t care what the loner in me thought.
 
People weren’t meant to live in solitude.
 
before he left, my dad told me I should find someone to be with - someone I could trust and who could take care of themselves.
 
I’m pretty sure Peter wasn’t the type of companion he’d had in mind, since he was about as helpless as a baby bird, but I guess you don’t choose your friends when the world comes to an end; you take what you can get and make do.
 
Maybe I could teach Peter how to defend himself at least.
 
His bullets weren’t going to last forever, and I was pretty sure that when and if that gun ever went off in his hands, the kick-back would knock him unconscious.

At five o’clock I went outside, not even bothering to check the front yard first, I was so anxious to get this done.
 
Before I was even to the fence, a backpack came flying over the top.
 
I stepped smoothly to the side to let it drop down beside me, smiling to myself - it was good to know my reflexes were still sharp.

Next came a gigantic sleeping bag - the kind my dad said to avoid using because it wouldn’t pack lightly and would stay damp forever.
 
I shook my head, wondering if there was a surplus store that might have some gear left on the shelves.

The next thing I saw was the edge of a bright purple box-type thing at the top of the fence.
 
Peter seemed to be struggling, so I stepped up to help him out.
 

“What is that?” I asked quietly as I joined him.
 

“A suitcase,” he grunted out.
 

I grabbed the corner of it and lifted it over the edge, grunting with the effort.
 
“What the heck do you have in here?
 
Bricks?”

“Spaghetti sauce and some other stuff.
 
Don’t drop it, there’s glass in there.”

I managed to get the monstrosity over into my yard, surprised I didn’t pull a back muscle doing it.
 
“Wow, you sure know how to travel light,” I said, sarcastically.
 
I hoped breaking the news to him that we would be leaving soon and that this elephant wouldn’t be coming with us wouldn’t make him decide to stay.

Peter’s toe came to the top of the fence, his dirty, once white sneakers trying to find purchase on the wood.
 

I jumped up on the fence a few feet down and climbed over to the other side.
 
While Peter busied himself with getting over, I took the kitchen chair he’d used to boost himself up and brought it to the back door of his house.
 
I laid it on its side and stomped on one of the legs, breaking it off.
 
The last thing I wanted to do was provide some raider a nice ladder to use to get into my yard.
 
I broke off a second leg and then picked them both up, throwing them to separate far corners of the yard, before returning to Peter’s struggling form.

I grabbed his flailing foot and pushed on it a little so he’d realize I was there.
 
“Use my hand as leverage,” I instructed.
 
As soon as I felt his leg stiffen, I pushed again, giving him a boost that sent him flying over the fence.
 
He was lighter than he even looked, which was saying a lot.

I jumped over to join him, brushing the front of my pants off as I waited for him to get up off the ground.
 

“You didn’t have to push so hard.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you had hollow bird-bones.
 
I expected you to be heavier.”

Peter scowled at me and then went to gather his things.
 
He started for the suitcase, but I waved him away.
 

“You go get the backpack and sponge.
 
I’ll get this.
 
I don’t want you to break an arm.”

“Sponge?”

“That sad excuse for a sleeping bag you have.”

Peter went to follow my orders.
 
“Have you always been this anti-social or is it just the apocalypse that’s brought out your sunny personality traits?”

I stopped, for a split second offended, but then just happy.
 
Thank the stars this kid has a sense of humor.
 
Without it, life was going to be seriously uncomfortable.

“This is me being friendly.
 
Just wait until you piss me off.”

“Wow, I’m looking forward to that,” he said, dragging his backpack with one hand and his sleeping bag with the other.
 
The bag slowly came out of its rolled-up form to spread out behind him.

“You’re sponge is unrolling.”

“Whatever.”

He got to the door ahead of me because I was trying to carry the suitcase without leaving tracks that were too obvious in the weeds.
 
I didn’t want to leave any sign for anyone about what I was doing or who was doing it with me.
 
Trails of heavy things being dragged only awakened curiosity - and when someone was really hungry, the curiosity almost always assumed there was food involved.
 
And in this case, they’d be right.

We got to the back door and I let Peter in.
 
For some reason he’d stopped and waited for me, as if we lived in a world where you didn’t just walk into someone’s house when you felt like it.
 
It was strange, but nice in a way.

“Here it is.
 
Home sweet home.”

He went in ahead of me and I followed with the purple brick.

“Wow.
 
This looks nothing like my place.”

“Yeah, well, my dad was kind of hardcore about preparing me for the end of the world.”
 
He was staring at the gear I had set up that made my family room look like a camp site.
 
There was only one piece of furniture in the place - a couch.

“It wasn’t the end of the world,” clarified Peter, “just a restructuring of the world order.”
 
He walked over to the table that used to have a TV on it to lift up the picture that was in a frame there.
 
It was taken of my dad and me three years ago, when we took a trip out to the Everglades together.
 

“Is this your father?”

“Yeah.”
 
I pulled Peter’s suitcase to the middle of the floor.
 
“Can I open this?”

Peter shrugged, moving on to look at other things in the room.
 
“Sure.”

I opened up the case and pulled things out, one by one.
 
There were glass jars of spaghetti sauce stuffed around books and shoes - two pairs of sneakers and a pair of pointy-toed dress shoes - all of them completely useless for any kind of travel.
 
I threw them over my shoulder into a messy pile.

“Hey!
 
Those are my shoes!”
 

“Garbage.
 
You can’t use these to walk any distance in.”

“They’re all I have.”

“You have what’s on your feet.
 
We’ll find you something else.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure yet.”
 
I glanced at his feet.
 
“My dad’s feet were bigger than yours, so you can’t use his old ones.
 
But we’re going to have to leave here soon, so wherever we go, we’ll find something on the way.”

“Why do you think we have to leave?”

I stopped my unpacking and looked up at him.
 
“Why do you ask like that?
 
As if I have to have a different reason than you?”

“Because you don’t know or care about the canners, so you must have other reasons.”