Revelations

by Mark Kelly

  He cautiously unscrewed the lid. The smell of mint wafted up from the open jar. Dumbfounded, he looked at the young soldier.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Yep—Listerine Cool Mint…kills 99% of all germs. I tested it.”

  Sure you did, Simmons thought as he tilted the jar forward. Using the tips of his finger and thumb, he reached in and grabbed the thermometer. He shook the extra liquid off, shuddering as he stuck the thermometer into his mouth. A minute later, the female soldier took it back.

  “You’re good,” she said after inspecting it. “Her next.”

  Simmons felt Emma tense in the seat behind him. He half-expected her to throw a fit and wouldn’t blame her one damn bit if she did.

  “Give it to me,” she said, snatching the jar from the soldier, “but I’m only doing it once. Do you hear me? Just once.” She plunged her hand into the jar and pulled the thermometer out with a small piece of goop stuck to it. “Oh my God, this is gross,” she cried out, her face screwed up in disgust. She closed her eyes and jammed the thermometer into her mouth.

  A minute later, she too was cleared.

  The female soldier looked at Simmons. “Now, give me your papers.”

  “I don’t have my driver’s license or insurance with me,” he said, bewildered by the request.

  She stared at him like he was an idiot and snarled, “Do I look like a cop? I don’t give a shit about your driver’s license. Where’s your R.O.P.?”

  Simmons had no idea what she was talking about. He shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

  Muttering under her breath, she looked up at the soldier who had been sitting atop the APC like a king on his throne.

  “You were right, Abrams. How the hell did you know that today was going to be the day that all the retards came through?”

  Abrams tapped his forefinger to his temple. “I’m psychic, Dines. That’s how.”

  “Psychotic is more like it.”

  “Get off the bike and go stand over there,” Dines said to Simmons and Emma. She waved her hand and pointed at the back of the cart with her rifle.

  They followed her orders and climbed off the motorcycle. Simmons watched with dismay as Dines walked around the bike, inspecting it with what appeared to be an uncomfortable familiarity.

  She stopped suddenly and bent down to unfasten the clips holding the cart’s cover in place. With a flick of her hand, she threw the tarp back, exposing the items they had brought for trading.

  Her eyes widened when she saw the mason jars of moonshine in the small cardboard box jammed up against the front of the cart. She pulled out a jar, unscrewed the lid, and took a sniff.

  “Shit…that’s strong! What is it?”

  “Moonshine.”

  Dines hooted out loud and held the jar up to show Abrams. “Did you hear that? It’s moonshine, and judging by the smell of this hooch, it’ll knock you on your ass.”

  Suddenly interested, Abrams climbed down from the APC and walked over and took the jar from Dines.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked Simmons.

  “I made it.”

  “Mind if I have a taste?” Abrams said, bringing the jar to his mouth.

  Happy the moonshine had distracted the soldiers from asking him about the motorcycle, Simmons shook his head.

  Abrams took a small sip. He swirled the fiery liquid around in his mouth and swallowed it with a grimace.

  “Son of a bitch…that’s the real deal,” he said, screwing the lid back on. He placed the jar back into the cardboard box and raised an eyebrow.

  “What are you doing with all this?” he asked Simmons.

  “It’s for trading.”

  “Trading for what?”

  “Information and equipment.”

  “I might be able to help with both, but it’s going to cost you,” Abrams said with a big smile.

  “How much?” Simmons asked, getting the feeling he was about to be screwed over.

  Abrams’s smile broadened. “That depends, but I’ll give you the first question for free. Go ahead and ask away.”

  Simmons glanced across the river to the other side of the bridge. The only thing stopping he and Emma from continuing on their journey was something he didn’t have.

  “What’s an R.O.P.?”

  “Right of Passage,” Abrams answered. “It gives you the right to travel through General Leduc’s territory.

  “Who is General Leduc?” Simmons asked, regretting the question as soon as Abrams reached down and took another jar of moonshine out of the box.

  Abrams looked at him in astonishment. “You’ve never heard of General Leduc? He runs this part of the country—everything east of here and all the way south to Toronto.”

  “We live down near Douglas,” Simmons said. “We’ve never seen anyone from the army around there.”

  “You will at some point. The general is still in the process of regaining control. Right now, he’s focused on keeping a lid on the Biker and Roamer gangs. That’s why we’re here. Couple of weeks ago, we had to send a bunch of those miserable bastards on their way. They showed up in a bus thinking they could just drive right through.”

  That had to be the gang from the crossroads, Simmons thought. He started to ask where they had gone, but stopped as Abrams reached for another jar.

  “How do we get a Right of Passage?” he asked instead. “You said we needed one to get past the checkpoint.”

  Abrams took another jar. “You get one from me, but it will cost you four jars. Do you still want it?”

  Simmons bit back the sour taste in his mouth. If he wanted to get past these shake-down artists, he had no choice. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

  Abrams took four more jars, leaving six in the case. He nodded to Dines, who reached into her shirt pocket and removed a handmade pendant made from a gigantic bullet casing that was the length of Simmons’s hand.

  “Here’s your R.O.P.”

