Extinction Level Event (Book 4): Rescue

by Jones, K. J.

  “I have never gone natural in my life. My mama would throw me out of the house if I tried.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a black thing.”

  “Okay. But why?”

  “Not sure. Apart from negative feedback about being unattractive if natural.”

  “Is it, like, to look more white?”

  “I think it is. The ultimate bucking of white superiority.”

  “Or an in-your-face black identity?”

  “You’re very insightful.”

  Phebe shrugged. “Anthropologist. We do that.”

  “Nia has long wanted her hair natural. But I wouldn’t allow her. I repressed my daughter’s black identity.”

  “No one cares here. We let it all hang out. Kind of no choice in it.”

  “She considers me a hypocrite. I promote black identity elsewhere, but not let her embody it. I wanted to protect her. She could be ridiculed. Rejected.”

  “But not here, Ange. Look around. If there’s any time, this is it. I’m growing a Chia pet under my arms.”

  “They had to be better than their white classmates to get just as far.”

  “Did you really make them learn Latin and play the piano? That’s what they said.”

  “Yes. Well, you know. Latin is useful.”

  “Yeah, it is. I once aced an exam because I knew the Latin root words. Back in undergrad. Osteology class.”

  “Bones. See? I know that from knowing Latin. Osteo is bones. It helps in law as well. I didn’t want any doors closed to them, knowing they faced challenges.”

  “Nia said you wanted her to become the first black woman president.”

  “Not anymore. Obviously.”

  “A little pressure on the kids, Ange?”

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying. Or maybe that’s indicative of the pressure you put on yourself. Just saying.”

  “I had a beautiful house. Making partner in the firm was within my sights. I had their college funds ready. I did everything right. And now …”

  “And now you’re in a catastrophe that wrecks it all.”

  “And we three are the only survivors of our entire family. Both sides. Who are we now, without family?”

  “Survivors. You’re not the only one, you do realize, right? Mullen. Tyler. Chris. They are the last of their families. Now Eric, too. Well, I mean, we hope Chris’s kids made it to the mountains and they’re alright, but that’s probably a false hope. Mullen is definitely the last one left. And Eric. And Tyler.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “Talk about false hope.”

  “Why?”

  “Am I going to see any of them again? Not likely. We just need to adapt.” She slipped off the counter and approached Angela. “So … how do we adapt your hair?”

  “Cut off the chemically treated part.”

  “That’s way down.”

  “No choice. There’s no weaves anybody’s found. That’s the next option after chemical straightener.”

  “No weaves. Yeah. Historic Charleston is a really white area. Think Mazy could cut it? I suck at this. Not sure how Emily’s scissor hands would be. Never came up. You definitely do not want Peter to do it with a knife.”

  Angela smirked. “I won’t ask him then.”

  “Did Heidi really have her life threatened for cutting black women’s hair?”

  Angela replaced the bandana on her head. “Yeah. Don’t mess with a black woman’s hair. You know, I don’t even know what my hair looks like naturally, it’s been so long. I don’t remember if it’s nappy or wire curls or what.”

  “Syanna and her mom had issues over Sye’s hair.”

  “Yeah. You told me that. See how strong a thing it is? A beautiful young woman like her, but her mother had her mind set on a specific way to be.”

  “Her mom acted like she was the Elephant Man. She should wear a burlap bag over her head. It made Syanna feel really insecure. I think that was part of why she was such a bitch at times. But she was determined to let her hair be natural.”

  “Y’all are a different generation.”

  “We got people running around with weird things pierced into their faces. Hardly care about hang-ups from before us. Does your hair need special scissors? What do we need to do to solve the problem and make you feel better? I’m Ms. Fix-It.”

  “You are so sweet.”

  “Really, not. You remember the crap I get into. Pell has me as one of the psychos of the group.”

  “Psycho,” Angela repeated. “Reminds me of a question. Why do they call Chris a psycho?”

