The Oblivion Society

by Marcus Alexander Hart

  “That’s really all there was?” Vivian said sadly. “Nothing but more maple cookies?”

  “Wait!” Bobby said, producing a brown glass bottle. “You can also wash them down with maple syrup!”

  “Christ,” Sherri grumbled. “All we ever find to eat is sugar. I’ve got the diet of a hummingbird.”

  “At this rate we’re going to end up starving to death, but with full stomachs and brains still wired on glucose,” Vivian agreed.

  Bobby pulled several tins of cookies out of the bag and dismally passed them around the fire. He poked at the container left in his lap while speaking in the exaggerated staccato of a fake Shatner.

  “It’s the end … of … the world! You … haven’t eaten anything … but … candy

  … in three days! Your body … is … about to go into complete nutritional failure!

  This … is a Grocery911!”

  Vivian snapped a stale cookie in half with her teeth.

  “This isn’t a Grocery911,” she mumbled. “This is the Grocery911.” Bobby picked up a cookie and looked at it distastefully.

  “Man, what I wouldn’t give for that website right about now. You know what I would order if I had Grocery911.com in front of me? A frozen meat lovers pizza, two cans of refried beans, a can of jalapeños, and a jar of salsa.”

  “I think we’d all be thankful to share a feast like that, dawg,” Trent said hungrily.

  “Share? That’s all for me!” Bobby sighed. “I would dump all the other stuff onto the pizza and then roll it up into a burrito. How ‘bout you, Erik?” Erik wasn’t listening to Bobby. He was mesmerized by the firelight dancing in the cracked lenses of Vivian’s glasses.

  “Erik?” Bobby repeated. “Hello? What would you order if you had Grocery911?”

  “Oh, uh, right,” Erik said thoughtfully. “I, uh … I think I’d order … a box of Urkel-Os.”

  “Oh, come on, Erik,” Bobby huffed. “Pick something else. Grocery911 doesn’t sell antique cereal.”

  “Grocery911 doesn’t sell anything anymore,” Erik reminded him. Bobby shrugged.

  “Fair enough.”

  “What the fuck is Urkel-Os?” Sherri asked.

  “It was the official breakfast cereal of the wacky neighbor on Family Matters, ” Erik explained. “It had a big picture of Steve Urkel being a doofus on the front of the box.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember that!” Trent laughed. “One of my homeboys bought a box as a gag and it was kickin’ around my crib for like, three years. That thing was hilarious, yo!”

  Erik rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll bet you don’t even know who Steve Urkel is,” he sighed. “You just saw the nerd on the box and thought it was so funny, or fly or whatever. You probably never even watched that show, did you?”

  “Whoa, lay off, Little E,” Trent cautioned. “So I didn’t watch some lamer-ass TV

  show. I never actually ate the shitty cereal either. What difference does it make?” Erik looked at Trent, then at Vivian.

  “It’s just typical of you,” he shrugged. “All you cared about was the packaging. You didn’t even bother to look inside. I guess that’s what makes us different.”

  “Get over it, Little E!” Trent laughed. “It was just some bullshit fad cereal. Don’t get up in my grill like you didn’t just buy it because it had that geek on the box.” Erik shook his head and looked at Vivian with a faint smile.

  “Sure, I noticed it at first because of the package, but after the first taste I realized that the cereal itself was actually really, really good. Everybody else just saw the nerd on the outside, but I loved it for what it really was. I never made a big show of it, so I guess nobody really ever knew. It’s just the way I am, I guess.” Vivian blinked and tipped her head toward Erik. His eyes darted shyly to the ground as his face quickly turned as red as her Mountie coat. She smiled as her face began to go crimson as well. After a pause, she spoke.

  “You know what I’d order from Grocery911?” she said. “I’d order a carton of milk.”

  “Gah! What’s wrong with you two?” Bobby griped. “I’m giving you a hypothetical blank check at the world’s biggest online grocery retailer, and all you want is two-fifths of a complete breakfast? What’s so great about milk? ”

  “Well, milk contains essential vitamins and minerals I need to stay healthy, of course, but it also has psychological benefits,” Vivian smiled. “It’s a comfort food. Humans subconsciously relate milk to feelings of being nurtured and cared for. At a time like this, that’s arguably more important than nutrition. Even though I often take it for granted, I’d be crushed if I knew that I’d never see milk again.” She turned to Erik with a single, coquettish blink of her dazzling green eyes.