  Simmons eyed the pendant skeptically. “Do I need anything else—like a piece of paper or something more formal?”

  Abrams shook his head. “Just show that to whoever is manning the checkpoint and they’ll let you through without any hassle.”

  Simmons hung the pendant around his neck and glanced at the half-empty cardboard box of moonshine. It could have been worse.

  “Are we free to go now?” he asked Abrams.

  “Sure you can,” Abrams said agreeably. “As soon as you’ve paid your transit tax.” He reached down and lifted the cardboard box out of the cart.

  “Hey, that’s stealing,” Emma said indignantly. “You can’t take all the moonshine. If you do, Professor Simmons won’t have any left to make biodiesel.”

  “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Simmons said, grabbing her arm and steering her towards the motorcycle. “We should get going”

  Abrams held out his arm to stop them. “I don’t think we’re done yet. What’s this about biodiesel and who is Professor Simmons? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  Abrams cocked his head to the side and smiled. “And what’s this about biodiesel?”

  “It’s an experiment. I’m trying to produce it for my motorcycle and anything with a diesel engine. The moonshine is a catalyst in the chemical process.”

  “You can make gas?” Dines asked in astonishment.

  “No, not gas—diesel,” Simmons said. “Well, biodiesel actually. It’s different. But I haven’t made any yet. There’s equipment I still need. We were on our way to look for it.”

  Abrams folded his arms across his chest and stared at Simmons for a moment. “Well, I'll be damned. Aren’t you just full of surprises? You’re a regular Bill Nye the Science Guy. Where were you going to get this equipment you said you needed?”

  “I was told there’s a lab in Chalk River.”

  The smile on Abrams faced disappeared. “Even if the lab has the equipment you’re looking for, you don’t want to go there.”

 
; “Why not?”

  “The whole place glows. A month after the pandemic hit, there was a problem with the research reactor—a leak or something like that. The entire area is contaminated with radiation.”

  Simmons groaned out loud. The trip was a bust, but maybe the soldiers knew where he could find the items he needed. “You said earlier you could help with information and equipment. Any idea where I could find the type of equipment you’d find in a science lab.”

  Abrams scratched his chin as he thought about it. “There’s a high school on base with a chemistry lab. Maybe there?”

  Dines gawked at him. “Jesus, Abrams, where the hell have you been? The school’s been closed for two years.”

  He scowled at her. “How the hell would I know that. I don’t have kids!”

  The young soldier who had originally handed Simmons the jar of mouthwash spoke. “The hospital or the Science Academy in Deep River might have what you’re looking for.”

  They all turned and looked at him in surprise. He took a step back and gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s just an idea.”

  “What’s this Science Academy?” Simmons asked, intrigued.

  “A place where high school students used to do extra science during the summer. They have a small lab. I went there the summer before I joined up.”

  “You went to science summer school to do extra science?” Dines asked, looking flabbergasted. “Why in the hell would you do that? Are you some kind of brainiac?”

  “I had nothing else to do,” he said with a shrug. He looked at Simmons and Emma. “That’s how I knew the mouthwash kills the germs. That was my science fair project.”

  Emma smiled at the young soldier. He flashed her a quick grin in return and blushed.

  “What do you think, Professor Simmons? It sounds like it might be worth checking out.”

  They’d come all this way. It would be a shame to turn back. “Okay, let’s do it,” he said, nodding his head. “Where exactly is this Science Academy? How far is it?”

  “It’s in Deep River—about ten miles from here.”

  “Is it safe to go there?” Simmons asked Abrams. “What about this reactor leak you mentioned?”

  “As long as you stay on the highway and don’t go down the road towards the lab, you should be fine,” Abrams replied.

  He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed Simmons a small piece of plastic the size of a credit card. “Here, take this with you. It might keep you from getting cooked. If it turns black, get the hell out of there.”

  Simmons glanced at the card. It was a single-use radiation dosimeter with shaded bands showing the amount of background gamma radiation. The darker the shading, the worse the radiation.

  “Why are you helping us?”

  Abrams reached down and picked up the box of moonshine. “Because you’re my new best friend, and you and I will be doing a lot of business together, which will be tough if you’re dead.”

  Simmons nodded weakly.

  Abrams winked at him. “Don’t forget to come see me when you have more moonshine or some of that biodiesel. I think the general would be very happy to meet you.” He waved his hand in the air and yelled, “Move it aside.”

  The APC belched a cloud of black smoke and lurched forward opening a path through the roadblock.

  Simmons climbed back on the bike with Emma behind him. He nodded goodbye to the soldiers and notched the motorcycle into gear. As he drove away, he realized the soldiers hadn’t asked about the motorcycle. He smiled to himself. The moonshine had come in handy after all.

  13

  A Dead Box

  The water tower, four-storeys high with the words Welcome to Deep River spelled out in giant black letters, loomed over the horizon. Simmons gently elbowed Emma, warning her to keep a sharp eye out for signs of life. They hadn’t seen anyone since the roadblock, but the small town, once home to four thousand people, was certain to be inhabited even after the pandemic.

