Paradise: An Apocalyptic Novel

by Erik, Nicholas

  She could hear Jackson’s sighs deepen, and he sounded almost content. This reprieve was brief; before he could think twice, or jerk his hand away, she yanked it from the water and lit the torch.

  The whole jungle heard what sounded like the voice of a dying, pained man. Except Jackson wasn’t dying; not even close. No, this was a resurrection of sorts—minus a few fingers.

  Amanda flipped the torch off and removed her mask. The scent of burnt flesh hung in the air. Jackson moaned, but he’d stopped trying to bust his voice box once the heat was gone.

  “How you feel, buddy,” she asked, removing the grimy bandana from his mouth, “not too bad, right?”

  “Like going home,” he said, words tumbling from his mouth in a low, exhausted tone, “like going home.”

  She mopped his brow, and then did her own. Despite her own lack of injuries, she too was dripping sweat. That type of scream—not to mention the job—will do that to a person. Glancing down at her handy-work, she saw that it’d stopped bleeding; the stumps, while charred, appeared to be closed.

  She got another bottle of whiskey from the shelf and took a swig. Jackson was asleep, but this had to get done.

  The jungle was again pierced by a guttural scream.

  On the edge of the homestead, out of the electric fence’s range, the Bengal traipsed back and forth, ears flicking with each yell. The blood had dried, and his prey was gone. Another day, perhaps. The beast gave a final, somewhat forlorn glance at the small building, and then bounded off into the endless green, swallowed up by nature once more.

  Night fell, and Jackson awoke, his brow racked by fever. Amanda sat above him, wringing out the cool rag on his forehead.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’re going to be fine.”

  “We got them, though, didn’t we?” He grinned; she’d dug up an old medical kit that had long been forgotten about. There’d been some morphine in it; this wasn’t the standard issue red box.

  “Yeah, Jackson, we did.” She did her best to return his grin, but she couldn’t; his fever had been rising each hour, and was now 104, 105. He coughed, and it seemed like his whole being rattled when he did.

  “I feel cold,” he said. She hoped that it wasn’t the virus that’d been sweeping the mainland. She jammed a thermometer into his mouth and waited. His eyes rolled back, taken by sleep.

  103. It was going down.

  She breathed deep. Not the virus, just a reaction. Her hands on his chest, she could feel it going up, down, up, down—shallow, but sure. She couldn’t lose him, too. Tears that would never come tugged at her eyelids.

  He was going to be okay—the only question, then, was if it’d be in time. Behind her, their cache gleamed in the bright night, stars shining through the window. Better than gold, and, at this point, worth more.

  Amanda kept her eyes open until she couldn’t any more, until the dawn crept upon the night, relieving it of its duties. Her eyes heavy, the bottle slipped from her hand, skittering on the floor before tipping over at her feet. She didn’t notice the brown pool forming; dreams had taken her far away, to a time and a place if not better, then different.

  And, right now, that would have to do.

  10

  Changing of the Guard

  A coup had taken place on The Hideaway. Maverick had been usurped as the leader, with little fanfare or protest. Cole was the guy giving the orders. It’d been two days since Ziggy’s brains had exploded across the table.

  That seemed reason enough to back a different horse.

  “I want him placed under house arrest,” Cole said, “make sure he’s not stirring up anyone. And throw that girl Penelope in with him and his wife. That’ll be a hell of a group.” He was addressing a small contingent: Davey, Britt, Abel, Bebe and Mandy.

  “I ain’t doing that,” Bebe said, wearing her AK-47 across her chest like it was a piece from Tiffany’s, “too much work.” She looked bored by the conversation. Maverick wasn’t much of a threat—and if he turned out to be, well, her services were in high demand in disaster scenarios.

  A roar punctuated the meeting; a mile off, maybe more, but it still seemed immediate, visceral. The animals were getting restless. The group shivered; they’d all heard the stories about the strange game preserve here, how it’d been overrun and overgrown, long forgotten.

  They didn’t know about the Ambrosia-doped tigers, bears and other mutant critters, of course, but they heard them. And it was happening more often; three, four times in the past hour.

  Cole glanced over his shoulder.

  “Loud one, isn’t he,” he said, trying to make it sound casual. It didn’t work. He knew what those things were like; he knew what had happened during the Ambrosia Incident. “Any volunteers, then, for keeping our beloved adventurer under a watchful eye?”

  “We’ll trade off,” Davey said, stepping forward, dragging Britt with him.

  “Like hell we will,” Britt said, resisting as well he could, like a kid being brought to the dentist. It didn’t matter; Davey held firm. Britt gave in and stood there, kicking the imaginary dust at this feet.

  “Good.” Cole didn’t say anything else for a while. The silence was a little eerie, given how noisy the house had been only a few days before. “We need to get people vaccinated, too.”

  “How do you figure we do that,” Bebe said, “and how do you know there’s a vaccine?”

  The group looked at their new leader, wide-eyed and expectant.

  “Right, right,” he said, looking for the words, “I was thinking that we should get on that. One of you is a doctor, or a chemist?”

  Mandy raised her hand and focused her gaze on Cole’s pricey shoes.

