“Oh, right. That laptop,” Erik blushed. “I just meant to say … I mean my ‘laptop’
is, er … you mean so much more to me than just a quick … I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d sure like to …”
He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.
“What I’m trying to say is that I … I love you, Vivian. And I’m sorry that I had to drink a whole shipment of beer to get up the nerve to finally say it.” The shattered laptop lowered to the floor with a crunch as Erik’s confession slowly seeped into Vivian’s inebriated gray matter. Somewhere deep behind the haze in her eyes, the words seemed to ignite a pile of dry kindling that had been anxiously awaiting a spark.
“You’re right. A whole shipment of beer,” she repeated distantly. “Erik, we drank an entire shipment of beer that hadn’t even been put in the refrigerator.”
“I know; I know,” Erik said self-consciously. “But I promise it’s not just the booze talking. Vivian, if you’d have me, I promise you that I’d-”
“Make all deliveries in the rear!”
Erik’s eyes widened, narrowed, and then shrugged.
“Well, I was going to say ‘be true to you forever,’” he said, “but I’m open-minded.”
Vivian shook her head and pushed herself away from Erik as if her thoughts were a thousand miles away from his bumbling profession of love.
“The unopened beer crates!” she said excitedly. “They were all stacked up right next to the back door!”
Vivian’s excited prattle began to bring a picture into focus behind Erik’s cloudy blue eyes.
“Wait! The computer! The magnets!” he gasped. “Vivian, you don’t think that-”
“I do!” Vivian beamed.
She stumbled to the back door and squished her palms into the soggy sweatshirt hanging over its push bar, knocking it wide open on its creaky hinges.
“Just minutes before the bombs dropped, this place must have taken a delivery from …”
The two wide-eyed friends tumbled through the door and into the pouring rain of the back alley, putting them face to face with the hulk of a Grocery911.com ambulance glistening in the sharp white moonlight.
“Oh my God, you found it!” Erik said incredulously. “You found us a ride out of here!”
” I didn’t find it,” Vivian said. ” We found it. Together.” The warmth of Erik’s smile cut through the chill of the pounding water.
“It’s like I said,” he shrugged. “We make an unbeatable team.” The black water flew from Vivian’s hair and off the tips of her wings as she turned to Erik and held out her slender white hand with a beaming grin.
“Come on! Let’s check it out!”
In their excitement, Vivian and Erik completely failed to notice two waterlogged corpses and an unsigned invoice laying in the shadows near the Dumpsters as they scampered across the pavement and climbed through the unlocked driver’s-side door of the ambulance. Erik slid across the cab and tumbled into the passenger seat as Vivian slipped behind the wheel and slammed the door. The dark water clattered like thousands of tiny, hard fingers over the steel shell of the vehicle as the two soaked friends giddily caught their breath.
“This is awesome!” Erik said excitedly. “Do you think we can actually push start this thing?”
Vivian shook her head as her eyes slowly slid across the faux-wood and smoky yellow plastic of a dashboard that should never have been allowed to leave the 1970s. All of the typical gauges and controls were represented, but between the rolled odometer and the eight-track player, one little word caught her eye and spread a smile across her lips.
“We shouldn’t even have to push it. It’s a diesel,” she said, tapping on the labeled fuel gauge. “No electric ignition. No spark plugs. I’ll bet this old tank would start on her own if we could just find the … keys?”
Her eyes fluttered in a disbelieving blink as she discovered a set of keys still hanging from the steering column.
“What the-” she muttered. “What kind of person just leaves the key in the ignition?”
Erik shook his head with a knowing little smile.
“A stupid person,” he said. “And I once heard that the only people at Grocery911 stupider than the drivers were the suits.”
Vivian wrapped her long fingers around the key without any further argument.
“I never thought I’d say this,” she smiled, “but thank God for the stupid people.” She closed her eyes and gave the key a hopeful crank, awakening the beast under the hood with a blast of choking black smoke from the twin tailpipes. She pumped the gas pedal as the ancient diesel engine roared like a grizzled old pack animal ready to carry its next load.
