“Bethany, Timmy, this is Bytes. He’s basically a glorified accountant.”
“I assure you, my former life was much more glamorous,” Bytes says, almost apologetically, as he takes his place behind the monitors.
“He was a Hacktivist.” Katia clasps her hands together in feigned adoration.
“A damn good one, too.” Bytes wags a finger at her. He speaks with a sincerity that says he didn't grasp the sarcasm in her voice. “So, what's got you picking up strays this time, Ruiz?”
“We found this. Our little friend passed it off to them.” Ruiz pulls it from around his neck and exposes the USB using the same fancy trick he'd performed in the truck before handing it off to Bytes.
Bytes dangles the cross in front of his face. “Huh, a cross. Never seen one done up like this.”
“Yeah, it's creative, get on with it,” Ruiz says.
Bytes slouches down and begins fiddling with the USB, trying to fit it into a port on the front of the CPU. “The design isn't exactly...practical.” His voice is strained as he tries to hold his position in the chair. “If this bastard makes me get up...I swear...okay...there we go. Doesn't exactly fit like a glove.” When he comes back up his face is beat red and small lines of perspiration have begun to form on his forehead.
“Got your exercise for the day, Bytey boy?” Katia walks back over and leans against the wall behind Bethany.
“Don't call me that, especially in front of guests.” Bytes sneers, plugging away at the keyboard.
“I like it.” Bethany smiles. “Bytey boy.” She rolls the words around on her tongue, nodding with satisfaction.
“I don't like her.” Bytes shifts his eyes from Bethany to Ruiz, his fingers still prancing across the keys.
“I'm okay with that.” Bethany shrugs.
“What have you got?” Ruiz sighs.
“Give me a second.” His eyes shift up and down and side to side. “This is going to take some time.”
“What do you mean?” Ruiz circles the table, crouching behind Bytes’ right shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
“That's called encryption, my good sir.”
“Encryption?”
“Yeah, you know, protects and preserves the message? It's a pretty basic one.”
“So, what does that mean for us?”
“It means you're going to have to wait a little bit while I crack this bad boy.”
“That's very Bond of you,” Katia says flatly.
“Would you like to stay and be my Bond Girl?”
“You know, I would, but I was planning on trimming my nails tonight. It'll have to wait.”
Bethany looks up at Katia and laughs. She takes two steps back and leans in beside her on the wall.
“Ruiz, I'm not liking this little estrogen powered duo that’s developing.”
Ruiz pats him on the back. “Women, hermano, no stopping them. So you can fix this, make it to where we can see what's here?”
“Please, sir, if the NSA can do it, so can your boy Bytes. Just give me time, a few dozen cups of coffee, black, with a bucket of sugar, and I'll break through, don’t know when exactly, but I’ll make it happen.”
Ruiz shakes him by his shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “My man, see that you do. You need anything, or something pops early, yell it out.”
“You've got it.”
“As for you two, I'm going to get Katia to show you down to your room. I've got to go check out the supplies, shake a few hands, and kick some asses. You good?”
“Yeah, we're fine.”
He shakes my hand and offers Bethany a high five, which she warily returns. “Alright, see you two later.”
7
“Winter is blowing in, temps are gonna keep dropping. You two need warm clothes?” Katia is leading us around the back of building 9 and around the edge of a stagnant pond.
There is a black plastic piece protruding from the center of the murky water. A fountain that used to put on shows for paying residents.
It's quiet now.
Overgrown and glistening with a thick layer of green slime.
“We've got a few things we've picked up along the way, but we can always use more. Do ya'll really get a winter around here?”
Katia shrugs. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”
“Well, here's to hoping this year is a no. That could present a problem.”
“We're prepared for it. Planned ahead. Few guys went out and scrounged up a decent supply of firewood. We've got the generators. Some heaters. A small army of heavy blankets. I won't let you freeze, don't worry.”
We're being led up a small hill beneath a couple of low hanging Cedar Elm trees and onto another walkway. “Watch your heads, shortcut.”
“Where did you learn to use your swords?” Bethany asks, her words jumbled, as if she'd been holding the question behind some dam that had finally broken, sending the words toppling from her lips, the letters slipping and sliding around one another.
Katia spins around to face us and continues walking, backwards, slowing her pace a bit, as she speaks. “I mostly taught myself.” She pulls a black hair tie from around her left wrist and with one swift motion twirls the jet-black locks atop her head into a full bodied ponytail, flipping it down across her right shoulder. It accentuates the two lines shaved into either side of her head, rising and falling in a rainbow pattern and disappearing around the back of her scalp beneath her ponytail. She has the presence and appearance of a Nordic Warrioress: mysterious and fierce.
“No one taught you?”
“I was in gymnastics when I was a little girl, up until I was around your age, which definitely helped my footing and agility.”
“My age?” Bethany sounds slightly insulted. “You don't even know how old I am.”
“I'm gonna say 14? Maybe 15.”
“Lucky!” Bethany rolls her eyes.
“Good guess. How old do you think I am?”
Katia doesn't hesitate with me, “16, definitely.”
