by Tinnean
Surviving the Apocalypse
By Tinnean
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2018 Tinnean
ISBN 9781634867184
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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This is for Bob, because even short stories are for him. Many thanks to Gail for her help in beta-ing this story.
You can find The World, the Flesh, and the Devil, the movie mentioned in this story, at IMDB.com.
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Surviving the Apocalypse
By Tinnean
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Lyncoln Ryland might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but there was one thing he was good at—his night job at the Laurel Hill Mall, where he worked in maintenance, getting it cleaned up and ready for the next day’s visit by shoppers. It didn’t take very long; he’d been doing it for ten years, since he’d graduated high school, and had a routine he followed religiously.
The quiet dimness of the mall at night was a comfort; Lync preferred not to be in contact with the crowds of humanity who poured in during the day. He adjusted the earbuds he wore and listened to the newest playlist he’d put together for his MP3 player, which was tucked in his shirt pocket.
It wasn’t a very large mall, although from what he’d heard, the James family, who had purchased it a few years before, had plans to expand it beyond the hodgepodge of stores it currently housed: grocery, sporting goods, hardware, a fast-food restaurant, The Hamilton, a single-screen movie theater, and even Bow, Wow, and Meow, the Humane Society facility that was empty just now, having had its last occupants this cycle adopted out. Adam James, IV, the only son, had been put in charge of the project. He’d already enclosed the free-standing buildings, putting them under one roof in hopes it would encourage shoppers when the weather turned crappy, and included an ornamental fountain in the courtyard that was now at the center of the space. An additional store selling electronics had been built recently and was scheduled for a soft opening within the next couple of weeks. Lync was inclined to think that would draw more shoppers than having the mall enclosed, but he was just the maintenance man, and what did he know?
He finished the newest addition to his duties—cleaning the curved glass section of ceiling that vaulted over the courtyard—and he lowered the articulating boom lift, which was just a fancy name for a cherry picker. When Mr. James had told him he’d have to look after the glass portion of the ceiling, Lync had said, “That’s awful high.”
Mr. James had smiled at him, almost taking Lync’s breath away. It was a nice smile. “I’ll get you something to take care of it,” Mr. James had assured him.
Lync had never expected anything like the bright yellow cherry picker, and he promised to take real good care of it.
“Just don’t fall off and crack your skull,” Mr. James said with another smile, and Lync felt his heart lurch. The man was only a year or so older than him, and his mink-brown hair and eyes were so attractive…
Down, boy, he’d ordered his dick. Not only was Mr. James Lync’s boss, but he had a college degree and came from a wealthy family, while Lync had barely made it through the general courses his high school had offered. Although he had done well when it came to the vocational courses he’d taken. And on top of that, Mr. James was seeing a young man whose family was almost as wealthy as his and who’d just graduated college himself.
That didn’t stop Lync from dreaming about Mr. James, though, and waking up from those dreams with his hand wrapped around his dick. If things had been different—if he’d grown up on Mr. James’s side of town, or if Mr. James had grown up on his, they would have gone to school together. They might even have been engaged by this point.
Lync sighed. Things weren’t different, though. He worked here in the mall Mr. James owned, and any day now Mr. James would probably be announcing his engagement to someone not Lync.
Lync rolled the lift to the utility room that had been built into the rear of the mall and was almost as large as a one-car garage. This was something else Mr. James had decided was necessary and which Lync appreciated, since not only was there a place for the many new and improved tools for his job, but also a space for the motor scooter he rode to work each afternoon. Best of all, when the mall was finally fully expanded, Lync would get to be the boss of an enlarged night crew.
With the lift put away and the bucket he’d used emptied and rinsed, he washed his hands and unlocked the doors to Walter’s Burgers and Dogs. Other maintenance men at other malls might take home more in their paychecks, but this was one of the perks working at the Laurel Hill Mall. Mr. James had given him permission to help himself to a meal each night, as long as he cleaned up afterward.
He didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights—he could make his way around the compact mall with his eyes blindfolded. Besides, he’d always had excellent night vision, and the emergency lights inside Walter’s made it bright enough for him to see what he was doing.
Walter’s had had a delivery earlier in the day, so everything was extra fresh. He grilled himself a hamburger, added a slice of cheese, then piled on lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and pickles, and helped himself to a soda. Walter’s also stocked beer, but Lync never drank when he was on the job.
Once he’d finished eating, he cleaned up, pulled the doors shut behind him and locked them, and went to the movie theater. He had a couple of hours to kill before he had to make a final check of the mall. Then his job would be done for the night, and he’d go home and clean his own apartment before finally going to bed.