  Phebe laughed. “That’s a question to ask them when they’re strong.”

  “But you know?”

  “I asked hubby, yeah. That was one of the few things he’d answer me. He’s elusive about a lot of things. The Sully evasive maneuvers on answering a question.”

  A sad smile. “Jackson used to talk about him a lot.” A sigh. “Well, that’s all the past now. You should get some rest.”

  “Crap. I need water to brush my teeth. I refuse to be the apocalypse toothless one.”

  “Brush them on the piazza. I find it easier that way.”

  “Good idea.”

  Angela handed her a bottle of water. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’m going in.”

  Angela smiled as she watched her go outside.

  Chapter Two

  1.

  “God,” Tyler wailed. “You are some serious grumpy pants, dude.”

  “You can fuck off then, Ty.”

  “I’m supposed to help you. I volunteered. Didn’t know you were being a total dick.”

  “Again. You can fuck off. I don’t need you here.”

  “Sully, you can hardly walk. You’d think since you stopped shitting yourself and puking everywhere, you’d be in a better mood.”

  “Tyler.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck. Off.”

  “I’m gonna tell Phebe on you.”

  Peter picked up a water bottle from the nightstand and tried to rear back his arm to throw it at the fleeing Tyler, but the IV screwed up his reach. “Fuck.” He dropped the bottle. Ripping off the medical tape, he yanked out the needle. It bled. “Shit.” Grabbing a rag, he pressed it to the wound. “Shit. Assholes.” He looked at the crucifix above the bed. “What are you looking at? You’re Julio’s god. Look what you did for him.”

  Kicking the IV tube out of his way, he searched the room for pants. A pair of brand new cargo pants nicely folded on the dresser. He suspected it was Phebe’s doing. A t-shirt with it. Blue. His color. But no socks or shoes.

  Out of Julio’s bedroom, a world-class scowl distorting his face. He went into the dark corridor. By sheer familiarity, he made his way to the stairs in the dark.

  The saloon. Sunlight through the windows. Memories bombarded him.

  “Where are you going, Mister Sullivan?” an unfamiliar voice called him from the companionway behind.

  “Don’t know who you are and don’t give a shit.”

  According to the windows, it seemed pretty early.

  The saloon was a mess.

  “They at least could have cleaned up the place. Assholes.”

  He found a first aid kit and bandaged his blood-leaking hand. His legs felt weak and wobbly. The muscles constricted everywhere in his body. But shear anger propelled him to keep moving onto the hangout deck.

  His bad leg was the worst. It cramped and shot electric pains up into his hips.

  “Fucking stop, motherfucker,” he yelled at it. A punch at the thigh.

  “Oh,” Phebe’s voice. “That helps.”

  “Did Tyler tattle on me?”

  She came up the walkway to the hangout deck. “Yes. And Dr. Jenkins radioed to tattle on you, too.”

  “You are my wife. Not my keeper.”

  “You were happy I was alive yesterday.”

  “I need a weapon. And shoes. No, fuck the shoes. Where’s one of my weapons?”


  “Not giving you one until I see morale improve.

  “Fucking hell, Phebe!”

  “Yell at me all you want, Sullivan.”

  “Where the fuck are my men?”

  “Matt’s at the house. Chris is in a coma in your bed. And Eric is locked in a bedroom because he’s a little insane. Who else?”

  “Eric’s not one of my men.”

  “Last I heard, we all were.”

  “A lot has changed since then.”

  “You’re giving me a headache, Sullivan.”

  “So sorry, princess.”

  “It would be unfair to kick your ass in the state you’re in.”

  He threw himself down onto the pickup truck seat. “Yeah? Rub my state in.” He checked the microfridge. “Fuck. No beer.” He slapped the door shut.

  “No electricity either.”

  “Why the fuck does the Molly have no electricity? What did youse people do to my trawler.”

  “So not liking you right now.”