“Wait, what? What does definitely mean? Am I wearing some sort of sign?”
“Meh, maybe it's just a good guess.” Katia winks at me and flips back around.
“Well, how old are you?” I ask as she pulls away from us.
“Onward, troops,” she shouts, raising a fist high above her head and ignoring my question.
We circle around the side of another apartment building, identical to the rest. A man moves towards us carrying a propane tank and wearing a silver wheel gun on his hip, similar to the one I recall Bo wielding. He calls Katia by name and nods as he passes us, the smell of oil mixed with dirt flowing strongly in his wake.
The laughter of children breaks the air around us moments before a clearing opens up off the sidewalk. There is a small playground, a basic operation; jungle gym, a see saw, a slide, and a few chain link swings. It's nestled back in a small alcove at the base of three apartment buildings. There are two men with long rifles looking down over the children like castle gargoyles. One puffs a cigar, forming clouds of white smoke that quickly dissipate in the late afternoon air as he shuffles back and forth, diligent in his watch.
“We've got a few families, so this is where the kids that aren't of working age spend most of their days. They're the future, so we keep a close eye on them.” She runs a finger between the two men above us. “We're looking into creating a school of sorts. Don't really know that we've got anyone qualified to teach, but we've gone through a few nearby schools and have started to stockpile some books, you know, in case we've got to build from the ground up.”
“You really think it's gonna come to that?” I ask, watching as a little boy wearing a cap of blond hair swings effortlessly from the underside of the monkey bars to the top, his peers cheering him on and moving quickly to mime his technique.
“Who knows? Did you think it'd come to this?” she asks, watching the children with a slight smile pulling at her lips.
It's not a question that really requires an answer.
None of us thought it'd come to this.
The switch was flipped. We figured they'd flip it back.
Didn't happen.
Switch was left in the off position.
The walls were torn down.
The bulbs ripped from their sockets.
“Come on, your room is just around the corner.”
We continue up the path, up and over a small hill, and past a broken down tennis court where the net is split in two; the white lines on the pavement are all but faded and gone.
“Here we are, building 12.” The door to room 1210 is ajar. One of the men that had been saddled with unloading the truck greets us. He nods to each of us as he wipes his brow with a pair of canvas gloves. “Everything squared away?”
“Yes ma'am, it's ready for livin'.”
“Thank you, Casey, dear.”
He shuffles past us and disappears around the corner.
The apartment looks just like the other one had, except there isn't a computer in the living room, or a generator humming away on the balcony. In their place is a forest green cot positioned in the center of the room, covered up by two layers of blankets and a single pillow. In the far corner sits our duffel bag.
“We jacked the cots from a military surplus store. We all sleep on one, well, almost all of us. If you don't like it then you're welcome to go scavenge a mattress, trust me, some people have. There's another one in the bedroom. Figured you two would appreciate having your privacy. There is a gallon of water in the bathroom, along with some soap and shampoo for you to clean up with. There's another gallon in the kitchen that you can use for drinking. You'll get a fresh gallon of each every day.” She props her hand under her chin. “Let's see, what else. Oh, yeah, meals are served in the apartment clubhouse; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We don't really have enough food to pass out for snacks, so, it's essentially a three hots and a cot scenario. There are some candles in the closet for when it gets dark. Just don't leave them burning when you go to nod off.”
“Sounds good.”
Hell, it sounds great!
“You two don't have to worry about anything else tonight. We've got a rotation of guys pulling watch duty.” Katia drops a hand gently over my arm. “If you two decide to stick around, we'll probably work you into a job rotation in the next few days. Probably mechanical or something. Bethany can work stock or whatever she wants to do.”
I nod. “Sounds good to me.”
Bethany isn’t paying attention. She’s checking the rooms out, ducking her head into the bathroom and kitchen.
“Alright then. Ya’ll have a good night.” Katia pulls the door open, the distant laughter of children and the sound of an idling motor fill the room.
“You too.” I wave and grin. The grin, it’s a little too much. A little too Mr. Rogers. It’s too late to stop, so I just go with it.
She returns the smile before softly shutting the door.
God, Tim, you’re such a tool...
***
I take up residence on the cot in the living room. It puts me closer to the front door. Closer to the trouble, should it find us. It makes Bethany feel better. Let's her sleep a little more soundly.
I'm okay with that.
It's far from comfort, but it beats sleeping in a storage shed.
I should be snoring away right now. It's the first night of uninterrupted sleep I've been offered in some time. Usually my rest comes in spurts of two and three hour increments. I check the gold plated watch, still ticking away, undeterred by the chaos and the shit.
Focused on a singular goal, time: past, present, and future.
It's well past midnight.
Well past quittin' time.
Bethany fell away hours ago and hasn't stirred since.
Good for her. As long as one of us gets it.
I drop the watch on the carpet beside the Ruger.
It used to be that after a day like today, my adrenaline would still be pounding in my ears.
Explosions, bullets, and blood; I've got a high tolerance now.
My pulse is steady.
I feel nothing.
Happy, maybe?
