The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse

by Oday, William

  A squirming coil sizzled in Elio’s gut. The pressure of their connection blasted electric waves down to the tips of his toes and up to the top of his scalp. He was fully clothed, and yet he’d never felt such overwhelming arousal.

  He lowered his full weight on top of her and kissed her again. This time there was no hesitation on either side. He probed and she parted to accept him.

  The outside world slipped away. The dangers. The concerns. The struggle. All of it simply faded. Their connection melted away all that was secondary and no longer meaningful.

  Elio’s stomach clenched and his hips thrust forward. He didn’t do it on purpose. He would’ve been too embarrassed to be so forward. His brain was like a backseat driver shouting to be heard while his body raced forward, oblivious to everything but its own desired destination.

  Theresa’s hips rolled back accepting his advance.

  What was happening?

  Was it happening?

  What about his mother? The Wests? The world outside?

  Whatever. It could wait. The softness of Theresa’s lips and skin was all that mattered.

  Elio pulled back to catch a breath. He held himself up a bit so he wouldn’t crush her, even though that was what he wanted to do most.

  To be so close to her that their bodies merged. To be so connected that the math that started with two variables combined into one solution.

  The tips of their noses touched as they stared into each other’s eyes. Her eyes spoke a wordless invitation. He couldn’t understand why she’d chosen him for such a heavenly offering. He was no god. He was barely a worthwhile human being. He’d been nothing but a failure at both being a student and a wannabe gangster.

  And yet she’d chosen him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  Her amber eyes sparkled with a light that took his breath away.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  He lowered his lips to hers when the walkie-talkie on the floorboard sputtered to life.

  Theresa and Elio. This is Mason. You need to stop what you’re doing. It’s dangerous and you don’t understand the possible consequences…

  A jolt of cold reality crashed like an icy wave over the heat in Elio’s belly. He grabbed at the walkie-talkie and flipped the knob until it clicked into the off position.

  They both froze, knowing the moment had shifted. Been cut short. They looked at each other.

  Theresa nodded toward the passenger door. “Peek out and see what’s going on,” she whispered.

  He slid over and lifted up slowly, ever so slowly, until his left eye could see out the corner of the window. The deltas had not returned. All that remained were irregular patches of red staining the concrete below.

  He moved sideways to get a better view.

  Still no one.

  He looked around in all directions.

  “Looks clear,” he said.

  Theresa pushed herself up and glanced around to verify his conclusion. She picked up the walkie-talkie and turned it back on, still making sure to keep the volume low.

  …can help you. Please come home and we can help you. We’re worried sick about you both.

  Theresa clicked the transmit button. “Dad! It’s me, Theresa. Can you hear me?”

  It was silent a moment and then continued.

  Theresa and Elio. This is Mason. Please stop what you’re doing. You don’t know how unsafe it is. Please come home. I—

  “Dad! It’s Theresa! Can you hear me?”

  …a smart way to do this.

  Theresa tried again and got no response.

  “He can’t hear us,” she said looking at the walkie-talkie like it had personally betrayed her.

  “We can’t go back yet,” Elio said. “We’re only a couple of miles from my apartment. Let’s get my mother and then head back.”

  Theresa bit her lip and stared at the walkie-talkie as Mason continued asking them and then telling them to go home. She clicked it off. “Okay.”

  They gathered up their belongings and then scanned the area again before unlocking the door.

  Elio opened the door and hopped down. He offered a hand and helped Theresa down.

  She landed lightly and smiled. “Sir, you are too kind.”

  Elio attempted an awkward bow with a sweep of his hand across his waist. He didn’t attempt to make it awkward. That was just how it turned out.

  Whatever. He didn’t care. His own shortcomings couldn’t be all that horrible if someone like Theresa could see beyond them.

  “And you, Madam, are too beautiful.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The remaining miles to Elio's apartment passed uneventfully, on the outside at least. The inside was another matter. His thoughts soared to the heights and plummeted to the depths with dizzying speed. It was enough to make him want to barf.

  As they turned left on Sixth Street and Elio saw his apartment building down the street, his stomach jumped. He couldn’t wait to run up the stairs to their one-bedroom fourth floor apartment. To throw the door open and find his mother safe and sound.

  But the nagging doubt in his gut tempered the excitement.

  She could be gone, either from the apartment or from the world altogether. The closer they got, the greater the contrast of his thoughts. One second joyous anticipation and the next wretched resignation.

  "See the faded blue building down on the left?"

  "Yep," Theresa replied.

  "That's it. There's an alley on the near side. Let's take it and we can park in back."

  "Got it."

  As much as his sense of machismo was offended by riding on the back of the cargo bike while Theresa pedaled up front, he didn't mind having to hold her hips to steady himself. And he enjoyed the smell of her hair as it drifted back over him.

  Theresa carefully steered them around a patch of shattered glass. She turned left and took them around to the back of the apartment building.

  Elio couldn't believe it. After waiting so long, he was home. "I'll stash the bike behind the dumpster."