“It starts! It works!” Erik cried. “Let’s go get the others and get out of here!” Vivian turned to Erik with a conspiratorial glint in her green eyes. She put her long hands on his thigh and tossed her head toward the small door leading to the back of the ambulance with a coquettish grin.
“Hey, what’s the big rush, teammate?” she said silkily. “Wouldn’t you rather spend a little time alone in the back of the ambulance first?”
Erik’s eyes widened as a hopeful smile poured across his face.
“You … you mean …”
“That’s right,” Vivian said hungrily. “We get first dibs on all the food!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The diminishing gray blanket of the doomsday cloud pulled apart and recongealed in amorphous waves as it spread itself thin over the yellowing sky. These cracks in the heavens laid a shifting pattern of afternoon sunlight like a web across the rolling wheat fields of Turnstone, Pennsylvania.
After a marathon of driving, the weary heap of the Grocery911.com ambulance enjoyed a steaming reprieve. It slouched on its bowed axles next to a rusty mailbox at the mouth of a long, dirt driveway leading straight down a gentle slope into the heart of a small family farmstead.
The driveway ended in front of a barn that sagged so drearily it made Andrew Wyeth paintings look cheerful by comparison. Between the ambulance and the barn a smaller driveway crossed the main run, terminating in a drab, colonial-style farmhouse on one end and the sixty-foot tower of a creaking Dutch windmill on the other. Although the farm looked far from abandoned, its decaying buildings seemed to remain standing due to little more than a stubborn refusal to collapse. A rusty collection of derelict cars set up on cement blocks populated the dried-out lawn, giving the farm that quaint redneck flavor that nothing else but derelict cars set up on cement blocks can. The latest shower of black rain could have given an aura of cleanliness to this graveyard of bubble-shaped fenders and intimidating chrome grilles, but all it had managed to do was beat the stench of old mildew and abandoned bird nests from their rotting upholstery.
Sherri drew in a hot, smoky breath as she lit the last of her cigarettes. The Grocery911 ambulance had offered a smorgasbord of canned foods to fill her hungry belly, but it had offered nothing for her blackened lungs. She clicked her lighter closed with a flick of her wrist, blew a long yellow blast of smoke from her nostrils, and fanned it away with her butterfly wings.
“Well, I guess I quit,” she said sadly, tossing the empty pack on the ground. She sat down on the steps of the farmhouse and leaned back on her elbows, looking around the yard at her bustling companions. To her right she could see Erik running down the long driveway and toward the ambulance in the distance. The rusty squeak of its back door was loud enough to reach her ears as he yanked it open and climbed inside.
She took a long, savoring drag on her cigarette and turned to her left. Just to the side of the steps upon which Sherri sat, a tiny shack was built on to the front of the farmhouse. To even call it a shack was generous. In reality, the waist-high, meter-wide, shingled wooden box was nothing more than an enclosure designed to protect a single piece of machinery from the elements. Vivian had followed a thick bundle of electrical cables across the front of the house and into the box, and now its low front door hung wide open, belching out two lon
g black wings and two squatting black buttocks perched on top of two filthy red sneakers.
Trent was struggling slowly toward the farmhouse on his clanking shotgun crutch. The endless cycles of wet and dry had taken their toll on his varsity jacket, and his broad forearms stuck out of its shrunken sleeves like an idiot who accepted hand-me-downs from his younger siblings. Sherri could see that he was heading directly, and somewhat unsurprisingly, toward Vivian’s unsuspecting rear end. Vivian could barely see inside the box’s cramped interior, but her eagerness to repair the stalled machine within outweighed her patience to wait for Erik to return with the camping lantern. A bead of sweat raised from her forehead as she pushed all of her weight down her trembling arm and into the flat handle of her Swiss Army Knife. The tip of its Phillips head screwdriver slipped and jumped over the last ornery, rusted fastener in the faceplate of a diesel-powered electric generator.
“Come on, work with me here,” she grumbled. “How am I going to fix you if you won’t open up?”
With a grunting flex of her tired forearm, she finally broke through the bonds of oxidation and twirled the screw out of its hole. The thin metal access plate dropped to the ground with a sharp clang, revealing a gutful of rusted wheels and crumbling rubber belts. A dizzying haze of diesel fumes wafted from the machine and into the claustrophobic chamber.
