by Tim Meyer
“We experienced a serious earthquake earlier today. Know anything about that?”
Aldo waved his hands in the air. “I lost all communication with The Dish since I left. I don't know what the hell is going on there. Chaos, I presume. Which is why what I say next is very important and time sensitive.”
“What's that?”
Aldo leaned forward as if there were other ears in the room. “Once the switch was thrown, The Dish entered lock-down mode. It was a precautionary approach Elias made me design after you tried killing him and everyone else in the world. I guess it was my punishment. No one can get in or out once someone activates the system. I managed to get myself and a few others out before the doors closed for good.”
“How resourceful you are.”
Aldo ignored him. “I accounted for this. After all, you're speaking with the man who designed the fucking system. To get back in, we need a key code.”
“A key code?” Soren asked. “Am I to assume you have this key code?”
Aldo clenched his eyes and sucked air through his teeth. “Actually I don't.”
Soren eyed him warily. He reached for his cigarettes and found his pocket empty. He had left them in the other room.
“There's a young woman in Chicago. She's the only one on the entire planet who can access The Dish's security system. We'll need her.”
“She still alive?”
“God, I hope so. Be a shame, wouldn't it? A real wrinkle in our sheets if we got all the way there and found her dead.”
Soren bit his tongue. “I'm having a hard time believing you.”
“I figured you might. Who could blame you? I only saved your life after you risked ours—for what again? Oh, right. So you could live happily ever after with the love your life.”
Soren ground his teeth together. “I did what I did to protect all of us from a madman.”
“You talked a good game, but once the dust settled, things became clear. The only thing you ever cared about was her. And yourself. You used us. You made us believe that Elias was a madman—and maybe he was—but only because you made him that way. You're as responsible for this mess as much as he is.”
Soren had no words.
“So, it will be my word we trust from here on out. Got it?” Aldo asked, glaring. “Now I suggest we get this train moving. Time is wasting and judging from the ten-point-oh earthquake we all experienced, we don't have much of it.”
With his arm halfway up the vending machine's skirt, the package of sourdough pretzels on the tips of his fingers, Sam heard his stomach growl. Okay, he told his belly, I'm working on it. He pushed harder, working for the extra inch or two that would allow him a good grasp on the plastic packaging. Just a little more. The security flap designed specifically for situations such as this stopped him from getting that much-needed inch. After a painful ten minutes of struggling and altering his approach, Sam threw in the towel. He sat with his back against the motel's snack cubicle, opposite the three vending machines. Lazily kicking the ice machine, he cursed to himself.
“There's an easier way to do that.”
Sam turned to the open doorway and saw Tina standing there, her forearms resting on the jambs. The hunting rifle strapped to her back made her look like an outlaw, and he found it strangely attractive. Loose strands of hair dangled over her eyes, almost seductively. She smiled, amused by Sam's effort.
“How long have you been watching?”
“Long enough.”
She pressed her back against the wall and readied herself. “I've always wanted to do this.” She took one step and kicked the thick glass protecting many full rows of candy bars and potato chips. The glass cracked on the first attempt, but didn't break. Two more, and the glass separated into several pieces and fell to the ground, granting them access to whatever treat they desired. Sam immediately went for the pretzels, tore the bag open and shoveled the small crunchy bites into his mouth.
“Hungry?” Tina asked, grinning. She went for the Crunch on the second shelf.
“Just a little,” he said, his mouth full. “Where'd you go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was looking for you before. Couldn't find you.”
“I was around,” she said, chewing her chocolate bar. “Can't a girl go to the bathroom in peace?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I was worried about you.”
Her chewing slowed. “Worried about me?”
“Yeah... you know.”
She eyed him warily, her lips forming a flattered smile. “No, I don't. Tell me.”
Sam swallowed the half-chewed pretzels in his mouth and leaned in. Tina stayed where she was, refusing to meet him halfway. She could have stopped him or tilted her head sideways or told him no, but she did none of those things. Sam pressed his lips against hers and kissed. She kissed back, softly at first, as if she wasn't sure she should, but the longer the moment carried on, the more passionate pressure she put into it. After a short fifteen seconds, they parted. Tina's eyes darted to the ground while Sam wiped excess saliva off his lips with his sleeve.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“No, it's fine.”
“I don't know what got into me.”
“You don't have to apologize.”
“It's the whole apocalypse thing: I'm hungry, my stomach was going nuts—you come in with the gun on your back, looking all sexy—then you put your foot through the machine and I lost it—”
“Sam?” Tina said, still grinning, but only looking half as happy as she was moments ago.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.” The grin remained. “Don't ruin it.”
“I understand. Play it cool.”
She rolled her eyes. Several seconds passed. They shared them in silence, childish smiles claiming their faces. Sam felt like a teenager who had secretly kissed his best friend's hot sister in the coat closet. A pang of giddiness spelled his mood.
“So.... you want to do it again?” he asked.
Tina started to laugh when the sound of glass shattering came from the center of the parking lot. They looked at each other and thought the same thing: the cruiser.
