Pursuit of the Apocalypse (20 page)

“Calm down, Coyrina.”

“Fine.” Coy snatched the paper from Willie’s hand and shoved it in his pocket. “We get the girl, we catch one of the guys, we kill that guy, and you stop calling me Coyrina.” Coy turned and stormed off towards the bikes.

“I knew I could count on you, Coy.”

“Shut up, Willie.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Erica had never traveled much growing up. Some families could make a long-distance vacation out of a three-day weekend, but her family rarely left town. It’s not like you could call what they had done a staycation either. Holidays and vacation days came and went without much more than the cursory celebration.

Even her days away at college had been spent mostly on campus choosing to focus on her studies instead of the beer fueled road trips of her classmates. Her most extensive traveling had occurred in the last several months. But, it was hardly typical: fleeing her town, then fleeing New Hope under an assumed name, avoiding what stood for authorities, and looking over her shoulder were all things most travelers never did.

She had always heard, from those that traveled extensively, that the one thing you discovered, no matter where you went, was that people were essentially the same. People of all lands shared the same hopes and dreams. They all wanted nothing more than a degree of comfort. They all wanted to smile more than they cried. They all wanted their kids to do better than they had done. They wanted normal things. Or so they said.

It wasn’t clear if the end of the world had broken people or people had been broken before and were just able to hide it better. But, the bombs had blown the cover off crazy and exposed people for what they truly were.

She had seen a city built on force and slavery. That wasn’t normal. She had seen people living in a feudal state in the mountains as peasants and kings. That wasn’t normal. And now she had seen a woman living in a cabin with three bears with stupid names dressed in stupid hats. Which certainly wasn’t normal. So she ran.

She ran away from the cabin, away from the town that enforced tolerance, away from everything she had seen so far. She ran, hoping there was something else, anything else ahead of her. A road, a rail line, anything she could follow south to some sense of normalcy. She ran for home.

The trees weren’t helping. Or the hills, or the rocks. Or any sound that the forest made. Every twig snap was another bear, or a guard from the city, or that small, angry bitch, Carrie, come to take her back. Or it was Mr. Christopher and another ride in the back of the Jeep to God knows whatever fate the sick bastards in Alasis had planned for her.

Erica began to sob as she ran. She knew she was tough. She had survived the end of the world. She had done worse things than walk in the woods. But she was also tired. Physically. Emotionally. Every part of her cried out for a rest. By the time she reached the highway she was in tears. She wanted to go back. Back before the world had changed to a time when you could revel in the dull and boring normal of everyday.

This is why she smiled when she saw the minivan driving down the road toward her. It wasn’t covered in spikes. It didn’t have a turret mounted to the roof. Its headlights worked. Both of them! It was even beige. Boring ass beige. She was so happy she began to laugh through her sobbing.

It was the most boring vehicle she had seen in years. And the people inside were probably boring, too. They had to be! She knew she should dive for the ditch and hide, but instead she stepped into the road and waved her arms above her head.

The driver saw her right away and began to slow down. And they did it from a safe distance. The van crept along and stopped fifty feet in front of her. No squealing tires. No power slides. And then the most incredible thing happened. The van activated its hazard lights. That was normal.

Maybe too normal.

The sun bounced off the windshield and Erica strained to see the driver behind the wheel. She couldn’t make out anything but the vague shape of a person with their hands on the wheel at ten and two.

The passenger door opened and her common sense got the better of her. She ran down the ditch, back into the woods and hid. She cursed herself for being so stupid. Now the people in the van knew she was here. They were probably killers. The world was full of them. Some people just killed for fun. Most had a reason, but it was never a good one. Why should these people be any different? Just because they had a boring van? They had probably killed the original boring owners and used its beige siren song to lure victims to it.

There was a faint voice from inside the car that she couldn’t make out. A woman’s voice followed. It was much clearer. “I don’t know. She just ran off into the woods.”

The indistinguishable voice said something Erica couldn’t make out. It was a question. She could tell from the inflection.