  They turned off the highway and drove into town. Simmons’s eyes darted left and right as he searched for threats. In the distance, above the small bungalows lining the side-streets, he caught the occasional glimpse of a large river.

  Following the directions the young soldier had given him, Simmons headed towards the river and the town’s business district.

  The destruction was total. Every building had been looted and a few burned to the ground. He slowed the motorcycle and peered through the broken plate-glass windows. There was nothing worth taking. What little remained in the stores after the first round of looting had been picked cleaned by scavengers.

  The sour taste of disappointment in the back of his throat grew as he turned left onto the street where the science academy was located. He pulled into the academy’s parking lot. The small building was gutted; its windows all broken with twisted pieces of beige window blinds caught on the jagged shards of glass. On the ground floor, a curtain flapped in the light breeze, unhiding and then hiding the catastrophic damage inside. It was as if a tornado had struck, emptying the building of its contents and scattering them on the overgrown lawn.

  Simmons brought the bike to a stop and put his foot down to support it. Emma shifted in the seat behind him.

  “What happened here?”

  “Looters.”

  “What now, Professor Simmons? Do you want to go inside?”

  “There’s no point,” he said, staring at the pile of textbooks, broken chairs, and computer monitors lying in a heap below one of the windows.

  “Let’s go.”

  He did the math in his head. If they left now and didn’t run into any problems, they’d be home by dinner tomorrow; home with nothing to show for their effort except for information about the general and his soldiers, and that had cost them an entire case of moonshine.

  Dejected, he turned the handlebars of the motorcycle and pointed it back in the direction they had come. They hadn’t gone more than twenty feet before he stopped the bike to stare at a blue sign with an uppercase letter H on it. A hospital was the last place he wanted to go, but damn it, he wasn’t about to return home empty-handed.

  “One more stop,” he shouted to Emma as he shifted the bike into first gear.

  The blue signs led them along a route that took them down a small residential street. Unlike the highway which had been cleared by the soldiers, the street was cluttered with garbage and household belongings looted from the homes that lined it.

  He slowed to a crawl to weave around the trash, keeping a careful watch out for anything that might damage the bike’s tires. Up ahead, a burned-out SUV and pickup truck were T-boned together, blocking most of the road.

  “Look out!” Emma yelled as a fist-sized chunk of concrete came from nowhere, barely missing his head.

  Simmons twisted the throttle and turned the handlebars at the same time in a desperate attempt to escape. Startled by the sudden movement, Emma squeezed her arms around his chest and yanked him backward. Afraid he was going to lose control of the bike, he jerked free from her. As he did, she lost her grip and his body shot forward with his hand twisting the throttle even more. The motorcycle lunged forward, its front wheel lifting off of the ground in a wheelie. The only thing that stopped them from flipping over backwards was the trailer behind them.

  Simmons chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Two men and a woman with dirty faces and ragged clothing emerged from behind the SUV. He watched one of the men smack the other across the face and could see anger mixed with defeat in their eyes.

  They were scavengers, eking out a bare existence on the scraps they could find, and when that wasn’t enough, preying on those who were weaker. In his old life, he would have felt pity for them but after months of struggling to survive, he’d save his pity for those who deserved it.

  With one hand on the handlebars, he twisted in the seat and turned to look at Emma. Her face was ashen.

  “Are you okay?”

  She blinked and then nodded.

  Unsure i
f she really was, he watched her for a couple of seconds until she looked away. Given the risks involved, the decision to keep going or to return home wasn’t his alone.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  She hesitated and then said, “Keep going.”

  He smiled, proud of her.

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  The hospital, a one-storey brown brick building, was set back from the road and nestled in a clearing cut from the surrounding forest. Its parking lot was crammed full of cars parked haphazardly and overflowing onto the nearby grass. At the front, an orange medevac helicopter with its doors wide open sat on the helipad. Two ambulances filled the space in front of the emergency entrance.

  And nothing moved—It was as if time had stopped. Simmons turned off the ignition, jammed the kickstand down with the heel of his foot and climbed off the bike.

  He warily ran his eyes over the hospital and its surroundings. Unlike the buildings in town, the hospital didn’t appear to have been looted. He wondered if the scavengers were afraid they’d be infected if they came near it. His stomach churned at the thought of going inside. Although he and Emma and the rest of the group were supposedly immune, they had never tested their immunity—not directly, not like this.

  “I think you should stay here while I go inside,” he said to Emma.

  She glanced down the road in the direction they had come. “No way, Professor Simmons. If you’re going in, so am I.”

  He shook his head. “One of us needs to keep watch. “If they’re following us, they could be here in twenty minutes. I’ll be quick—I promise.”

  Emma defiantly folded her arms across her chest. “Then you stay, Professor Simmons, because I’m not going to—not by myself.”

  Simmons could tell from the look on her face that he wasn’t going to win this argument. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “We’ll both go inside, but stay behind me and don’t touch anything.”

  He grabbed the crowbar from the trailer and walked to the main entrance. The building’s electric sliding doors were closed but not locked. Using the crowbar, Simmons pried at the doors until they opened. A blast of hot air spilled out of the building, engulfing them in the familiar sickly sweet smell of death. It hit like a fist to the gut.