-4-
Soren, Mouth, and the remaining passengers sat in silence as the train powered on and began its journey north-west. Mouth stared at Soren, hating the cryptic man for making him leave Shondra's body on the boarding platform like an emaciated dog in a grungy back alley. Soren ignored his gaze, his mind swimming in pools of more concerning thoughts. After the train uncoiled and left the station, Aldo opened the cabin door and stood before them, looking satisfied.
“Gotta love technology. We're on automatic pilot from here to Pittsburgh,” he told them, tossing his conductor's hat on the first empty seat available.
“Pittsburgh?” Becky asked.
“Yes, my lady. We're going to need the charging station there. We'll spend the day. The station won't give us a full charge, but it'll be enough to get us to the next station in Chicago. There are five charging stations in all. Once we get to Chicago, we're going to have to spend a few days there. One, to let the train get a full charge, the other because I have some business to attend.”
“What fucking business?” Mouth asked.
Aldo raised his eyebrows. “Need to find someone. Won't be easy. Chicago has become an... interesting place since...”
“The Burn?” Dana asked.
“The Burn,” Aldo repeated, amused. “Yes, that's it. I've heard other names for it, but The Burn—so far—is my favorite.”
“I don't understand why we have to stop at all,” Becky said. “Aren't there panels on top of the train? I saw panels.”
“Yes, there are. But they only help hold the charge. Our designers preferred aesthetics over efficiency. We didn't have our current situation in mind when we engineered her.”
“You say 'we' like you had something to do with this,” Mouth said.
“Aldo Hood, lead engineer for SUN-TRAC. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Mouth muttered, “Fuck you” under his breath.
“I'd like to apologize for your friend. I didn't know the situation. I saw my old pal about to get his head smashed in and I reacted hastily. If there's one thing I've learned from this scary new world, it's shoot first, ask for forgiveness later. I've seen many people die who believed the contrary.”
No one forgave Aldo. They turned their heads away from him, looking out their designated windows and into near darkness, scanning the faded city outline under a pale moon and star-studded sky.
“You should consider yourselves lucky. You're the first people to put this train to the test. She's been sitting in The Snake—that's what we called the charging station back in Virginia—for two years, awaiting its initial launch. However, SUN-TRAC was a project the Wheeler Corporation wasn't too eager to finish. No money in it yet, and too many other projects required all hands on deck—”
“I don't think we give much a shit about your history lesson, chiefy,” Mouth said. “I myself would like to know how you two knucklefuckers know each other and exactly what kind of shit-storm we have coming our way.”
Aldo stood, staring Mouth in the eyes. “Alan—I mean, Soren—and I used to work together. Nothing more than a couple of colleagues. Isn't that right, old pal?”
Soren nodded subtly.
“And I wouldn't call what lies ahead a shit-storm. Rough times? Maybe. Perilous territory? Sure. But keep your wits about you, and you'll be fine. Hell, you might even fit in.”
“I don't think Chicago is safe for a couple of teenage girls. I didn't go into Richmond, but I heard a lot of noises. Shouting. People. Sounded chaotic. I think we should avoid big cities.” He jerked his head at Becky and Dana. “Maybe you can drop us off somewhere beforehand and come back and get us when you're finished with your giant circle jerk.”
Aldo almost laughed. “What's your name again?”
“Fuck you, that's my name.”
“Mouth,” Soren answered for him.
“Fitting.” Aldo chuckled. “Mouth, with that kind of attitude—and that manner of speaking—you're going to find yourself in a world of trouble. I suggest you be a little more like the rest of your fellow passengers.” He walked over to Soren and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The company you keep nowadays,” he said, whispering into his ear.
The ninja put the tip of the blade to his throat. Brian swallowed, closing his eyes, unable to watch his own execution. He thought about all the good times he had. It was true what they said—in your final moments you remember everything at once, an entire life experienced in a nanosecond. Tears squeezed out of his clenched eyes. He sniffled and whispered, “I'm ready.”
“Stand up,” a woman's voice said.
The sharp tip on his trachea receded. Opening his eyes, he saw the ninja had unmasked herself. Long black hair flowed past her shoulders, flaring in the faint breeze that hustled through the tunnel. Her toffee-colored skin was smooth, free from age-related cracks and crevices. She was younger than Brian by nearly a decade.
“Stand,” she repeated.
Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, using the car for support. “Who are you?”
“What's it to you?” she asked, continuing to point her sword at him.
“I'm not one of them.”
“I know.”
“You've been watching them. Haven't you?”
He took her silence as “Yes.”
“Thank you,” Brian said. “For rescuing me.”
“I wasn't rescuing you.” She lowered her blade. “I was killing monsters.”
“There was more of my group. Two—”
“Dead.”
Brian froze in horror.
“They killed them. Not me.”
“I'm Brian.”
“I know.”
Confused, Brian tilted his head.
“I've been listening and watching for quite some time. Planning carefully.” She pointed back the way she came, to the severed head sitting in the middle of the tunnel. “They've been at it for months. Taking people. Raping them. Killing them. I had to stop it. No one else would. I've watched dozens of parties pass through here, eager to give up their women for safe passage. This one,” she said, looking down at Mole's bloody corpse, kicking him in the head. “This one promises he wants to build a better world, repopulate, but the women never make it through the rapings. I had to do something.”