  “Tough shit, toots.”

  “We are conserving the electricity on your trawler. The boat we saved.”

  He scoffed and glared out at the world. “Where the fuck am I?”

  “Historic Charleston.”

  He scoffed again. “Fancy fucking houses.”

  A reptilian croaking roar.

  He jumped. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Big Moe.”

  “What?”

  “The dominant male alligator. He does that. C’mon, I’ll help you to the house. Oh. Gotta find you shoes. Think I put a pair in the saloon.”

  “Where’s my boots?”

  She returned with a pair of sneakers. “Put these on.”

  “Where’s my boots?”

  “Contaminated.”

  “With what?”

  “Poo.”

  He could slip the sneakers on, but his fingers didn’t cooperate in tying the laces. He shook his hands as if that would make them unstiffen.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “I’m not a fucking child.”

  “Shut up then.”

  He cooperated with her helping him walk. His arm over her shoulder, each step careful.

  “So goddamn weak,” he muttered.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  The stairs were difficult, but they managed.

  On marina guard, Brandon watched them. He nodded to Peter.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Pell. You know him.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yup.”

  Brandon quietly radioed ahead.

  Ben and Mazy met them at the end of the marina.

  Peter stopped and glared at them. “Where the fuck did youse two come from?”

  “Long story,” said Ben. “I’m relieving her. Arm over my shoulder.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “Fine. I never argue with Sioux warriors.”

  “There ya go.”

  “How is he?” Mazy asked Phebe as they watched the men head towards the house.

  “Terrible.”

  “Worse than Matt?”

  They followed them across the street.

  “A little. Definitely worse physically.”

  Peter turned his face up and down the wall. “This is good.”

  “Your wife found it for us,” said Ben.

  “Huh.”

  Jayce opened the door. “Welcome back.”

  Peter squinted at the teenager as if he was not able to place him.

  Angela said, “Lounger readied.” She held a blanket.

  “Angela Jackson,” Peter said.

  “That’s right. Lay down, please, sir.”

  Ben lowered him to the cushion.

  “Legs up.” She lay the blanket over him.

  He took it fast, still feeling abnormally cold from withdrawal.

  “Water. Drink every fifteen seconds.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  Phebe cocked a brow. Angela got respect, but she didn’t. Nice.

  Peter’s head on a swivel, he scanned around to everything he could see. “Has the perimeter been secured?”

  “Yes,” said Ben.

  “That kid is the guard at the door?”

  “Jayce Jackson.”

  “Jax’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Angela. Jayce. Okay, that makes sense. Jax?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “But Nia, his daughter is here.”

  Peter nodded.

  In the kitchen, Angela worked on food for him. Matt came in from the dining room.

  “Can he eat protein?” she asked.

  “Just not fat.”

  “I’ll make you both gator.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Matt. You need to eat again. You both lost weight.”

  “Somebody’s gotta get Eric to eat.”

  “Emily’s trying to get him to drink and take some broth.”

  “The kid is going to fucking die if he keeps this up.”

  “Don’t cuss at me, Matt. We’re doing the best we can.”

  “Sorry.”

  “The other lounger is out there. Y’all can rest.”

  “Nuh. I’ll stay in here.”

  “The fresh air is good for you.”

  “Have had enough for a lifetime.” He retreated.

  She stared at the empty doorway with worry.

  Tyler’s voice from the doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, “They’re both being total assholes.”

  “I know, baby. We have to be patient. Would you please help me heat up this meat?”

  “Yeah.”

  She softly smiled. Though she had concerns about Tyler due to his background in the Before – a trailer park white boy from a bad mother – he surprised her when he behaved like a good kid. Lately, he had less attitude than Nia. But what did he have to rebel against? If anything, since the disappearance of Peter and the guys, he had shown some of his true age. He was scared, she recognized. More scared than her own children. They had her. Tyler had nothing but precarious bonded relationships. Her heart felt for him.

