PRETTY MUCH INVINCIBLE
By
Stephen Carey
SC stories
Cover art by Robert Carey
“PRETTY MUCH INVINCIBLE” is copyright of Stephen Carey. All rights reserved. All characters and incidents are entirely fictional. Any similarities between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions are purely coincidental.
Copyright Stephen Carey 2019
The right of Stephen Carey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by himself.
To all the superhumans in my life.
CHAPTER 1
Maybe one day, before Sally was an old woman on her deathbed, the world would put itself back together again. Perhaps within the little girl’s lifetime things would go back to the way they had been—exactly the same, like nothing had ever happened. She would wake up one morning (hopefully sometime really soon) to the sound of a thousand clapping hands. She would hop out of bed, run outside, and someone would scream, “We did it! We fixed everything!” Everyone would cry tears of joy and a massive party would take place that night. The best party anyone has ever had. Daddy would have lots to drink and he would smile and laugh for the first time since... everything had gone to hell.
Mommy.
The pickup truck bounced as it hit a pothole. Sally quit her daydreaming.
Ten-year-old Sally Rogers brushed her black, thick, curly hair out of her eyes and glanced at her father—he has not said a word in over an hour. Her father, Shane, was lost in thought. Little Sally considered breaking the silence. Nah, let Dad think in peace. There was so much to process, so much shit to figure out. Just look out your window and let your dad think.
Just as Sally turned her head toward the passenger-side window, she thought she heard her father whisper something. Staring at Shane’s tired, distraught eyes, Sally waited for him to repeat what he had said. Nothing. Silence. Must have been the little girl’s imagination—her mind playing tricks. Maybe he had just cleared his throat.
Sally rested her head against the window and stared into space as they passed by tree after tree after (dying) tree.
Mommy.
Dying trees, dead mother, silent father. A broken world full of broken people. The darkness was winning. Or maybe it had already won.
Mommy.
Kind eyes, soft voice. Gentle touch, beautiful lullabies. Lullabies—no goodbyes. Gone. Lifeless eyes. Run, little mouse—hide! No time to stop and stare. Run for your goddamn life!
Mommy was in a better place—Daddy was in a bitter place.
Hope was fading. Hope. Hope your mother did not suffer. Stop! Get Mommy out of your head before you break down again. Clear your mind. There would be plenty more time for plenty more tears. For now, be numb. Push it all down and deal with it later.
Numb the pain, or go insane.
---
The sky was turning grey as they approached a seemingly abandoned neighbourhood. Shane stopped the truck on the side of the road and stared straight ahead. “Supplies,” he whispered. “We’ll search the houses for supplies.”
Sally just nodded. Drive, stop for supplies, drive, stop, supplies, drive, stop, supplies. Over and over again. Had to be done. Shane took a revolver out of the glove compartment, his heart raced every time he held the thing in his hand—even after all this time. Sally’s eyes were fixed on the weapon. She recalled the last time the gun had went off—not a moment that would be easily forgotten.
Bang! Dead! Goodbye, Bruce.
They exchanged a nervous glance and then exited the vehicle. Sally took a backpack from the back of the pickup truck and put it over her shoulders. Please, no trouble, she thought.
The last time they had encountered people, it had not ended pleasantly—not at all.
Sally covered her mouth with her woolly sleeve and coughed. Shane instantly looked over at her hoping to God Almighty that it was nothing. She had been coughing quite a bit lately. He convinced himself, once again, that it was nothing—she was fine.
Shane held out the gun (still looking like a novice) and scanned the area. Proceed quietly and with extreme caution. “Stay close,” he said as he began to approach the neighbourhood.
“I will,” Sally replied, her eyes wide and alert.
Shane was far from intimidating. He was around five foot five with narrow shoulders and scrawny arms. He would not do very well in a fistfight and he was well aware of that fact. Bruce used to joke about Sally protecting Shane in a brawl. The little girl has bigger arms than you! Haha! That silly comment had gotten to Shane more than he would care to admit.
Fuck you, Bruce!
As they came near the first house, they noticed something in the overgrown lawn. A dead body—a small one—in a pink dress. Although, you could hardly call it a body—mostly bones. Shane was about to tell his daughter not to look, but it was too late. Sally got that feeling in the pit of her stomach—the same feeling she got every time she saw a dead body. She had no words to describe that feeling. One day, Sally hoped, she would live in a world where having a weapon on you at all times was completely unnecessary. And finding dead bodies (dead kids) was not as common. Then an image popped into her head—someone coming across her rotten corpse.
No, no, no! Don’t think things like that!
Shane gently rubbed his daughter’s shoulder and said, “Come on.”
They both crouched down and moved toward the side of the house. Shane peered in through the living room window. The place was a mess—smashed TV, overturned coffee table, clothes and dishes all over the floor. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. Looked like no one has been in this house in a very long time. Still, he would keep his guard up. Always keep your guard up in this shithole of a world. They made their way to the front door and it creaked open with a gentle push. They entered the dusty hallway, Shane leading the way, ready to fire his gun.