  “Plus, milk goes great with cereal.”

  Her gaze caught Erik’s and they shared a long, silent moment that required no further innuendo to explain. Between them, Sherri’s eyes flicked back and forth with disgust.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, you two,” she grumbled. “Hey Erik, you know what I’d order? Erik. Erik!”

  Erik’s eyes broke from Vivian’s with an almost audible snap.

  “What? Uh … what. I don’t know, Sherri. What would you order?”

  “A wiener, ” she growled luridly. “A foot-long wiener.” She put her hand on Erik’s knee and leaned toward him. His male eyes instinctively shot a glance at the treasure chest down the mangled neckline of her T-shirt before he consciously wrangled them back to her tanned little face. Her words seemed to melt like hot candle wax from her rosy pink lips.

  “I want twelve inches of hot, firm meat to stick in my mouth.” Erik coughed violently and shifted awkwardly in the dirt, but Sherri just drew closer and suggestively grasped his inner thigh in her slender fingers.

  “Whoa, whoa, okay,” Erik blurted apprehensively. “That’s no good. That’s gotta stop.”

  “Why?” Sherri asked innocently. “Are you afraid you’re going to pop another boner like you did when you were laying on top of me in the igloo?”

  “I was nervous!” Erik squeaked.

  “I know. You were enormously nervous.”

  Sherri turned to Vivian and held her hands ten inches apart in the air with a knowing wink.

  “Sherri, seriously! Stop it,” Erik hissed. “Get your hormones under control!

  You’re like a Vulcan with the Pon farr! ”

  “Oh, cut the Puritan bullshit,” Sherri breathed, crawling into his lap. “I think it would be bitchin’ to fuck a dude with four arms. You could hit all my erogenous zones at once and still be able to hold my beer.”

  In a concerted effort, Erik’s four hands simultaneously grabbed Sherri’s body, lifted her completely out of his lap, and deposited her unceremoniously in the dirt at his side. She seemed relatively unfazed by the setback, leaning back on one arm with a long, provocative drag on her cigarette.

  “So uh, Trent! Trent’s turn,” Erik chattered, his face beet-red. “Trent, what would you order?”

  Trent looked at the others, then at Priscilla with a huge toothy grin.

  “The T-man wants a full-on slab of honey barbecue ribs,” he declared.

  “Finally,” Bobby nodded. “Somebody who would actually order something worthwhile.”

  “Hellz yeah, dawg, it’s more than worthwhile,” Trent smiled. “I’m a man who likes to put his lips up against something with a little meat on the bones, yo. Most men can’t handle the full rack, but the T delights the biggest mouthful of hot, sweet meat that he can get. Y’all know what I’m sayin’?”

  He pulled Priscilla close and she shifted against him, turning her muscular, feminine body and pressing her forehead against his cheek. Trent turned his head and gave her nose a playful nibble.

  “Alright! Forget it! This game is over!” Bobby snapped, waving his hands in the air. “I don’t know how you can all turn something as beautiful and innocent as a website into something so filthy and wrong!”

  “Well, you’re the one who thought it would
be fun to talk about food with a bunch of people who are starving to death, ” Sherri shot back. “Have you got any other ideas to keep us entertained, or should we just jump straight to the cannibalism now?”

  “We should all just get to sleep,” Vivian suggested. “Don’t worry. I think we’re going to find all the food that we can eat tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Sherri smirked. “Then, after we eat all the food, maybe you can click your ruby slippers together and fly us all back to Kansas.” Vivian shook her head and spoke authoritatively.

  “No, I’m serious. If we keep up the same pace we’ve been traveling at for the past few days, we should hit Washington D.C. by tomorrow night. If we’re ever going to find civilization, that’s where it’s going to be.”

  Everyone looked at Vivian, with expressions running the gamut from doubtful to outright condescending.

