Tourists of the Apocalypse (16 page)

“Kind of excessive don’t you think?” I shrug, looking over my shoulder at two guys sitting on a bench sharing a bag of Fritos. “I thought you said the early days will be calm.

“They will be, but we got a much bigger migration than I was expecting,” she contends, heading back to the front. “It’s time for us to keep our heads down and stay out of sight.”

“We’ve been doing that,” I suggest, slapping her on the rear.

She slows to almost a stop and gives me a stern look. Before I can apologize, she rolls her eyes and giggles. We are in the honeymoon stage which makes dealing with this mess much easier. I follow along and she tells me to post up outside our door and wait. We decide that from now on someone needs to stay by the room. She keeps the gun, tucked in the back of her jeans and covered by her hoodie. This relaxes me a bit as I watch her wander down the street in search of dinner.

The two lane road that runs past this motel has become a hiking trail. At any one time a dozen travelers are present moving in either direction. Yesterday these were mostly locals or the beach crowd, but today suit jackets and business skirts have been sprinkled in as well. I’m watching a middle aged woman in moderately high heels suffer down the road, when Randall’s Yellow jeep roars into view. I’m expecting it to turn in, but Rocky just slows momentarily, before accelerating out of sight. Neither Randall nor Derrick was driving and it takes a moment for the implications of that to form in my mind
. What happened to my friends?
When Izzy said they wouldn’t get far I didn’t attach such an ominous outcome to her statement.

“Hey, you got any beers,” a long haired kid holding a bong asks me.

“Um, no,” I mumble, eyes still down the road.

“I got stuff to trade with dude,” he continues, an optimistic smile spread on his face.

“Like what?” I query, drawn away from darker thoughts for the moment.

“Lots of stuff,” he confides, quieter now as he leans on the wall outside my door. “Weed, smokes, snacks.”

“Hang on to the smokes,” I advise him. “They’re going to be worth more tomorrow.”

He does a self-satisfied head bob, indicating that he’s aware of whatever information I am trying to impart.
That or he’s smoking too much of his own stash.
In his open bag I spy two tiny cellophane tubes of Hostess mini-doughnuts. Izzy was looking for them yesterday, but found none. Digging in my pocket I come back with only twelve dollars.

“How much do you want for the doughnuts?”

“No money Bro,” he winces, and then whispers. “Paper money is on the way out.”

He’s a complete stoner, but he’s not stupid. It seems he has already realized the economic opportunities afforded a person living at the end of the world. I hold up a finger and turn the door knob behind my back. When I start to slip inside, he begins to follow. I have to wave him off and point at the ground as if I was training a dog. He stays, but leans around as far as he can to get a view of the inside of our room. In the pocket of my hoodie are the packs of cigarettes I bought yesterday at Izzy’s request. He’s notices them right off and displays vigorous interest.

“Nice,” he whispers, pulling out the two sleeves of doughnuts. “Which ones you want, chocolate or powdered?”

“Both,” I reply offhandedly, pulling the door shut behind me. “They’re for a lady friend.”

I can tell he knows the smokes are the better end of this deal, but he’s a shrewd negotiator. He waffles, rolling his head from side to side stalling. Behind him, a guy in a business suit has wandered off the road and sees the pack in my hand. His eyes fixate and he reflexively licks his lips. I’m watching this as the guy with the doughnuts caves and hands them both over. I pass him a pack of smokes as the guy in the suit watches closely. Stoner guy walks down a few doors before
Suit and Tie Guy
catches up to him. They have a frantic discussion. It’s clear from the pained expression on his face that any amount of cash he has won’t buy the cigarettes.

“Cigarettes and bullets,” I mutter, taking the doughnuts inside.

Before I can get back to the door, Izzy blows in. She’s carrying a crumpled brown paper bag under one arm, but looks perplexed.

“Did you trade those cigarettes?” she groans, wagging a thumb over her shoulder. “Some guy in a suit jumped me at the door asking if I had anymore.”

“I cannot tell a lie,” I recite, a hand over my chest. “I did trade one pack.”

“I hope you got something we can use,” she complains, slamming the door and leaning back on it to make sure it latches. “If you swapped for a PlayStation we are going to have a long talk about priorities.”