They searched the house for anything that could be useful. Duct tape, a scissors, glue, painkillers, tinned dog food. They put everything into Sally’s backpack, moved on to the next house and repeated the process. Sally was hoping they would find some nice new clothes, she was sick of wearing the same old rags. No such luck, so far.
In the fifth house, Shane decided that they should sit and have a bite to eat. “You hungry?” he asked Sally.
“Always,” she replied grimly.
They sat in the kitchen and Sally passed the backpack over to her father. He took out two tins of dog food, a tin opener, and two spoons. Yum, fucking, yum. Apocalypse survivors could not be choosers.
“I miss Bruce,” Sally said, her mouth full of, not-so-delicious, dogfood.
Of course she missed him, Bruce had a way of comforting Sally in a way her own father never could. “I know,” Shane mumbled as he dug his spoon into the food.
“I miss everyone.” Her eyes began to water. No, be numb.
“Me too.”
“How long do you think it will be?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long do you think it will be until everything is alright again? When will everything be back to normal?”
He considered being brutally honest with the girl, but he could not bring himself to say the words. “I don’t know, sweetheart. We just have to... to...”
Keep doing this shit for the rest of our lives because the world is fucked and there is no fixing it! And, and, and... oh, God, Maria... why did you have to go and die on me! I can’t do this shit on my own!
He stared blankly at his daughter.
A sudden noise from upstairs broke the awkward silence. Shane dropped his tin and spoon, paused, then told himself to move his ass right now! He picked the revolver up off the table and jumped to his feet. “Sta
y here,” he told Sally.
With fearful eyes, Sally tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling—someone might be upstairs. Her father slowly walked out of the kitchen, holding out the gun, his hand beginning to tremble. When Shane got to the foot of the stairs, he heard another loud thud. He thought of Bruce and his wide shoulders, square jaw, fearless grin. In another life, Bruce could have been an action movie star—no doubt. Shane was not Bruce. Not even close.
Shane tried to steady his gun hand, but the more he tried, the worse it got. Suddenly, a topless old man appeared at the top of the stairs. He had a long, white beard down to his belly button, and scratch marks all over his scrawny forearms. A big grin slowly formed on the old man’s face as he stared down at Shane. Dark eyes. The darkness was inside this man.
“D-Don’t move!” Shane bellowed, trying not to sound terrified.
The old man hunched over and went into a coughing fit. When he was done, he spit out some teeth and blood. “Getting worse,” the old man said with an eerie smile. He began to descend the steps, his bare feet missing a couple of toes each. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get out of my house.” He sounded almost friendly.
“Stop!” Shane demanded. “Don’t come any closer!” Sweat ran down his colourless face.
The old man paused. “It’s my house. You have to leave, buddy.” He rapidly scratched his neck. “You have to leave.” He kept scratching and scratching until he drew blood. The old man took another step. “Leave, my friend. This is my house.”
“Don’t you fucking move!” Shane roared, his heart thumping in his chest.
The old man paused once more. “You can’t talk to me like that in my own house.” His voice a little less friendly.
“We... we’re l-leaving. Just... stay there and we’ll leave.”
With anger in his eyes, the old man said, “You think you can just walk in here and holler at me like that?”
“I’m sorry, just...”
“You ignorant shithead.” The old man locked eyes with the disrespectful intruder and slowly shambled down the stairs.
Shane took a few steps back. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot!”
In the kitchen, Sally covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut—waiting for that terrible bang.
The crazy old man paid no attention to Shane’s commands. “You can’t come in here and talk to me like that!” he roared, his face turning red with anger. He picked up the pace. “I’m going to fucking show you, asshole!” More coughing—more blood.
Shane took a deep breath and steadied his aim (as best he could).
Sally jumped as she heard the gun go off. She removed her hands from her ears. Silence. She waited for a moment, still no sound. Sally hopped to her feet and dashed out of the kitchen. Her father was staring at the dead body at the foot of the stairs.
The bullet had taken off part of the old man’s head. Left leg, right arm... bent the wrong way. Crooked neck. Unfortunately, not the worst thing Sally has ever seen. Another dead body—the second in the space of a couple of hours. Sally got that feeling in her stomach once more.
One day, Sally was sure (not so sure at all), she would never feel like this ever again.
---
Shane and Sally returned to the pickup truck and drove to the opposite end of the neighbourhood, stopping at the last house. They sat in silence for a moment as Shane wondered how much longer they could go on like this. Come on, Shane, keep it together.
Maria. Goddammit, Maria, Shane thought. I said wait. I told you to stay down. Why the hell didn’t you listen to me?
“Let’s go,” he said flatly, glancing at the house.
Sally almost asked her dad if everything was OK. But it would have been a silly question. Of course he wasn’t OK. No one was OK. She nodded and opened her door.
After searching the house, making sure it was all clear, Shane decided that they would stay the night, sleep in a comfortable bed. One of the rooms belonged to (or used to belong to) a little boy, about Sally’s age. Colourful posters on the walls, action figures on the floor, and...
Sally’s eyes lit up when she spotted the pile of comic books on the desk. “Yes,” she whispered to herself.