  Theresa nodded and hopped off.

  Elio hid it as best he could and then turned to the rear door. A large red triangle was spray-painted on it. The symbol of the sickness was pretty much everywhere. It had begun to merge into the background noise. Like billboards on the freeway.

  He opened the rear door. A wave of stink billowed out. Rotten, stifling air that made them both gag. Dim light from the window on the front face filtered down the long hall. He led them in and then tried the door to the stairs. It opened half an inch and then clanged to a stop. Looking through the sliver, he saw something barring it shut. He tried to get his fingers through the crack but there wasn’t enough room.

  "There's another stairwell at the other end of the building," he said quietly. He held a finger to his lips and then motioned for her to follow.

  They tiptoed down the hallway, doing their best to step over the bottles and cans and trash that littered the floor. Why did people have to throw their crap everywhere the minute things went south? Did they all do it? Or did just a few do it but enough for everyone?

  Whoever did it, it covered the threadbare carpet like an extra layer. And it reeked. Stank so bad their eyes watered.

  Thinking more about the disgusting taste in his mouth and less about where he was going, Elio planted his foot on a soda can. It crunched flat. The sound echoed up and down the corridor. He froze, waiting for the consequence. For the shit to break loose and punish such a careless act.

  A door ahead creaked open.

  Elio pulled Theresa into the slightly recessed space of someone’s front door. He flattened into the door as much as he could.

  Further down the hall, stubborn hinges whined in protest.

  A barrel appeared. Black, long, cylindrical.

  A shotgun.

  No. He’d come too far to get killed now. Could life be so cruel?

  The shotgun extended into the hall and then turned in their direction.


  An old lady stepped into the hallway. A black hairnet covered large, bright purple rollers. A cigarette dangled from her lips like she’d forgotten it was there. She turned to him. She wielded a broom in her hands like she was ready to beat the stuffing out of whoever was responsible for the mess.

  Ms. Kaminsky. He’d seen her many times in the past but had never stopped to say hello.

  “Young man, why are you hiding over there? Did you make this mess?”

  The words were more an accusation than a question.

  Elio peeled off the door and sucked air to catch his breath. “No ma’am. I didn’t do this.” He approached her and she raised the broomstick at him.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She thwacked the wall.

  Elio almost laughed. “Ma’am, you should go back inside and lock the door.”

  “You think I’m afraid? I heard the ruckus. Even with my hearing aid turned down.”

  Ruckus?

  “It’s dangerous out here,” he said. “It’s safer inside your apartment.”

  “It’s always dangerous these days. Used to be a good place for working families. Not anymore.”

  “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

  “What? And leave my home? I’ve lived in this apartment for thirty-eight years. I’m too old to move.”

  He took another step forward.

  She waved the broomstick. “That’s close enough!”

  He didn’t think her old bones could do much damage, but he didn’t want her to have a heart attack trying.

  She adjusted her thick glasses. “Hold on a second. Aren’t you Maria Lopez’s boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “And who is that hiding behind you?”

  Elio stepped to the side. Theresa wasn’t necessarily hiding. “This is my friend, Theresa West.”

  “Hello,” Theresa said.

  “Come over here, the both of you.”

  They walked over and stopped in front of her.

  “Friend, huh? You two weren’t getting fresh outside my door, were you?”

  Elio looked around at the piles of filth. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever feeling fresh in these conditions. “No, ma’am.”

  “Is he telling the truth, young lady?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, you keep a watchful eye on him. Boys his age have only one thing on their hormone-addled minds. They may talk up your pretty eyes or sweet smile, but their depravities are aimed much lower.”

  She pointed the end of the broomstick at Elio’s chest.

  “They want what’s in your bloomers. Trust me. I remember.”

  Theresa choked and coughed and only partially succeeded in concealing her laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

  “Mind that you do.” She turned back to Elio. “Haven’t seen you around since these shenanigans began. Do you think it’s right to abandon your mother in such times?”

  “I was injured. I came back as soon as I could. Have you seen her?”

  “Not for a week or so now. It wasn’t safe to walk out my own front door.” She bristled and her old, curved spine strained to straighten. It didn’t, and she collapsed back into the pronounced hunch that afflicts the elderly after so many years battling gravity. “Well, I apologize for being such an ungracious host.”

  Host? Was she the unelected, post-apocalyptic hall host?

  “Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”

  Elio must not have heard her right. “What?”

  “Young man, I am too old to waste time repeating myself.”

  “Yes,” Theresa said from behind him.

  She beamed and tapped the broomstick on his chest.

  “Splendid. You go check on your mother and I’ll bake up a fresh batch of cookies. Come by when you’re finished, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Elio didn’t know what to say. So he was polite.

  “Thank you, Ms. Kaminsky. We will.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  They continued down the hall and found the other stairwell door unlocked. They were about to head up when the old lady shouted from down the hall.

  “Walnuts or pecans?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “In the cookies. Which do you prefer?”