“I did okay. What did you come up with?” I ask, pointing at the bag.

She tosses the bag at me, hitting me in the chest before slipping into the bathroom. Inside the bag is a tube of Hello Kitty bubble gum flavored toothpaste, a travel size box of tampons, and a half empty bottle of Pert shampoo. Stepping over to the bathroom door, I lean on the top frame and frown.

“I was hoping for Italian.”

“Funny guy,” she remarks, pulling up her hoodie in the mirror revealing a second paper bag.

“The plot thickens,” I sigh, watching her untangle the bag from the top of her jeans.

There is a loud knock on the door, startling me. Slipping to the peephole I see a dark skinned female face looking back. She pounds the door again, causing me to jerk back.

“Open it,” Izzy blurts out.

“Who is it?”

“Dinner delivery,” she promises, setting the second bag on the sink. “Just open the door.”

When the door opens a caramel skinned lady smiles back, but then looks me up and down in a confused way. Her hair is long and braided with beads woven in. She’s holding something, but it’s obscured under a newspaper. I’m about to open my mouth, when Izzy steps in front of me and holds out the tampons. The woman nods, handing her the newspaper in return. Izzy backs up and shuts the door without saying a word.
Clearly the particulars of this deal were hammered out earlier.

“What did we get in exchange for the feminine hygiene products?”

She pulls the newspaper away revealing an already open box of Uncle Bens Minute rice. It’s the brown rice, which I don’t favor, but the thought of hot food does get my stomach growling. The only thing is I am not sure how to boil the water in this room?
Can I start a fire outside and do it without drawing a crowd?

“It’s a little to al dente for my taste,” I remark, wiggling the box between two fingers. “I’ll assume you already know how we’re going to boil water?”

“Have that covered,” she promises, pulling one of the backpacks onto the spare bed.

She unzips a compartment at the bottom and pulls out a green metal box. Setting it on the bed, she opens it to reveal a Coleman mini gas grill. Reaching an arm in the pack, she digs around until she comes out with a blue thermos sized can that contains the propane gas. Next, she pulls out a camping lantern that I assume runs on batteries. It glows to life, illuminating the room in yellow. With the patio sliders almost completely blocked off, the light is a happy addition for me.

“You had this all along?”

“We didn’t need it until now,” she suggests, setting it up on the flimsy pressboard desk.

I watch as she pulls a tiny sauce pan out of the backpack and goes to the bathroom. I am about to make a joke about the water not working, but then recall she ran the tub full the night she got here.
I have to admit she’s a step ahead of the curve on everything.
She comes back with the pan and sets it on the grill. Pulling a cheap plastic lighter from her front pocket, she turns a little knob and flicks. There’s a pop and a tiny blue flame glows under the mesh screen. Seeming happy with herself, she tells me to watch the water while she changes. The pot boils slowly and she returns long before I add the rice.

She’s wearing shorts and a tee shirt I haven’t seen before and assume she did some additional clothes shopping. She’s dragging a brush through her tangled hair and wincing. Watching her, I am happy to be a man with short hair. I run my hand over my chin and notice the two-day old stubble.
I hate beards with a passion.
I make a note to try and find some disposable razors.

“Add the rice,” she alerts me, pointing at the desk.

I toss in a random amount and stir with a chop stick Izzy picked up yesterday before the Chinese place closed its doors. I notice she’s turned over to the other bag and is reading the label on the shampoo.

“Bubble gum toothpaste sounds good. Are you going to wash your hair?”

“Tomorrow in the pool if people haven’t defiled it too much. If not, the ocean will do.”

“Tub’s full of fresh water.”

“Let’s hang on to that for now.”

The rice boils and we make small talk while we dine with plastic forks from the coffee shop. Izzy picked up some butter packets that were supposed to be for breakfast customers and even some salt.
Thank God for our throw away fast food culture
. We make a second batch, empting the box and end the day full and happy.

The sun goes down and we prop the door open for some air. A light rain has begun to fall, cooling it off quite a bit, although it’s still in the eighties. I’m looking out the door at the empty street wondering where everyone went to get out of the rain when it hits me.

“Won’t you be needing those?” I ask and then pause looking for a better word than tampon.