Perhaps relieved is a better word.
Relieved that I'm still breathing.
That we're still breathing.
That I didn't have to witness my sister gunned down in front of me.
That I've come across a creature as beautiful as Katia in the middle of all this ugliness.
Yeah, I'm no dummy. I know I don’t have a shot.
But, perhaps the world ending evened the odds a little bit? It's not like she's running with a lot of options. I've gotten a pretty good look at the other guys around here. They’re all older, uglier, and fatter than me.
But, how old is she?
Like I said, my guess, 19, maybe 20.
Does that make me illegal?
Ha, illegal!
There's a word that doesn't mean shit.
I wasn't any good at reading females before all of this. I doubt I'm any better now. Never had a girlfriend.
Never kissed a girl.
Held hands, once.
It's stupid and petty, perhaps, but with everything falling down around us, with every tomorrow as fragile and uncertain as a corn harvest in Kenya, one of my top priorities is getting that elusive kiss.
I wouldn't mind getting laid either.
I don't want to die a virgin.
I don't want to die at all, obviously, at least not anytime in the near future, but, if it's got to happen, I'd at least like to see the female body void of clothes, up close and in person. I'm willing to bet it beats the internet and the occasional titty magazine stowed away under the mattress. It's a deep yearning at this point, I'm not gonna lie, it really isn't that far down the list from the basics; food, water, and shelter.
In fact, it's probably next in line.
Number four.
I've always considered myself confident.
Years of being on stage has that effect.
I have a pretty thick skin.
Years of being on stage and getting laughed off the other side has that effect too.
But, despite all that, girls have always caused me to get all wobbly.
Katia, she is just a girl. Just a gorgeous and deadly girl. The kind of girl that's so damn beautiful, all the appropriate words sound hollow and cliché, so you honor her appearance with silent leering.
I've dodged Rabid, crazed religious fanatics, and the bullets of the United States military.
Sack up, Timmy.
Talk to her.
Get to know her.
Ask her out.
That's exactly what I'm going to do.
Just as soon as I get some sleep.
8
I awake to a familiar, yet surprisingly pleasant, sound.
The laughter of children.
The party on the playground is in full swing once more.
I throw back the covers, feeling better than I have in quite some time, despite the delayed onset of sleep.
I walk to the balcony door and slide it open. The sound of the rambunctious youngsters intensifies, like someone turning a stereo knob. I stand shirtless in the chilled morning air, the sun bright on my face, relishing this new sense of security.
The whimsical feeling of others standing watch on my behalf.
Momma is not far from my mind and neither is the guilt of knowing she's out there with a gun to her head, waiting on us to come back for her.
Or, maybe she's not waiting.
Maybe she's given up hope. Resigned to her fate. Satisfied with knowing her children made it out alive.
I'll never give up, not till I've emptied my last shell and spilled my last drop of blood.
An elderly couple crosses on the grass in front of me, hand in hand. They're not carrying anything. They're cloaked in thin sweaters, squinting against the sun, just out for a stroll, enjoying the day.
“You're new in town, ain't ya?” the old man asks,
breaking off from his wife and approaching the metal railing.
“Yes sir, came in with my sister yesterday. Ruiz and Katia pulled us out of the fire.”
“They've got a knack for that.”
“That they do.”
“Looks like you just woke up.”
“I did, sleep has been hard to come by.”
“Oh trust me, I know what ya mean. When you get to be our age, it's hard enough to come by a few winks when conditions are ideal. Now, well, till we come here, findin' rest was like tryin' to pin down a greased pig while bound and blindfolded.”
“Did Ruiz bring you in?”
“No, me and my darlin’ got lucky; got picked up by one of their scavenging expeditions. We were just about ready to give it up.”
“Well, there's always hope, it seems.”
“I had my doubts there for a bit, but, I'm startin' to become a believer again.” He holds out his hand. “I'm Bill, by the way. Over there is my bride of fifty-two glorious years, Alma.”
I shake his hand, the grip firm, the skin like paper. I offer a nod and a smile to Alma who returns my gesture with a warm smile of her own. “Pleased to meet both of you. I'm Timmy.”
“Well, Timmy, you better get yourself over to the clubhouse and grab some grub. They'll be starting up lunch in a few hours.”
“God, did I go that late?” I pat my pockets down and then remember the gold watch is inside by the Ruger.
Bill saves me the effort. “It's going on ten.”
“Crap, well, I better get dressed then. Pleased to meet ya'll.”
I rush back inside, pulling a fresh shirt from the duffel bag in the corner. I grab my hat, situate it atop my head, and retrieve the Ruger and wristwatch from the floor.
“Bethany?” I call for her as I secure the handgun against the small of my back. “Let's go, we're gonna miss breakfast.” Nothing. Not a clink nor a clatter. “Bethany?” I open the bedroom door, slowly, certain I'll find her still wrapped in her blankets, a pillow secured across her eyes to ward off the intruding beams of midday sun.
The cot sits empty.
The blankets are rumpled on one side and the pillow has been tossed to the other.
The Rabid: Rise Page 4