  “I’d need a lab, though…”

  “No matter,” Cole said, stopping her, “it’s all taken care of.”

  “And a live sample of the virus.”

  “Any volunteers for that?”

  No one said anything until the air was punctuated by Bebe ratcheting the AK-47. Everyone jumped.

  “I got it, I guess,” Abel said, “tell me what to do.”

  “You two can sort that out,” Cole replied, gesturing towards Mandy, “in the meantime, the rest of you get to it.” He turned on his heel, with what he hoped was a confident flourish, and exited the dining room.

  Upstairs, Bebe sat on his bed, tapping a leather boot against the ground.

  “So, pops, you want to tell me about this vaccine? I mean the truth, not the dog and pony show you ran downstairs.”

  “Not now.”

  “I should’ve been clearer.” Little icicles dripped from the edges of her voice. Cole didn’t turn around.

  “My…contact reached out to me.”

  She whistled through her teeth, low, pursing her perfect lips together. “You’re a cold old bag, you know that, dude? You cause this whole thing, and you got the cure?”

  “Best to be prepared, wouldn’t you say?” Cole stared at her. “Is that all?”

  “This contact got a name? Or you gonna keep being shady?”

  “Gold. His name is Gold.”

  “Last name, first name?”

  “I don’t goddamn know. Didn’t ask.”

  “Whoa, old man,” she said with a shrill laugh, “calm down there. Wouldn’t want your blood pressure or something to pop your heart.”

  “I’m doing fine, thanks.”

  “So what’d Gold need from you?”

  “A distribution mechanism.”

  “How?”

  “You know all those energy supplements we sell?” FitTech was one of the market leaders in the over-the-counter supplement business.

  “Damn. Think of the children,” Bebe said with a smirk, “you’re a real bastard, you know that? And in return?”

  “I got to be the bastard in charge.”

  “And all tha
t for a seat at the big kids’ table?”

  With this, Cole smiled, but didn’t turn around. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his face; she could hear the pleasure, the glee in his voice.

  “Not just any seat. The throne.”

  “Doesn’t sound like there’s much of a world left,” she said with a shrug, before heading to the door. “Pretty sad throne. But hey, if that’s what gets you hard, I’ll play ball.”

  The door shut behind her. Maybe it was a sad throne; but he’d already won, already proven he was king. The people who hadn’t seen it before, they had to see it now.

  Or, rather, they couldn’t. Because they were dead, and the only one who knew about it were him, Bebe and Gold’s people. That’s what happens when greatness wasn’t recognized, Cole reasoned. Punishments had to be meted out.

  He was so busy caught up in his own grandiose visions that he never stopped to consider what Gold was getting out of it. Because no one kills off the planet without a reason.

  Not even a psychopath.

  11

  Gold

  “This is bullshit.” Josephine threw the radio at Maverick’s head. He ducked just in time; it exploded in a loud crunch against the wall.

  Davey walked in from outside.

  “You guys all right?”

  “Yeah, just fine,” Maverick said. “Having a nice chat.”

  “All right.” Davey went back to his post. Once he’d gone, Maverick shot Josephine a look.

  She wasn’t taking well to the house arrest, and he wasn’t either—the only difference, then, was how they were acting. He was trying to come up with a plan; far as he could tell, she was going to rage out in petty ways. Typical. She’d always been a nutcase.

  Hot, but a nutcase.

  “Can we can talk this out like adults?” He glanced over at Penelope, who was sharing this makeshift brig—the master bedroom, which wasn’t a bad cell, all things considered—for her rather public affair with the CEO. She looked away.

  “If you don’t have a plan, then we have nothing to talk about.” Josephine’s eyes spit skewers from across the room. “Do you?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Typical.” She went into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Maverick tended to agree, but he didn’t say anything. A bonafide gold-digger, that one. Not good for end of the world scenarios. He clasped his hands together.

  “I got a plan,” he said.

  “Better be a good one,” Penelope said, and moved in closer.

  First it was the air conditioning, then the lights; now the water filters were down. The power still worked, just not to the standards guests of The Hideaway expected—even in crisis situations.

  Cole had a little mutiny on his hands.

  “I can’t take a shit,” Britt said, hands thrown up in the air, “what, am I some sort of savage, out in the woods?”

  “Gentleman—and ladies—I beg you,” Cole began, but his voice was trampled by the cacophony of concern. Bebe fired a shot off, and the whole room quieted.

  “You were saying, Cole,” she said.

  He straightened his jacket, and did his best to act like the blast hadn’t terrified him too.

  “Thank you,” he said. “As I was about to say, this is not optimal—”

  “No kidding,” Britt said under his breath.

  “This is not optimal,” Cole resumed, this time louder, and with more conviction, “but it is what it is. We are working on solutions, and have an exit plan to the mainland.”

  The room buzzed. Bebe tapped her rifle against the door.

  It became silent again.

  “Now, however,” Cole said, “we have some bigger concerns. Our defenses are down, and that means we’re vulnerable to attack.”

  “From who,” Mandy said, “there’s no one else here except the staff, and they don’t have guns.”