“Nope,” she chirps. “Being a tour guide puts an end to most of that. Since total body eradiation my periods are pretty light.”

I am surprised she jumped right to the
Travel Agency
answer as in the past I had to press her for anything in this area.
What does she mean by total body eradiation?
I am pondering this when she notices the silence.

“Not looking for a big family I hope?” she remarks in a tone that starts out strong, but waivers a bit at the end.

“No,” I respond quickly, then pausing to frame my inquiry. “Let me ask you this. If you can’t go back, why would you take a job as a tour guide
?
What on Earth could they pay you to make this look good?”

“They aren’t paying me. They are paying my parents.”

“How so?”

“You don’t have any context for what things are like where I’m from,” she explains. “But there are a lot more have-nots than haves. In that respect, it’s not much different than now. I got into what you would define as the military just to get a roof over my head. Of course then this wonderful opportunity came along,” she pauses and rolls her eyes to indicate the opportunity wasn’t that appealing. “They offer to take care of my parents in exchange for me signing up.”

“So, you just met Lance at the
Travel Agency
water cooler?” I blurt out, wishing I hadn’t said it even before it got to my ears. “Or did you just draw the short straw?”

“No,” she frowns at me, wrinkling her nose. “I was living with him when he got offered the gig.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered,” she lectures. “Our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and I would have moved out, but there wasn’t anywhere for me to move to. They offer Lance this gig and I am thinking that it’s perfect. Lances goes away and never comes back.”

“Quite literally,” I add.

“Correct,” she nods. “Then he tries to recruit me to go. I have no interest in being a one-way tour guide, but Lance brings my parents into it.”

“How so?”

“He offered to sweeten my deal. Lance has no family, so he offers to pledge his money for my parents,” she raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “One second-tier
Tour Guide
pays pretty well. My folks could have gotten a decent place just inside the wall, but—.”

“The wall?” I cut in. “What wall?”

“Haves inside the wall, have-nots outside the wall,” she clarifies. “Have you never read a book or seen a movie?”

“Sounds bleak,” I express.

“Bleak is a matter of perspective.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You were telling me about Lance?”

“Right, the payout for an
Expedition Leader
is a whole lot more dough. Mom and Pop can live anywhere in the city now.”

“But you’re stuck with Lance?”

“Yes, I am,” she sighs. “But well worth the hassle to take care of the ones you love.”

“Without what I assume is a tricky sexual component between you and Lance,” I suggest and pause.

“Look who’s talking,” she smirks. “All men come with a tricky sexual component. Don’t go blaming that on Lance.”

“Just out of curiosity why is it a one-way job,” I beg. “If you can come here, why can’t you go back?”

“I hope you’re not looking for a deeply scientific answer.”

“They had to have told you something.”

“Right, well, it’s really not hard to grasp. Every time they send someone through--.”

“By send through, you mean to the past?” I interrupt.

“Yes, when a team goes through its opens up a new timeline. It’s unique and no other time jump can access it.”

“How so?”

“Think about it. If every time we sent a team through they landed right next to the last team that would be a huge mess,” she groans. “I came through; this is a separate timeline that’s locked. If they sent another team a week later to the same spot they’d open a new timeline that’s locked for them. They would never see us.”

“And you would never change the future in your own timeline,” I postulate, “leaving no danger of a paradox.”

To this she doesn’t answer, just wags her head slowly back and forth as if she’s trying to choose her answer from several options. The pause is ominous.
Was my accretion incorrect?

“Paradox,” she hums slowly. “Look at you talking like a tour guide.”

I watch her eyes focus just to my left as if frozen there. Her pupils twitch and then she looks directly at me wearing a half smile.
What is she not telling me?

“Don’t worry about a Paradox,” she assures me. “It’s a one-way trip. Every time they send a team it’s like the first time.”

She seems sincere, although talking about her parents and Lance seems to have worn her out a bit. Maybe worn out are the wrong words.
It’s more like softened.
I am a big believer in taking things with a grain of salt. If she’s suggests she wasn’t in love with Lance, then that’s fine. As an outside observer I have to assume part of that answer is unconsciously skewed to the person she told. Given this belief, I come to the conclusion that the truth is somewhere in the middle. She’s not into Lance now, but she probably was. More importantly, what happens when we get back?