  “Vivian, are you on crack?” Bobby said skeptically. “We’re sitting here in the bombed-out remains of a two-bit roadside tourist trap, yet you somehow think the nation’s capital is just going to be sitting there without a scratch on it?” Vivian watched Priscilla rub her stout nose drowsily under Trent’s chin.

  “I don’t think that it survived undamaged,” she said evenly. “But yesterday I also didn’t think we’d ever see another living person again either. Priscilla managed to survive out here in the middle of nowhere all by herself with no warning or preparation. Washington is the seat of the federal government. I’d bet my life that there are fully stocked shelters the size of stadiums buried under that city.” Sherri shook her head.

  “So we’re just going to roll up to an airtight underground Hilton full of crusty, old white dickheads, knock on the door and say, ‘Hey, can we come in? We’re cool!

  Less than half of us are contagious radioactive mutants!’”

  Vivian frowned.

  “So, do you have a better plan then?”

  “Nah, your plan is cool with me,” Sherri shrugged. “Let’s go scare the congressional shit out of those assholes.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Vivian smiled.

  “It sounds like a good plan to me too,” Erik agreed. “But if we’re going to drive all the way to D.C. tomorrow, we’d better get some sleep. We should try to hit the road at daylight to make sure we get there before dark.”

  “Any plan that involves sleep is good with me,” Bobby said. “I’m beat.” A consenting chorus of grunts and yawns led into the dull activity of everyone bedding down for the night. Six minutes later, Bobby was snoring. The passing of another eight minutes found Vivian fitfully unconscious, wrapped in the blanket of her own wings. Seven minutes later Erik was blissfully dreaming, and four minutes after that, Sherri was out cold, tucked without invitation between his arms. Trent and Priscilla were the last to remain awake. Priscilla lay face up across Trent’s lap, staring into a flat black sky that was as dim as her own eyes.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me now, Prissy,” Trent said softly. “Forget about them, girl. You just stick with me and everything’s gonna be all right for you. I promise.”

  As the fire crackled menacingly nearby, he ran his forefinger around her dry lips, again and again.

  “The T is going to make you forget about those nasty mutants. I’m gonna make you feel real good for a change.”

  With that, he leaned down over his lap and put his lips to hers, pushing his broad, wet tongue into her unresponsive mouth.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Vivian sat by herself on the dusty front fender of the abandoned Plymouth Reliant K that haunted the North of the Border parking lot. The morning was absolutely silent, save for the crackle of her fingers digging into an oversized cellophane bag of maple cookies. She took the first bite of her stale breakfast and the dry crumbles burned her parched throat, scraping all the way down to her empty stomach. She turned her sleepy eyes skyward and put her face into the golden yellow sun. Of course, the golden yellow sun was still buried behind a black mile of vaporized urban landscape hanging listlessly in the stratosphere, but just knowing that it was still out there helped to put her mind at ease. The sun was right on the other side of those clouds, just as Washington D.C. was right on the other side of a few more easy hours of driving. It wouldn’t be long before this lonely nightmare was finally over.

  She slipped off of the fender and stretched her arms and legs, pulling the tightness of her night of uncomfortable slumber out of her muscles. As she did so, the sails of her wings extended and flexed from her back as if trying to prove that they were part of the family too. Vivian turned her head and looked over her shoulder, and the wings dropped back into a bundle of limp folds. She tapped her finger on her lips with a thoughtful blink.

  After a glance around the empty parking lot ensured nobody was looking, she turned her eyes to the sky. She placed her feet shoulder-width apart, balled her fists, and threw her arms skyward.

  “Flap!” she growled. “Flap!”

  The muscles that anchored her wings to her back tensed slightly, then settled back to rest as if ignoring a false alarm.

  “Come on! Flap flap flap!”

  Her wings remained motionless save for the gentle bounce that rippled through them from the spring of her frustrated knees. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep, cleansing breaths.

  “Okay,” she whispered calmly. “I’m visualizing the flap. I can see the wings extending and falling in smooth, powerful strokes. I can see my body being pushed through the air, upwards and upwards into the sky.”