Lync let himself into the theater, which, like all the other buildings, was small, seating twenty-five people at most. Mr. James had decided to make it retro, and he was marketing it as featuring movies from the silent era on up to the films of the sixties and seventies.
Lync turned off his MP3 player and removed the earbuds, letting them dangle around his neck. He took a couple of dollars from his pocket and left them for a box of chocolate-covered raisins, then set a movie into the projector and made himself comfortable in a seat at the back of the theater.
He sighed. It would have been nice to have a date beside him, even if it wasn’t Mr. James, but not many men could tolerate the hours he kept. It had been a long time since he’d had a boyfriend—he thought regretfully of Laurie Parkinson, the last man he’d dated until his job came between them—and almost as long since he�
�d had any sort of sex except with his hand.
For a second, he let himself think of Adam James, IV, again. The man was so sexy, and he was gay to boot, but he was so far out of Lync’s league it wasn’t funny.
He sighed again, opened the box of chocolate-covered raisins, shook out a handful, and began nibbling them while he fastened his gaze on the screen.
The title cards flashed across the screen: The World, the Flesh, and the Devil. Lync hadn’t seen the 1959 movie in a while, but he’d always been a fan of Harry Belafonte. He slid back in the seat, crossed his feet at the ankle, and settled in to watch the action unfold as the miner Mr. Belafonte played was caught in the collapse of the mine he’d been in while unbeknownst to him, the world above fell apart.
Chapter 2
Shake, rattle, and roll. That was what it felt like, topped off by a boom that almost shattered Lync’s eardrums. The contents of the box of chocolate-covered raisins flew through the air while Lync went skidding off the seat to land hard on his tailbone.
“Ow.” He lurched to his feet and tried to rub the ache from his butt. The screen had gone dark, and only the emergency lights continued to cast a red glow. “Shit. We must have lost power,” he muttered to himself. “Again.”
It was probably a thunderstorm, and a lightning strike must have taken out the power lines, something that had happened before, although not as often since the James family had bought Laurel Hill Mall. Prior to that, Lync had made what repairs he could, but it was a relief Mr. James’d had all the electrical wiring brought up to code.
Lync pressed the knob on his watch that illuminated the dial and read the time. Two a.m.? Geez, he must have fallen asleep. He should have made his last rounds hours ago. Well, he’d take care of it now and write on his time card that he left at his regular time.
He limped down to the mall’s basement and through a door that led to the electrical room. He’d throw the emergency switch and get the power working again.
Only when he did, nothing happened. He’d dealt with situations like this before, and this fell into the power company’s area of expertise. He’d just have to put in a call to Laurel Hill Power and Light. He reached for the phone on the wall and started to dial, only to realize there was no dial tone.
He blew out a breath and hung up, then took out his cell phone and dialed, but once again he got nothing.
Well, shoot. Isn’t this special?
Still, this was his mall, and he had responsibilities. He checked that all the emergency exits were secured before he made his way into the mall proper.
He was startled, however, when he realized he could see through the glass doors that now closed off the entry into the mall. Why wasn’t the metal wall that came down after closing hours to shield those doors not blocking his view?
“Oh, right.” They were set up to automatically raise when they lost power. The company that had installed them had instructed him about it. In a case like this, a long, telescoping pole with a hook at the end would need to be inserted into a loop at the top and manually turned to bring it down again.
Lync skirted the fountain, which obviously wasn’t working, and approached the west side of the mall. The pole he’d need to lower the metal wall was in a narrow cabinet in a corner where the inner doors met the wall of Nick’s, the sporting goods store. He took out his keyring and found the key to the cabinet. He unlocked it, but curiosity got the better of him, and instead of reaching for the pole, he twisted the latch of one of the inner doors and stepped out into the night. All the lights were out: street lights, the traffic lights leading into the mall. Even the houses across the boulevard were in total darkness.
He tipped his head back, anticipating the vision of a star-spangled sky. Even in a city as small as Laurel Hill, there were enough lights to obscure the night sky, but now—a heavy overlay of clouds concealed it. He drew in a breath, but instead of the cool night breeze he expected to inhale, his nostrils were filled with the acrid scent of things burning, and he began coughing. He walked farther into the parking lot, and a glance to the north revealed red-tinged clouds. Could some of the homes in the subdivision just outside of town have been set on fire by a lightning strike?
The odd thing was the parking lot and the sidewalks were dry. Yeah, very odd. If not a lightning strike, what could have caused the power outage?
He was distracted by the throaty roar of a powerful engine, followed by the squeal of tires as a BMW tore into the empty parking lot, taking the turn on two wheels.