Shane thought it would be a good idea to stay in this room, for Sally.
It was going to be dark soon. The darkness loved darkness. Sally kicked off her shoes and then hopped into bed, excited to read the comic books. She examined the covers of the comics, trying to decide which one to begin with. One in particular really grabbed her—a muscular woman holding a flaming car up over her head. Badass. Sally sat up in bed reading the comic, every now and then glancing at her father. Shane was sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room, staring into space. His mind was overwhelmed—if only he could turn his brain off for a while. If only he could turn everything off, wait a moment, then turn it all back on again—the whole world restored to its former state. An imperfect state, but preferable to this hell—obviously.
Goodbye imperfect world. Hello perfect hell.
CHAPTER 2
Shane’s eyes slowly opened, he forgot that the world had ended. “Maria,” he mumbled, still half asleep. Then, it all came flooding back. Shane was now wide awake and fully aware of his situation. Maria... Bruce. Apocalypse. He rolled over in the bed and realized Sally was not beside him. “Sally?” he called out.
“In here,” she replied from the bathroom across the hall.
Shane hopped out of bed and quickly made his way to the bathroom door. “You should wake me before you go anywhere, you know that.”
“I thought it would be OK,” Sally said from behind the door. “Not like I went far.”
“Yeah, but... still. Wake me next time.” He pressed his back against the door and rubbed his tired eyes. “Will you be long? Need to go.”
“Almost done.”
He heard her cough and his body stiffened. No, she was fine... just clearing her throat. The bathroom door opened and Shane’s eyes widened in terror. Hair all over the bathroom floor. God, no! He then noticed the scissors in Sally’s hand.
“You like it?” Sally asked with a smile. “It was about time I cut my hair.”
Shane let out a huge sigh of relief. “Yes, sweetheart. I like it.”
Sally wasn’t quite sure why her father had that look on his face.
Just as Shane entered the bathroom, he heard a vehicle outside. Please be friendly! With his heart racing, Shane ran to the bedroom window and peered out from behind the curtains. A group of five men got out of a black van. Two of the men had shotguns, the others had baseball bats. The men were all covered in tattoos. The van had that terrible image painted onto the side of it—a severed head with a knife and fork stuck into it. Cannibals! Not friendly! Fuck!
The leader of the cannibals, a big, burly man with a bushy brown beard, said, “Spread out. You two, over there. You, that house. I’ll take that house over there.” He pointed to the final cannibal, a skinny young man with a baseball bat. “You search that one.” He gestured toward the house Shane and Sally were in.
“Sure thing, boss,” the skinny young man said, somewhat nervous.
Not them! God, not them! Shane thought. He quickly grabbed his shoes, sat on the bed, and put them on.
“Cannibals!” he said to his daughter. “Shoes! Now!”
Sally immediately did as she was told. When she had her shoes on, she picked up the backpack. Her father grabbed the revolver off of the bedside locker, and went to the window once more. The men (psycho cannibals) outside were spreading out. The skinny young man was approaching the house, tapping the palm of his hand with the bat. This young man was not as intimidating as the others—he was new to the group and desperately wanted to fit in.
Under the bed? In the closet? Where would be the best place to hide? What would Bruce do? Shane decided that under the bed would be the best place. Bruce wouldn’t just hide away and hope for the best. But then, Shane was alive and Bruce was not.
; “Under the bed, Sally. Quick,” Shane said quietly.
Hurry, little mouse, hide! Sally slid the backpack under the bed, glanced at her father who was breathing rapidly, and then crawled under the bed to hide and pray to God.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Shane repeatedly tapped the gun against his sweaty forehead as he thought. The wrong move would mean death. Just hide—join your daughter under the bed and let these psychos pass by. Shane dropped to his hands and knees...
That’s it, on your hands and knees, dog!
...lowered himself onto his belly, and crawled under the bed.
They heard the front door creak open. Sally cleared her throat. “Be quiet,” Shane said sharply.
“Sorry,” Sally whispered, her forehead covered in sweat.
They could hear the man downstairs opening and closing drawers and cupboards, searching for supplies.
Sally felt another cough coming on—she covered her mouth and fought against it. But it was no good, she let out a cough.
“Sally, for God’s sake, be quiet!” Shane whispered.
“S-Sorry, Dad.”
They then heard footsteps on the stairs. Shane’s grip on the gun tightened. The intruder searched the upstairs bathroom first, then the parents’ bedroom. Next was the little boy’s room. From under the bed, Shane saw the bedroom door swing open. Shit! Shane fought the urge to just shoot the man right then and there. The young man, the young cannibal, searched the desk. Nothing there interested him. He then searched the wardrobe. Nothing worth taking.
Sally pressed her hands against her mouth as tight as she could. Another cough was coming. No, no, no, no! You make a sound, you die! Don’t make a sound, little mouse!
She couldn’t help it.
The cannibal whipped his head around as he heard the little girl cough. Without thinking, Shane shot the intruder in the ankle. The cannibal hit the floor and Shane quickly crawled out from under the bed.
Pretty Much Invincible Page 1