“Well, I don’t know. You probably scared her with your reckless driving.” The voice didn’t sound like a killer’s voice. It sounded concerned.

The voice in the car turned grumpy in tone but said little as Erica peered around her hiding tree. The clear voice belonged to an older woman that was approaching the side of the road.

Erica had tumbled into the ditch and run farther back behind the car, but she could see the woman looking into the woods where Erica had disappeared.

“It’s okay to come out. We’re not going to hurt you.” It was a pleasant voice. Normal. Erica wanted to rush to it, but she stayed hidden behind the tree and studied the woman. She was dressed as if the world had never ended. Her hair was kept and cut as if they were on their way to church instead of traversing the wasteland in a beige minivan.

The older woman turned back to the van. “She won’t come out, Henry. I think she’s scared.”

Erica heard the driver’s door open and close before an elderly man joined the woman’s side. He had to be the woman’s husband. He just had to be. The pair had the comfortable look about them that only comes from a lifetime of companionship. He was slightly taller than the woman and dressed in a button-down shirt and tan slacks. He pulled a blue and gold Navy ball cap from his head revealing a clear scalp which he began to scratch. “Well, that’s just stupid. What does she have to be scared of?”

It was definitely her husband because the woman rolled her eyes in a way that only comes from a lifetime of companionship. “Raiders.”

Henry scanned the tree line while he grumbled his answer. “Well, yeah, there’re raiders.”

The woman continued. “Mutants.”

Henry agreed. “And that too. But most mutants don’t really drive, so I don’t think that’s what scared her off.”

“Super Smart Bears,” the woman added to her list.

Erica rolled her eyes. Sure there were bears, but she knew the secret to their intelligence.

“A lot of those around,” Henry said. “But again they don’t really drive. Unless they’re super duper smart bears.” Henry’s eyes swept past her hiding spot. If he had spotted her, he gave no indication.

“Cannibals. Crazies. Car Boys. Rapists. Fatalists. Road Warriors. Motorcycle Gangs. Savages. Ruffians.”

“But, we’re not any of those things!”

“I know that, you crazy old man.”

“Well,” Henry said. “Did you try telling her that we’re not any of those things?”

“Of course I did, Henry.”

“Hmm.” Henry put his cap back on and rubbed his chin. “And she still won’t come out, you say?”

The woman gestured to the empty road. “Not at all.”

They were grandparents playing hide and go seek, and Erica suddenly felt foolish squatting behind the tree. What did she have to be afraid of?

“Well, if she won’t come out, then I guess we can’t help her.” Henry turned back to the car. “We might as well be on our way. It’s still a long way to Texas.”

Texas. That’s what did it. Erica stepped out from behind the tree and walked up the embankment to the road. She stood there saying nothing, just staring at the elderly couple.

They smiled at her and made no sudden move for a gun or knife or any other instrument of murder.

They could have been her grandparents. They could have been anyone’s grandparents. The woman smiled at her, and Erica’s tears began an unstoppable flow.

Empathy grew across the woman’s face, and with outstretched arms she waved Erica to her. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Erica did. Like some relieved child, she stepped into the woman’s embrace and felt safe as the arms closed around her. The woman spoke softly. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Henry slid open the rear door on the minivan and asked, “Where are you headed, kiddo?”

Erica pulled away from the woman’s embrace and wiped the tears from her cheeks. It took a second to find her voice as the crying faded. “Texas.”

“Texas?” Henry smiled and waved her into the car. “Well, isn’t that lucky?”

TWENTY-SIX

For decades the student body had gathered in the coliseum to cheer on their basketball team and snore through graduation ceremonies. Affectionately called the Pit, in equal part to its sunken architectural style and an unfortunate proximity to the town’s landfill, students often found their way to its hallowed halls for lack of other entertainment options in the town.

Notorious for its poor acoustics, the crowds had set records for raucous chants, chaos-inducing cheers, and ear- shattering rabble rousing made all the more impressive in the fact that the school never once had a team worth cheering for.