This could be a group of rich kids out joyriding, taking advantage of the loss of power. Lync had heard from other maintenance men of their malls being trashed by kids with more money than sense, and nothing like that was happening on his watch. He backed away until he stood inside the entryway and reached for the door to yank it shut.
The windows of the BMW were tinted, making it impossible to see who was in the car, and Lync backed away another step. The engine turned off, and a man shoved open the driver’s side door, almost falling out of the car. “No, wait. Please!”
Lync recognized him, recognized his voice. It was Adam James. His overcoat flapped open over a very classy tuxedo, but his bowtie hung undone and his hair was disheveled.
“What are you doing here?” According to the society section—not that Lync usually read it—well, only if Adam James was mentioned—tonight was a gala to raise money for the Laurel Hill Children’s Hospital. The gala was being held in the opera house at the state’s capital, which was some distance away, and for Mr. James to be here at this time of night was unusual.
“This was the best place I could think of.”
“What?”
“I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”
Lync blinked in confusion. “Tell who what?”
“Everyone at the gala. They panicked and ran for their cars.” He was almost sobbing, and that shook Lync. Mr. James had always been one of the most composed men he’d ever met. “They wouldn’t listen to me,” he repeated as he rubbed a hand over his face.
Lync swallowed heavily and felt his sphincter clench. He didn’t know what was going on, but Mr. James’s panic was contagious.
“My date and his parents took off in their Rolls. I tried to follow them, but by the time I reached my BMW, there were too many cars between us.”
“They didn’t wait for you?”
He shook his head.
Well, that sucked. If Lync had a boyfriend like Mr. James, he’d never leave him behind, no matter what.
Just then, the quiet of the night was shattered by the shriek of sirens—not the wail of the volunteer fire department’s trucks on the way to the scene, but the Civil Defense sirens that were still in place—Laurel Hill was slow to move past the post-Cold War era, and even slower to enter the twenty-first century.
“What’s happening?”
“Didn’t you listen to the radio?”
“I didn’t have it on.” His hand went to the earbuds hanging from his neck. His MP3 player offered the option of tuning in to local radio stations, but Lync rarely took advantage of it.
“That maniac in North Korea is threatening to fire off his ICBMs—portions of East Asia are already decimated—and the military convinced the president to declare a national state of emergency. If those missiles are fired, they would be making landfall on this coast soon.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Precisely.” Mr. James’s laugh was almost hysterical. “We only have about half an hour to get to shelter.”
Shelter. Yeah, that made sense. When the James family had had the mall inspected before buying it, they’d discovered the movie house—the oldest building in the mall, so old it dated back to the early 1950s—had a fallout shelter below its basement. Even Lync hadn’t known about that shelter, in spite of the fact he’d worked in the strip mall for ten years and had passed the time by exploring it. Rather than get rid of the shelter, Mr. James had decided to keep it and use it for storage, and Lync would occa
sionally go down to make sure everything was in working order and to study the slice of early paranoia.
Not so paranoid now, as it turned out.
“Get inside,” he said.
“My car? In case we need it afterward?”
Lync nodded and set about unlatching the doors. Management had chosen this specific system in hopes that one day they’d be able to hold an antique car exhibit inside the mall. With the doors unlatched, he shoved one set of them to fold into themselves like an accordion while Mr. James got back into his car, turned on the engine, and drove it carefully toward the open space. Within less than a minute, the BMW was parked to the side of the fountain, and Mr. James turned off the ignition and rejoined him.
“Will anyone else be coming to take shelter here?” Lync asked as he dragged out the wall of doors and fastened them in place.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The highway was packed, but everyone seemed to be heading south, away from the capital. I didn’t see anyone coming in this direction.”
“All righty, then. I’ll get cracking and button us up.” Lync had already taken the pole from its compartment. Once the security gate came down, there would be about eight inches between the inner doors and the gate, just enough room for him to do this if he sucked in his gut. He extended the pole, slid the hook into the stainless steel loop, and began turning it, lowering the metal gates that would shield the doors.
“Hurry,” Mr. James panted under his breath as he stared past the narrowing space. “Hurry. Hurry.”
Sweat was dripping down Lync’s cheekbones by the time the gates were down and locked into place. “How much time do we have, Mr. James?”
Mr. James peered at the expensive watch on his wrist. Of course the dial was illuminated. “About twenty-five minutes.”
“Okay. You know where the shelter is. Go. I’ll be along in a minute.” Lync closed and locked the inner door. He didn’t bother fumbling to replace the pole in its compartment, just propped it in the corner. “Okay,” he said again. He turned to race to Uncle Frankie’s. They’d need as much nonperishable food as he could get into a shopping cart, as well as enough cases of water to last as long as…well, however long they needed it.