  “You aren’t going for a pool swim?”

  “Nuh. I was supposed to watch Sully, but he’s here now. I gotta help these two assholes.”

  She put her arm around him. To her surprise, he leaned into her for an embrace. She hugged him. “They’ll be okay in time.”

  2.

  Peter’s sleep was so violent that Phebe moved back to the loveseat in front of the fire or risk being assaulted. He yelled in his dreams. The first time he yelled her name, she woke up and asked him what was wrong, only to find he was dead asleep. Closed eyelids moving side-to-side in REM. Stanton had contributed some of his sleeping pill stash.

  She wished she had some.

  She had thought her nightmares were bad. Peter’s were excruciating. They all sounded like he was trying to get to people or save people, but couldn’t. She was one of them. He yelled for Tyler, Dock Cat, Julio, Matt, and Chris. Even his older sister Caitlyn a few times. And MJ.

  Listening to him toss and turn and fight whatever monsters lurked in his subconscious, she stared at the fire. Tears welled in her eyes. She missed her mom. She hugged the blanket to her chest.

  Then got up and put another piece of wood on the fire. The blaze snapped and crackled as it burned wood shellac off. The wood came from a piece of furniture.

  Back to hugging the blanket on the loveseat and listening to her husband’s rough nightmares.

  Sleep eluded her for over an hour. She gave up. So she snuck out of the bedroom, not wanting to disturb the whirling dervish in the bed. Bare feet down the carpeted elliptical stairs.

  The grandfather ticked in the front room, still stuck.

  “Ow!”

  Her toe went into furniture in the dark. “Asshole motherfucker bastard shit fuck.” She hopped around on one foot, holding the wounded toe.

  A banged
toe hurt worse than anything else on Earth.

  She limped to the front door and found it unlocked. Slipping outside as quiet as possible, the chilled late winter night air wrapped around her.

  To her surprise, someone else was up and wandering around the grounds. She recognized the body outline as Emily.

  “Hey,” she announced herself as she stepped out and closed the front door.

  “Oh. Pheeb. Didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

  Phebe sat at the table. She wished she had a cup of tea or hot cocoa. That would mean making a fire in the oven.

  “We were so damn spoiled, ya know.”

  “God, yeah.” Emily sat across from her. “Just going to the bathroom. I feel like a damn pioneer woman here. How’s Sully?”

  “The same. Bad.”

  “Every time I think I’ve been through some shit, somebody goes through something worse.”

  Emily pulled her legs to her with heels on the seat. It was chilly. She rested her chin on her knees.

  Phebe took the throw blanket off the lounger and wrapped it around herself.

  “How did your safta do it?”

  “Huh?” Emily picked up her head.

  “How’d she lose everyone, go through that absolute hell, but have a positive outlook afterward? You know what I mean?”

  “I do, but I don’t know. I keep asking myself that too. I try to think the way she did. Be grateful for what you’ve got. Live in the moment, but lock the doors.”

  “But she didn’t have PTSD?”

  “Oh, no. She did. Of course, she didn’t know what that was. No one did back then. But she definitely had it bad. The nightmares. Insomnia. You could count on her being in the kitchen at three in the morning, baking something. You always got a snack. She never seemed to sleep. She just waved it away when my mom and the aunts said anything to her. They didn’t understand, of course. Not really. I didn’t either. Until lately. I wish I could ask her if the dead haunted her dreams.”

  “Hubby has all of that going on. The nightmares are horrible.”

  “He feels guilty. Brandon said they’ll feel survivors guilt. Sully will feel it’s all his fault as the leader. Matt, too, but Brandon thinks Matt is also blaming Sully since he’s avoiding him and saying shit under his breath.”

  “That sucks. A lot of guilt.” Phebe looked around, hearing nocturnal insects trill somewhere in the garden. “Sometimes, this all feels like a dream. But other times, it feels like the Before was the dream. Ya know?”