  Cole didn’t know about the missing guns beneath the house or Silver’s gang at Silver Village. But he did know plenty about the animals—those freakish beasts lurking just past the electric underground fences.

  All the animals, when they’d been freighted in, were chipped—so that they’d be shocked whenever they passed into the compound. They were all males, so procreation—and, hence, an unchipped animal—wasn’t a concern. They’d all learned to avoid the compound —but who knows how long that would last once the power ate it for good.

  “The animals,” Cole said, almost to himself. Yes, the animals—they’d be a significant problem. It was time to get off this island. A month was too long a timeframe. Everything needed to be pushed up. “Excuse me, I have to do something.”

  He left the group to consider the animals.

  The organizational hierarchy was failing; it looked like it might soon be every man for himself. There were things scarier than psychotic killers and ambitious old men on the island.

  Yes; many things.

  “That’s your master plan,” Penelope said when Maverick finished.

  “Yeah.” Maverick looked a little flustered; he thought it was pretty good. “Simple, but then again, simple works best.” Penelope didn’t look convinced.

  “I have to go out the window?” And she said it like it was the dumbest idea anyone had told her in a while.

  “And find Captain Cooper.”

  “But you just said the boat is messed up.”

  “He’ll lead you to Amanda. She’ll know what to do. She’ll know if there’s anyone else on the island.” He corrected himself. “Who else is on the island.” There was someone else on the island, using the cell tower. “She’ll get us help.”

  “I don’t know,” Penelope said, glancing out the window, “maybe Cole will let me go.”

  “Yeah, Cole’s dying to bring us both along wherever he’s going.” Maverick had the sudden urge to slap her, but he didn’t think that would help the situation. Besides, he didn’t hit women. Even ones who were too smart and crafty for their own good.

  “Hey.”

  “The only reason we’re alive is because he might need something from us. From me. I built this place. I know all its secrets.”

  “Then tell him so that we can leave.”

  Maverick shook his head. “Doesn’t work like that. Either we stay here, and we die God knows when, or you jump out that window, follow the plan and maybe get out of this alive.”

  Maverick’s cards were on the table.

  “How do you know anyone’s out there?”

  “Because I just know.”

  “That’s not good enough.” This chick was a stone-cold operator. Young, but promising. She’d do well in this new world.

  “I’ve got a cell tower on the island, and it was getting some pings when we got here.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Turns out, someone other than me has been making calls. Even when no one’s here.”

  “It could be that girl—”

  “Amanda? I checked the logs,” Maverick said, shaking his head, “it’s someone else.”

  “And you want me to find them?”

  “Just find Captain Cooper.”

  “…Fine.” Penelope didn’t like the plan, but she didn’t have a better one handy. It was maybe die out there, or die for certain in here. She understood odds; she’d take slim ones over zero.

  Maverick resisted the urge to leap up in the air.

  “Good. Let’s begin.” He walked over the bathroom door and rapped his knuckles against the door. “Josephine. Jo? Yeah, we have a plan.” No answer. “Come out, you dumb slut.”

  This got her attention. The door opened a crack.

  “What did you call me?”

  “You’re a dumb, money-grubbing whore.” This wasn’t even an act—on the surface, it was, but Maverick was starting to enjoy it. “And you gi
ve terrible blowjobs.” Which was also true. He’d been meaning to tell her that for awhile.

  She stormed out of the bathroom, door slamming against the tile.

  “You bastard.” She slapped and tore at him. “I’ll kill you!”

  Maverick grabbed at her flailing hands, but she broke free and unleashed a rakish slap across his face. Her nails scraped down his face, just missing his eye. Little rivers of blood dripped from the gashes.

  He roared, which was a new sound for him, and Josephine recoiled. The act was over. This was something else; a new feeling. Maverick lifted her up by the throat, her feet tapping and scratching against the ground, her eyes wide.

  “I…can’t…”

  “What’s that?” He slammed her up against the entry door. This was all the frustration and anger, coming out. Again he knocked her against the door, and again her head jolted like a rag doll. Her eyes began to close, and her movements became less exaggerated.

  But Maverick, he kept breathing heavy, getting louder.

  And Davey—a couple minutes later than expected—broke in. Maverick threw her out in the hallway, racing by Davey.

  Penelope snuck in behind the melee, fished around on Davey’s belt loop. The windows were locked, and he had the key. His focus was on the insanity unfolding on the ground.

  “The hell is going on here, Maverick?” Davey wrapped his brawny arms around Maverick, but the former CEO, he wouldn’t let go, and Davey had to tear the man away from his terrified and half-dead wife.

  He pinned Maverick to the ground, knee on his chest, and looked into the man’s eyes. Maverick’s gaze burned, unwavering.

  Penelope’s fingers snagged the keyring. She tugged, and it let loose. Davey didn’t move. She crept away, the drama still unfolding in the middle of the hallway.

  “Get off me. I’m going to kill the whore.”

  “What the hell got into you?”

  “Get off.” A surge of energy rushed through Maverick’s body, and he flipped Davey’s knee, rushing again to Josephine. It wasn’t civil, it wasn’t fair, and you don’t hit women, but he didn’t care, he just wrapped his hands around her.