“Okay, diesel repair,” Vivian muttered. “How hard can this be?” The smell of fuel in the air was suddenly overpowered by a rancid stench of body odor. Vivian’s nose wrinkled as the sliver of light by which she worked was completely eclipsed.
“Hey,” she grumbled. “Move it, Trent. You’re in my light.” The next thing she knew, Trent was kneeling on the ground beside her, squeezing his shoulders into the tiny chamber like a size-10 foot into a size-6 shoe. The weathered, brittle wood of the box crackled violently as Vivian’s body was crushed against its wall and ceiling by his encroaching mass.
“Aaagh! Trent!” Vivian gasped. “What are you doing?! Get out of here!”
“You can’t hide from me in here, Vivi,” Trent grinned. “I need to be with you.”
“No, you need to be outside, ” Vivian said, shoving him away. “Get lost, Casan odor .”
Trent struggled to turn his crouched body toward Vivian’s in the cramped space, filling the air with his bitter stench.
“Quit playin’,” he grinned. “You know you want me all up in your box, girl.” Trent’s foul breath blasted into Vivian’s face like a spray of fetid cooking oil. The smell was composed of a comprehensive selection of ghastly odors, but the stale reek of regurgitated beer was obviously leading the charge.
“Gah!” Vivian winced. “Trent, what’s wrong with you? Are you still drunk?! Go bother Sherri for a while!”
“Screw that,” Trent scowled. “Every time a brother tries to hit that he ends up getting his nuts busted in. You got the sweetness, Vivi. For real.” Just then, Trent’s head suddenly flew forward and smacked against the iron casing of the generator with a hollow clang. Before Vivian could question why, Trent’s body slipped backward out of the enclosure and was thrown dazedly to the ground.
“Jesus. Sit down and give the girl some space, you drunk-ass, stank-ass, horny-ass bastard,” Sherri spat. “What’s your fucking problem?” Vivian barely had a chance to regain her balance and her senses before her nose was again filled with acrid fumes. Sherri plunked herself down on her knees and leaned inside the low door, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke into the close air.
“You okay, Powderpuff?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Vivian coughed, fanning her nose. “Jeez, Sherri, do you mind?”
“Oh, well you’re so fucking welcome,” Sherri sneered, swinging her cigarette hand out of the box. “What are you doing all stuffed in here anyway?”
“I’m trying to get this old generator running,” Vivian said. “The water pump and heater in this farmhouse are both electric. If I can fix this, then we all have hot showers.”
“It’s about time,” Sherri moaned. “For the past week Trent’s smelled like a dead homeless guy’s jock strap.”
“We all could use some freshening up,” Vivian agreed. “As soon as I get my hands on some soap and water I’m going to start scrubbing, and I’m going to scrub, and I’m going to keep scrubbing until I smell absolutely nothing like cabbage.”
“I hear that,” Sherri agreed. “I smell like the green smears on Peter Cottontail’s toilet paper.”
“Oh, that’s pleasant,” Vivian smirked. “Get out of here. I can’t fix anything with you blocking the light.”
“Alright, alright, keep your skirt on,” Sherri muttered. “I got you covered.” Vivian heard a sparking scrape, and the vapor-filled enclosure was suddenly bathed in the firelight lapping from Sherri’s lighter.
“Sherri, no!” Vivian gasped.
With a clumsy, frantic snatch, she plucked the lighter out of Sherri’s bony fingers and lurched backward out of the doorway. When she was clear of the box she snapped the lighter shut and stuffed it safely in her coat pocket.
“Important safety tip,” she scowled. “Diesel fuel and open flame are not charming bedfellows. Let’s just wait for the lantern, okay? I don’t want to blow anything up today.”
Sherri took a long drag on her cigarette and shrugged.
“You’ve got some major gratitude issues, you know that?”
The soft slap of Erik’s sneakers jogging back up the driveway distracted Vivian from a reply. He hopped over Trent’s sprawled body without interest or query and stopped by Vivian’s side.
“Here you go,” he beamed, holding out the abused lantern.
