White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (22 page)

Chapter Three

Mikey's chest heaved in and out. Even though the machine
beneath him was doing all the work, his pinpointed concentration on the bitch's snowmobile markings was taking all the energy out of him. Marcus told him they'd both need to keep their eyes on the path. If they lost track of her, they might never catch her again, and truth be told, that wouldn't bother Mikey all that much, as he just wanted to get warm again. It would drive Marcus absolutely bananas though. He might do something crazy if they let the broad get away from them.

It
turned out to be an exhausting day over at the Pepper homestead. They'd hauled back a considerable load, cheerfully rejoicing all the way back, feeling like modern day pirates, but without the stumpy wooden legs. But when they found the bodies back at the restaurant, they dropped their load off as quickly as they could manage and took to chasing the lady they’d captured. They couldn't hear each other over the thrumming grinding of their motors, but every now and then, Mikey could hear Marcus cursing loudly. He couldn't see his partner's eyes through the tinted snow goggles, but Mikey pictured the face Marcus was making. Mikey had been the recipient of that timeless expression on countless occasions through the years. The last time had been at the casino for Marcus' fiftieth birthday party, something that had already irked his punchy side, not wanting to admit how old he was. "Your brain’s nothing more than a shit bucket, throwing cards down like that. You make us look stupid," Marcus had informed Mikey (always the brunt of their foursome’s scorn) during a seemingly quiet blackjack game, in reference to his inability to count the values of his cards quick enough. Soon after, Marcus’ eyes got wild, like they were known to do by the whole crew…most of whom were dead now, Mikey considered, feeling his heart sink in an inexplicable sadness.

Marcus
eyes weren't "wild" in the sense that they would dart all over the place, like he was nervous about something that nobody else could see. No, that was strictly for movies and mental wards. On the contrary, there was a calmness that overtook his burning eyes. Those feisty retinas calculated everything around him, taking in the world with a different filter than the rest of humanity. His eyes were
wild
in that they looked like they might explode. Mikey's brother, Binky, once referred to Marcus as having "supernova eyes." Mikey wasn't all that sure what he meant by that, but it seemed a fitting enough description.

They’d come to a full stop.

"
You hear anything?" Mikey asked, looking over at Marcus, who stood up on the snowmobile, staring off into the distance. That wildness was there, lurking behind Marcus’ demeanor, just about ready to make an appearance and burn the whole damn town down.

"Yeah
. I can hear it. She's way ahead of us, but I think we can get her if we keep a move on.
Fucking bitch
," Marcus said, staring over at Mikey. A fake smile filled Marcus' face. "We're gonna crack her skull in, Mikey. You and me, we're gonna piss inside her brain and see how smart she is then. You hear me, Mikey?"

Mikey thought that sounded a little bit harsh, but he'd go along.
Mikey was insufferable like that, sadly enough. He
always
went along and always would. There wasn't really any other option with guys like Marcus. If you went along for the ride, then you
really
went along for the ride. No half commitments. No half measures.
All in, or get the fuck out
, Marcus was known to say before something unsavory popped up on their itinerary.

"She messed with the wrong
guys," Mikey said, trying to put an edge on his voice, failing miserably. Marcus nodded at this sentiment, pulling his goggles back over his eyes and adjusting his gloves, as well as the hood on his down jacket. Marcus lit up his rig again, revving on the throttle. His pearly white teeth glowed in Mikey’s direction as he did so. Marcus adjusted the choke and revved again. His bright green Arctic Cat chewed through gasoline like a hog, so he was always fidgeting and complaining about it, but never really doing anything about the situation, as was Marcus’ manner. He'd offered Mikey a trade up—
snowmobile for snowmobile, no backsies
--last fall, but Mikey refused because his own vehicle had belonged to his father before he died. Marcus didn't push as Mikey expected him to, but the guy had a sentimental streak in him, albeit small and thin like a piece of floss.

"You bet your a
ss. If she thought we were nasty to her last night, she’s got a whole new game coming her way when we catch that sweet ass this time around. Lessons gotta be learned for what she did," Marcus shouted over the sound of his motor, smirking as he took off into the white abyss, slowly at first, and then cruising with ease.

Mikey started up his
Arctic Cat (two years old, but infinitely more reliable) as well. It seemed that Marcus planned to walk them straight to the gates of hell. Mikey always knew that would be the case. He knew since they were little sprouts that he'd eventually get into some serious law-bending shit for his associations with the hottest hothead in the whole dang county.

The
chick from last night had killed Mikey’s cousin. Dan had been the only family Mikey had. Now it was just Marcus, though they had no common blood running through their veins.

Dan was gone from the world forever,
with his throat stabbed by the woman they were now chasing. She'd have to pay, that was for sure. Mikey wasn't all that interested in being the one to do it, but that didn’t mean that a debt was rightly due. Ever since they were kids, he kept a fair distance from Dan, as his cousin always lived up to the cliché of a tiny dog that projected the false sense that he was much larger.

In a way
, he was glad that Dan was dead. He didn't dare say that to Marcus who had been closer to Dan than any of them, but he was just a bit glad, all the same. Dan was an angry little shit and finally--for the first time in his life perhaps—his short man’s anger had finally subsided. When they had gone inside The Purple Cat, only taking enough time to look at his mother’s sister’s baby boy, Mikey stared at the body and took in the sight, thinking to himself that he could never recall such a look of peace on his vertically challenged cousin’s face.