  “Pecans.”

  It seemed ridiculous, but if he had a choice, he’d choose pecans any day. Walnuts didn’t have much flavor.

  “I’ll have to see if I have any. I know I had some last week when I baked that pecan pie. But I might’ve used them all up. Maybe I could go around—”

  “No!” Elio shouted. “Walnuts are fine!”

  “Well, if you really don’t mind. I guess—“

  “Thanks," Elio said. "I have to get upstairs to check on my mother."

  She waved them on. "Well, why didn't you say so? Get along now. Tell your mother I said hello and I hope she is well.”

  Elio raced up the stairs doing his best not to slap the concrete with every step. He didn’t want to attract any more attention. The next person to hear them might not be so harmless. He rounded the second, third, and made it to the fourth floor. Breathing hard, he darted out of the stairwell, no longer able to control himself. No longer caring if anyone heard his pounding footsteps. He made it to their apartment, number 407, and tried jamming his key into the keyhole. His shaking hands kept missing.

  Theresa came to his side and wrapped her hands around his and calmly guided them forward. The lock clicked and he threw open the door. "Mom! It's me, Elio! I'm home!”

  He rushed through their tiny living room. The futon couch that also served as his bed at night was in the upright position. He glanced at the kitchen to the left and there wasn't enough room to miss her. He ran into her bedroom and then into the single bathroom.

  That's all there was. It wasn't like you could miss another person in less than five hundred square feet of space.

  Elio sat on her bed as his shoulders crumpled forward. "She's not here. I should've come sooner." A hollow ache in his chest reminded him of the place where his heart had once lived.

  "Maybe she left a note or something to tell you where she went."

  Hope sparked in his chest once again. Maybe she wasn't gone forever. That single candle of burning possibility was everything. But he hesitated getting up from the bed to go check. Because what if there was no note? What if she really was gone forever?

  He wanted to stay seated forever so that the possibility of seeing her again couldn't be extinguished.

  As he set there paralyzed with hope and fear, a scream from outside the window jolted him to his feet.

  “Help! Help me! Help!”

  He jumped to the window and looked out at the street four floors below.

  Halfway down the block, an overweight man wearing only one sneaker fled down the middle of the street. A short sleeve button up shirt clung to his shoulders and trailed out behind as he ran. The grubby white wifebeater stretched around his belly flopped up and down with the rhythmic motion of his legs pumping on the pavement.

  “Help me!” he screamed as he ran.

  Behind him, several deltas pursued. All men. They shouted meaningless gibberish, only the sounds didn't need to form words for the communication to be clear.

  Theresa joined him by the window, and they watched in grim horror.

  The deltas caught the doomed man less than twenty yards from Elio's apartment building. They pulled him down and attacked without hesitation. One bit into his neck and tore out a chunk of flesh. Blood spurted out and arced over splashing little puddles on the pavement.

  “No! No!”

  Another bite and the man’s struggling limbs went limp. His resistance weakened as the deltas began to devour him. They each took their share of the prize with a quiet cooperation that was unsettling.

  Elio turned away and pulled Theresa with him as the beasts began to tear the body apart.

  They hunted, killed, and ate human beings.

  Elio realized they w
eren't zombies like you always read about. They weren't one giant, homogenous mass of flesh-eating idiots. They were smarter than that. The incident on the highway yesterday meant they had tribes or groups that stuck together and were willing to battle outsiders for resources.

  They were like cavemen. Or monkeys or something.

  Human, but not quite human.

  Elio held his arm around Theresa’s shoulder as he walked them both back into the living room. "We couldn't have done anything for him."

  Theresa stared at the floor in silence.

  Elio squeezed her in a side hug. "Are you okay?"

  She didn't blink. "They eat people."

  He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

  Yeah, no big deal. Or yeah, that's so messed up.

  He didn't know what to think about it himself, and so he had nothing to offer for support. He was grateful to have his attention drawn away as he spotted a piece of paper on the kitchen counter with a can of his favorite soup, chunky clam chowder, anchoring it down. He picked it up.

  "Theresa! Look!" He flapped the sheet of paper wildly in the air. "Come on!”

  Theresa stared at him blankly, still overwhelmed at what they’d just seen.

  Elio grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door. "The note says my mom is on the third floor at Ms. Garcia’s!”

  Hope once again flared in his chest. He raced down the hall dragging Theresa along. He took the stairs two at a time and got to Ms. Garcia’s door in record time. He pounded on it yelling for his mother, utterly oblivious to the danger so much noise created.

  “Mama! It's me! Open the door!"

  The door swung open and there she was. Looking skinnier and dirtier than he'd ever seen. But she was alive!

  “Mijo," she said as he collapsed into her open arms.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  When Elio finally stopped crying, his mother’s shirt was as soaked as his own. Part of him had never believed he would see her again. That the odds were too long and his hope a childish rejection of cold reality. Like closing his eyes would make the bad things disappear.

  But she was alive!