Vivian squeezed Erik’s hand with a warm smile.
“Thanks. Could you please hold it for me?” she asked sweetly. “I’m going to need both hands to work on this.”
“Anything for you, Viv,” Erik nodded.
“Barf,” Sherri said under her breath. “And I thought I’d totally lost my gag reflex
…”
Vivian squatted down and squeezed back into the generator enclosure. Erik obediently stepped up behind her and tucked the lantern’s flashlight nose into the narrow gap between her shoulder and the top of the doorframe. With a twitch of his finger, he snapped the power switch to the “on” position.
“It’s time for the big puppet show! I’m so excited, Talkatoo!” At the sound of the voice screaming in her ear, Vivian jumped, slamming the back of her head against the wooden ceiling with a rattling thump. She tumbled backward out of the shed, trying to rub the flashing stars out of her vision.
“Aaagh! Damn it, Erik!” she growled.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Erik squeaked. “I thought it was set to flashlight! I didn’t know it was on TV mode!”
Vivian’s eyes popped open through the haze of her head trauma.
“Wait! TV mode?” She leapt up and grabbed the device from Erik’s startled hands. “Let me see that!”
“Brkwaaak! You and Whazzat have worked so hard, Lookout! I’m sure the puppet show will be a huge success! Brkwaaaak!”
“Jesus! Turn that irritating shit off!” Sherri growled, covering her ears. “I thought when we lost the satellite dish it meant that I’d never have to hear that bird bitch’s voice again!”
“It did!” Erik exclaimed. “This is impossible! We can’t get a satellite feed without a dish!”
Vivian reached around the back of the lantern and yanked half a yard of telescoping antenna out of its rear corner. The distortion immediately fell out of the signal, revealing a crystal-clear image of a girl kangaroo with a sock puppet on her furry hand.
“We’re within broadcast range!” Vivian grinned eagerly. “We must be getting close!”
“And someone in Liberty Valley is still calling us home!” Erik beamed.
“Bkrwaaaak! You have to work hard to make your dreams come true! Bkwraaak-waaak-waaaaaak!”
“Alright, alright,” Sherri barked, grabbing the lantern. “Christ! I can’t stand tha
t fucking chicken lady!”
“She’s not a chicken,” Erik corrected. “She’s a cockatoo.”
“I don’t care what she is! She’s fucking annoying!”
“Bkwraaaak!”
Sherri jabbed her finger into the lantern’s power switch, extinguishing the tiny screen.
“Ahh, that’s better,” she sighed. “Christ, if I hear another-”
“Bkwraaaaak!”
Sherri’s shoulders leapt to her ears as the screaming squawk pierced her skull. Vivian and Erik immediately fell into startled silence as Sherri whirled around to see what they were already looking at. What she saw was three chickens looking at her. Three chickens looking down at her.
“Holy shit,” she murmured, staring up in amazement. “It’s Colonel Sanders’s wet dream!”
Sherri took a slow step backward toward the house as the enormous, ostrich-sized chickens scratched their huge, taloned feet menacingly in the dirt. Two of the birds were fat, awkward-looking brown hens. The third was a lean and proud red rooster. As their flesh and bones had stretched them into six-foot-tall parodies of their former selves, their plumage had been completely ignored. With their undersized feathers exposing spotty patches of bristly gray flesh, the chickens looked like an arts and crafts project that had suffered from woefully inadequate supplies. Their giant heads cocked nervously from side to side as their black, 8-ball eyes sized up Trent’s dazed body lying before them in the dry grass.
“Damn,” he muttered airily. “I ain’t seen a cock that big since last time I took a piss, yo.”
“Trent!” Vivian hissed. “Get up, you idiot!”
She grabbed him by his undersized coat and hauled him to his feet. He grabbed her around the waist and held her body tightly against his own.
“Don’t worry, Vivi girl,” he growled. “I’ll protect you.” Vivian wrestled herself free of Trent and shoved him against the side of the farmhouse.
“Nobody needs to be protected from anything,” she whispered sharply. “They’re zombie chickens. Instinct-driven. Chicken instinct does not include attacking people. They’re just curious. Watch.”
The Oblivion Society Page 48