Marcus
, on the other hand, considered Dan (
Dinky Dan
, as somebody once called him at the bar—that person was quickly dispatched with a serious ass-kicking on Dan’s part) his best friend. Ever since they were children, they were inseparable. Mutual friends would come and go, depending on the weather and the state of the family, but Marcus and Dan always stuck close. They possessed a similar kind of sickness, equally twisted in their own special ways. Marcus wasn’t blood, but he might as well have been for all the good times they’d had together. In reality, Mikey might have never become friends with Marcus (might have been for the best, he now thought) if it hadn’t been for his cousin Dan.

As they'd stood over Dan's
rigid body, Marcus had wept. Mikey turned away out of fear that Marcus would lambast him for noting his unexpected weakness. The man had sobbed deep and long, letting loose that solitary sentimental streak, and then he pushed it aside just as quickly, that vapid fire burning behind his eyeballs.

A few yards ahead of him, Mikey noticed that Marcus started to scream. It was so shrill that it could be easily heard over the loudness of the snowmobiles.

Marcus was ready to rip her into shreds.

*  *  *

Annie couldn't help but smile.

There it was, in all its glory
.

Dreams of Bangkok.

It was their favorite restaurant,
from way back before everything had gone to shit with Christian. They couldn't ever dine on premises (which saved them tip money and made up for a shortage on diaper money) due to a lack of babysitter, but they ordered takeout from Dreams of Bangkok at least once a month. Since they'd started their "separate lives" under the same roof, they'd been fending for themselves at dinner time each and every evening, offering each other bits of their own specially prepared meals, though neither ever gave in to that extended olive branch.

Annie
could practically taste the pineapple rice on her lips as she thought back to their first “date night” after Paulie's birth. Annie's mother was in town, visiting for a long three-day weekend, and so she insisted that they go out on the town. Once Paulie was in bed for the night, they escaped and the feeling was profound for both of them. It almost felt as if they'd never get out in public again. Togetherness was a strange sort of brew, so they’d both found, for a newly christened parent.

Christian was
especially romantic that night, something he struggled with on most occasions. Annie was lucky to get flowers and a box of chocolates from the grocery store on Valentine’s Day. He never engaged in elaborate gestures, mostly because he was one of those guys who just didn't "get it" like others did. In fact, Christian had once said, "If you want a cooing dove and flower petals all over the bed, you should have married a gay guy or an eighties music video." Annie had laughed at the joke, mostly because there was a shred of truth in it.

"Remember our wedding night?"
He had asked her, once upon a time, spooning a load of Pad Thai noodles into his mouth. "Remember the guy that gave you the flower?"

She had smiled at th
e quickly retrieved memory, which reawakened after lying dormant in her mind for several years. "I do," she had said. "The homeless guy, right?"

"Yeah.
You were in your wedding dress, but I had already changed into a sweat suit. We must have looked like we just escaped from an institution. We were at that bar," he said, pausing to consider all the names of all the bars he had ever been to.

She had responded without a moment’s hesitation,
"Luke's Tavern. Janice and Bill wanted to meet us there after the wedding, for a toast."

Christian had laughed. Annie loved his laugh; it made her feel comforted, reminding her that the world wasn't always full of such sourness. "That's right, some toast we had. Bill puked all over his tuxedo and Janice got a bloody nose
from somebody opening the bathroom door too fast. I don't think we ever got a proper toast in."

"And the homeless guy," she started to say, narrowing her eyes at him across the table. "He was..."

"He was handing out roses to all the ladies. He was just standing outside the bar. I'm not sure where he got all the flowers from, but he was one of the dirtiest looking guy’s I’ve ever seen."

"He was smiling
at me, as soon as I walked outside. I remember that much. He kept telling everybody something when he gave them the roses." Annie had stared at her tropical drink, churning through her memory, one bit at a time. "What was it he said?"

Christian nodded, clearing his throat, "
He said something like:
Don't look so sad, the night ain't over yet, day ain't over yet. The world ain't over yet.
Love yourself and someone else.
"

"That's right
," she had replied, an embarrassing excitement slipping into her voice. Christian had a great memory, something just short of an elephant's. He had said, "All those drunk girls kept coming out, keeping their distance from him. He smelled pretty bad, looked like he was living in a sewer pipe, and he probably was. But you were different. I think he noticed it, too. You went right up to him, still wearing your wedding dress, holding up the frilly parts so you wouldn’t step on them, and you started talking to him, asking him where he lived, what he did. He didn't say much, but that look on his face was something else-- probably the first time anybody treated him like more than some worthless hobo in a long time. I knew right then..." Christian trailed off, his eyes turning a little wet around the edges. “I knew right then that I had made the right choice. That we'd stay married forever. You were so sweet to that guy, and it made me think that no matter what happened to me, you'd still love me.”

Annie hadn’t been able to help herself. She felt some moisture near the corners of her eyes as well.
Annie hated to cry, especially in front of Christian, but when she did, it always felt good. Always felt cathartic.

“
Jobless, toothless, hairless, you'd still love me. Even if you treated me like that homeless guy, then that alone would be enough to keep me happy for the rest of my life.”

In the here and now, though,
Annie's heart felt out of place in her chest.

She wanted
one more night like their wedding, another night like their first "parent date" at the Thai restaurant. Annie wanted all of that back, to feel those moments once again. Memories alone would not be enough, not with everything that was happening.

She pushed forward on the throttle, averting her eyes away from the sign, focusing on the other businesses' signs a bit further down the road (a Toyota dealership, a veterinary clinic, and a used furniture store
called Mac’s), directing herself towards that fantasy of returning to the good times.

The best part about seeing that blue and green sign--scripted fancily with the words DREAMS OF BANGKOK
-- was that it represented a marker that she was desperate to see. She was going in the right direction, no doubt about it. Even better than that, she was less than a mile from home now.