  She opened her eyes and set her passionate gaze straight through the dark clouds above her, straight into the hidden sun. Bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet, she took a few anticipatory steps backward and crouched down like a sprinter awaiting the starting gun.

  “I’m visualizing the flap,” she said to herself. “Let’s do this!” With a series of explosive strides from her long, powerful legs, Vivian launched herself across the yard, kicked off the ground, and sailed into the air. The cold breeze whipped through her hair exhilaratingly as her face cut through the sky. It continued to do so for nearly a full second before her palms and knees landed hard in the thinly landscaped dirt, followed immediately by the rest of her battered body. As if to add insult to injury, her inanimate wings flew forward on her shoulders upon impact, slapping her in the back of the head and ramming her pointed chin into the cracked earth. When her eyes returned to focus, the first thing she saw was the license plate taunting her from the front of the Reliant.

  North Carolina - First in Flight

  Her face scrunched into the kind of scowl that says, “Why I ooooughta!”

  “Vivian? Vivian, are you okay?”

  Vivian sprang up onto her knees, quickly brushing the dust off of her coat.

  “Oh, uh, hi, Erik! Good morning,” she said with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize anybody else was awake yet.”

  Erik took Vivian by the arm and helped her to her feet.

  “What happened?” he asked, gently steadying her. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, forget it. I just tripped,” Vivian blushed. “Nobody else was awake. I didn’t think you’d notice if I slipped away. I mean, you seemed to have your hands pretty full with Sherri this morning.”

  “Yeah, that I did,” Erik said with irritation, dropping his arms. “I don’t know what that was all about. I just woke up and she was laying on top of me, and two of my arms were completely numb with pins and needles. Lucky for me, I still have two left!”

  His left rat paw plunged into the bag of cookies on the fender, grabbing one and flicking it into the air. As it came flipping back to the earth, his right human hand caught it and stuffed it in his mouth; Vivian watched the spectacle wide-eyed.

  “How did you do that?!” she gasped.

  “Doo wghat?” Erik chewed.

  “Your hand! I mean, your paw, ” she said, pointing. “You just manipulated it!”

  “Yeah, I guess I did,” Erik shrugged. “I’ve kinda lear
ned to control them a little.”

  “A little? There’s nothing ‘a little’ about it,” Vivian lauded. “You have complete motor control, down to the fingers! I can’t get these stupid wings to even flap! I must be neurophysiologically defective.”

  “Oh, now that is untrue,” Erik said vehemently. “There is nothing defective about your brain, Vivian.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter either way,” Vivian muttered. “I don’t even know why I’m trying. At the first hospital we find I’m getting these hideous things amputated so that I can be normal again. I don’t want to be a freak of nature. Er …

  no offense.”

  “None taken,” Erik said supportively. “I don’t think you’re a freak of nature. So you’ve grown a pair of ornery bat wings. It’s not the end of the world.” Vivian raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, so I guess technically it is the end of the world,” he conceded. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s not the end of our world! Come on, Viv. If Steve Gutenberg can survive a nuclear war, then so can we!”

  Vivian smiled a warm little smile.

  “You’re right. We could be a lot worse off, I guess.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Erik nodded. “Now let’s figure out how to work those wings.” Vivian shook her head.

  “Forget it. It’s a lost cause. I try to visualize them flapping, but they don’t do anything. No matter how hard I concentrate I can’t even get a twitch out of them.”

  “Well, that’s your problem right there,” Erik smiled. “You’re wasting your time visualizing and concentrating. That’s not the way they work. Don’t think about your wings flapping, just flap them.”

  “That’s a really helpful new perspective,” Vivian smirked. “Thank you for that sage advice, Zen master.”

  “I’m serious,” Erik persisted. “You need to just … how do I explain it? Okay, let me show you.”

  He took Vivian’s hand and held it out in front of her. He pulled her fingers apart and left her standing with her open palm facing the sky.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. After a terse sigh and a bored look, she complied.

  “Now visualize your hand as a fist. Picture what it looks like clenched into a fist. Imagine the way that the fingernails feel against your palm. Visualize the way that the knuckles stand away from the back of your hand. Picture your thumb wrapped over the top of your fingers. Are you picturing it?”