“You did the right thing.”
“You should leave. There's nothing left here but death and it reeks of decadence.”
“Where are we going?”
Wriggling her brow, she asked, “We?”
“I'm alone. I won't make it by myself. Neither will you.”
Silence.
“At least tell me your name.”
She sighed deeply.
“Please.”
“Rachel.”
“Thank you, Rachel, for all you've done.”
She turned and he reached out, grabbing the hand not carrying the katana. She whirled, placing the blade across his throat.
“Whoa!” Brian cried.
“Who said you could touch me?”
“I... wanted...”
“What?”
“Nothing. I'm sorry.”
“You should find a safe place, Brian.”
He kicked a pebble across the pavement, losing it in the shadows ahead. “I don't know if such a place exists anymore.”
“Sure it does,” Rachel said. “You just haven't found it yet.”
-5-
Matty drew the shades shut. He backed into the bed and sat down. Behind him, Bob and Jarvis helped Lilah into the bathroom. Her body was shaking and her skin remained pale, the fever holding strong. Matty heard his mother whispering in his ear, telling him to come, but he ignored her and stared at the blinds. His mother's fingers interlocked with his own. She squeezed. Ignoring her, he thought about the policeman. Had he somehow survived? Tracked them to this motel? No, it was impossible. Bob had turned Matty's head, preventing him from witnessing the man die at his father's hands, but he was dead with a capital “D.” The psychotic man was likely where they left him, unless it was the officer's vengeful spirit outside.
“Matty, come,” Brenda said, tugging his hand.
Slowly, he turned to his mother. “Who's outside?”
“I don't know, sweetheart.”
“We need guns. To protect ourselves.”
She squeezed his hand, harder than she meant to. “No, Matty. We don't. We need to hide. They've likely come to raid the rooms for supplies and food and whatever else they can find. And we don't know if they're friendly or not.”
“They're not.”
Confused, Brenda rubbed his arm. “Why do you say that?”
“No good people are left.”
She didn't disagree. “Get inside the bathroom. We need to make sure Lilah is comfortable in there.”
Dreamily, he walked with his mother across the room, past Bob and into the bathroom.
Once the four of them settled inside, Bob said, “I'll stay out here.”
“No,” Brenda said. “Stay with us.”
He wiped layers of sweat from his brow. “Somebody has to stay by the front door. To run interference in case they're after more than food and supplies.”
“Interference?” Brenda scoffed.
“I can draw them away from here.”
“Bob, no. You need to stay here, with us.” She reached for his hand. “To protect us.”
“Jarvis can protect you in here.” Taking a step back, he dodged her hand. “Odds are they're a couple of kids looking to make a little trouble. But if not... I'll need to get them away from this room. So you can escape.”
Hating the idea and Bob's sudden courage, she sniffled. “Okay... fine. If you have to.”
Bob rolled his eyes, recognizing her tone, knowing it well. “God, Brenda, please don't be like that. Not over this. I'm only doing this to keep you and Matty safe. If there was another way—”
“There is. Stay with us, and let them pass.”
Bob pointed at the front door. “Sam and Tina are out there.”
“I don't give a shit about them. They can take care of themselves. We are in here, and we don't have any weapons. And—”
“Actually,” Jarvis said, pulling out the .38 Special he had tucked in his pants. “I got this off our friendly-neighborhood police officer back there. Figured it might come in handy.”
Brenda turned back to Bob. He was already moving toward the front door.
“Jarvis will protect you,” he said, already at the window, splitting the shades apart with his fingers.
“I count six men,” Sam said, peeking through the wrought-iron railing. Tina looked over his shoulder, keeping invisible from their mystery guests' eyes. All four of the cruiser's doors were open, and three of the men were ransacking the interior. Two others popped the trunk and rummaged through, tossing unwanted materials over their shoulders, littering the parking lot with traffic cones, first aid kits, and wads of paperwork. Another man with a black bandanna covering everything from his nose down sat on the hood, staring up at the rooms. He peeled up the bottom of his bandanna and bit into an apple he'd been tossing in his hand. He chewed slowly and swallowed. Occasionally, he checked on his fellow hoodlums, watching them much like a guard over a group of prisoners cleaning the side of the road. Sam noticed they all wore the same black bandannas, but each had their own distinct clothing. The man on the hood wore a white T-shirt, a rippling American flag printed on the chest. The others wore nondescript clothing of various dark colors. Sam watched American-Flag eat his apple down to the core and toss it onto the pavement. As his cronies finished digging through the car—one of them removing the shotgun nestled between the front seats—American-Flag stood on the cruiser's hood and cupped his hands over his mouth.
“WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!” he shouted. “Come out and say hello! We won't bite!”
The five men snickered behind him. Each of them had stripped something useful from the cruiser and were holding the items in their hands. Food, camping gear, and weapons were among the things they found, and apparently, they weren't satisfied with their discovery. They wanted more. Much more.