Instead they screamed for the noise and set records for decibel levels, sustained screaming and general noisiness because they had nothing better to do.

Many had walked down the tunnel to the court to a roaring audience. They had been escorted by cheerleaders and welcomed by fans screaming their support. And they had arrived in the arena champions of the crowd. The Librarian and the man from Alasis were escorted as convicts by a small, angry woman to a crowd that chanted for their death.

From their cells in the locker room the two prisoners had been prodded down the tunnel towards the arena with guns, threats, and more than a few curse words from Carrie.

As they moved closer to the arena, the shouts grew wilder and turned from a dull roar to specific insults and death wishes.

“You suck,” was common.

“Die screaming, you violent motherfuckers,” was less common but shouted with passion.

“I can’t bear to watch,” made no sense but seemed to resonate with several small clusters within the crowd.

“I hope the bear mauls your balls,” which, while much more specific, was vulgar but had to be given at least a few points for the rhyme.

Others growled and held their hands up like bear paws. Others spit and held their middle finger up like fuck you. Many more booed, but none were silent.

The crowd wanted blood. They wanted suffering. They wanted brutal violence and would provide it themselves if the trial did not live up to their expectations by killing everyone involved.

Soon Jerry could see beyond the end of the tunnel. Chain-link fence surrounded the court. It was twenty feet high and topped with barbed wire directed inward to keep the accused from scrambling over the top.

The two men were pushed toward the court. Spit and insults rained down on them from above and their escorts liked to linger in the shower of hate and bile. At the end of the tunnel they were pushed together with a group of three men in black leather jackets bearing the Iron Eagle patch.

These men, unlike Jerry and Christopher, weren’t bound together by handcuffs. That seemed to be a special punishment for just the two of them.

Carrie shouted over the noise. “You assholes are accused of disturbing the peace, promoting violence, and desecration of a safe space. You may now enter your plea.”

“Not guilty,” shouted Mr. Christopher.

“Not to me, asshole.” She opened a gate near the corner of the cage. “You plead to the bear.”

The men were shoved through the gate. The bikers went first. Each resisted with a tough word that was met with a gun butt in the stomach, shoulder, or face. The three gang members stepped into the court and Jerry followed without protest.

There was a jerk at his wrist as Mr. Christopher braced himself against the entrance and refused to move.

“This is madness,” he yelled. “You are all insane. My people will find out about this and there will be repercussions.”

The guards worked to pry his hands from the chain-link, but he stubbornly held on.

“This is your last chance to set me free. Do you understand me?”

The guard finally smashed Christopher’s fingers with his rifle and shoved him into the cage. They slammed the gate behind him and locked it shut with a padlock.

“Let me go,” Mr. Christopher squealed through the gate. “Let me go!”

The guards turned their backs and moved into the crowd to find a seat.

“That was very dignified,” Jerry said.

“This is crazy. Crazy! How are we going to get out of this? What are we going to do?”

The Librarian shrugged. “It looks like we’re going to have to fight a bear.”

“You can do that, right? I mean, you’ve been around. You’ve fought bears before, right?”

“Yes,” Jerry said.

“Oh, thank God.”

“But they weren’t real bears.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was some people in bear costumes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t think you’ll have the patience for it. But, in the end I did beat the people in bear costumes.”

“That doesn’t help us!”

“No, I didn’t think it did.” He examined the court. The hardwood floor was still there but it no longer resembled a playing field as it had been filled with obstacles. Wooden blocks, fabric walls, and even a few inflatable obstacles filled the court floor giving the condemned a place to hide and await their fate.

The gang members spread throughout the arena floor and soon found weapons scattered amidst the obstacles looking for a place to hide if need be. One man ran straight to the fence and began to climb.

Weapons hung all along the cage wall. Bats and bars, knives, swords, and the occasional gun were mounted high above the floor. The event may have been their warped sense of justice, but the trial was still the bread and games of Tolerance, and it wouldn’t be a sport without something to give the condemned a fighting chance.