The Eclective: The Apocalypse Collection

by The Eclective

  I shook her off. “It’s better than just sitting here.”

  I pushed open the door and slid out of the Jeep, my feet hitting the asphalt with a thud. The hood popped, and a moment later Jessie joined me at the front of the vehicle.

  “Here.” I handed her the flashlight, and as she aimed it, I pulled up the hood and gazed down at the engine.

  Or what I assumed was the engine. There was a whole lot of hissing, ticking, and popping going on under there, and I couldn’t tell the battery from the spark plugs from the oil tank. There could have been a tap-dancing leprechaun in there, and I’d have thought he belonged. I bit my lower lip, frowning into the mess of wires and boxes.

  “What now?” Jessie asked, a note of I-told-you-so in her voice. At least she’d indulged me, anyway.

  “We walk?” I gazed around. The land around us was lit by the reflection of the night sky above the cloud cover, the way a rainy night in a metropolis would be lit by the man-made lights.

  “We don’t even know where we are in reference to the base. We can’t walk on the highway!” Jessie sobbed once, her face falling into the crook of her arm as she tried to stem the tears before they came.

  I closed the space between us, wrapping her trembling body into the circle of my arms. “Shh, shh,” I said, rocking her.

  When she finally looked up, our lips met with a kind of panic, as if it would be the last time. She was so soft, so warm on my skin, her lips moist and tasting of her favorite peppermint lip gloss. I moved my hands beneath her form-fitting T-shirt, the feel of her back like a drug to me.

  The kiss broke. She trailed the fingers of one hand down my cheek. “We need to go. Now.”

  I nodded.

  It was a chore getting Marci out of the car. We woke her up, and then propped the girl between us, urging her to walk. As quietly as possible, we moved forward on the road, Jessie and I with our guns in our other hands.

  We walked maybe twenty minutes when the hoofbeats reached my ears. My grip tightened involuntarily on Marci, and I felt Jessie’s arm tense.

  Jessie looked around Marci’s lolling head, her eyes wide, but I put a finger to my lips before she spoke. They would hear even just a whisper.

  I picked up the pace, and Jessie did too, the two of us carrying Marci’s weight as we did some mockery of a stumbling run. We were wide open, visible from all around. There was nowhere to hide. If we wanted protection, we’d have to cross the field and get to the dark, barely visible tree line acres away.

  I pointed, and we ran harder.

  The trees drew closer, but so did the sound of the Cleavers. They traveled in packs—never any less than ten. If they caught up to us, we were dead.

  And they were faster than humans.

  Jessie stumbled and went down, Marci tumbling after her and almost taking me down with them. I jerked at the girl and ducked, getting a good grip on her arm as I draped her thin, fragile body over my shoulder and lifted her weight completely off the ground. She groaned, the sound chilling me to the marrow.

  Run, I mouthed to Jessie.

  Burdened by Marci’s weight, I lost sight of my girlfriend almost immediately as she darted into the trees. I held on to my cargo tightly, but Marci was out cold and her limp, dead weight was a hindrance. We made the tree line, and I ducked inside.

  The hoofbeats sounded as if they were on top of me. I tried to move faster, my legs burning and my lungs aching. I hit a root and almost fell, Marci jerking heavily against my head and neck. The stumble cost me time, and I felt his breath on my neck before he tackled me.

  I rolled with the tackle, losing Marci and my gun in the process. The Cleaver’s weight jammed me into the dirt. I let out an Oof, continuing to roll with the momentum. The dark forest rolled in my vision, making my head spin and my vision blurry.

  We came to a stop, but luck wasn’t with me—the Cleaver landed on top.

  I lifted both arms, jamming them between us as I stared up into glowing red eyes, slit like a goat’s. His jaw was strong, and his mouth hung open, brandishing sharp, pointed teeth as he sniffed me, bloodlust kicking in. There was a look of wildness in his eyes, like a wolf during a hunt, living only for the joy of the kill.

  There was nothing human there at all.

  Terror filled me. I couldn’t scream because his weight took my breath. I shoved at him with both arms, putting my entire body behind the move, and he didn’t budge.

  Then he dove for me.

  I couldn’t fight him off. He was like a stone toppling from a mountain as he closed the space between us and sank his teeth into my breast.

  Pain seared through me, his shark-like teeth ripping into my tender skin. I screamed, the sound pulled from so deep within me, my voice cracked and my vision went black for a brief second. His all-too-human hands managed to get between us, and he fumbled with my pants.

  No. I wouldn’t be raped by a Cleaver. That would not be my last memory before death.

  I jerked, ignoring the tearing sound that came from my chest where his teeth were still attached, and then the hot rush of blood that soaked my shirt. I shoved and kicked.

  And cried.

  I don’t want to die.

  The gun shot ripped through the night, and the Cleaver was blown back from the force of the bullet. He collapsed to the ground beside me, a hole in the top of his head and his red eyes sightless.

  As the love of my life helped me to my feet, I couldn’t stop the sobs that shook me. She tugged on my arm. “Baby, baby, we can’t wait. We have to run.”

  “Marci!” I gasped, one hand pressed to my torn breast as I turned in a circle, looking for the girl. There was no way I’d find my gun in the night.

  I caught sight of Marci’s pale body crumpled on the ground several feet away. And behind her, Cleavers.

  Five of them.

  “Run, Tora. Don’t look back,” Jessie whispered, her gun raising.

  “Marci,” I repeated, my voice hoarse, tears still wet on my face.

  Jessie took aim and fired. The bullet wasn’t for the Cleavers; it was for the girl who couldn’t run, who couldn’t fight back. Jessie’s aim was true; the bullet on the mark. The young girl’s fragile form jerked.

  My heart sank.

  Jessie pushed me. “Run, baby.”

  I ran. Jessie’s pounding steps stayed right behind me, and the intermittent cock and fire of her weapon tore through the night as the Cleavers gave chase. My pulse beat in my ears. I gasped for air through the adrenaline and pain, my hand still trying to stem the flow of blood from my chest. I couldn’t see where I was going as branches whipped my face and my feet raced across uneven ground.

  Don’t fall down. Don’t fall down.

  I heard a click from Jessie’s gun, and she cursed.

  ShitShitShitShit.

  I pushed harder, confident she would keep up with me. I didn’t know where we were, how close we were to the Fort, but I had hope. I had to hope. The hoofbeats sounded fewer now, maybe because my brave, beautiful girlfriend had picked most of them off like a CIA sniper.

  We burst through the trees and into a field, where armed, uniformed Colonels were already waiting for us, framed by the brilliant white of Fort Knox’s spotlights.

  As the soldiers opened fire on the remaining Cleavers, Jessie and I raced into the compound. On the other side of the barred, barbed-wire doors, we found salvation.

  We were the survivors.

  #

  Heather Adkins thinks if the apocalypse is coming, it will be from the wrath of the gods, not an outside source. We have no hope.

  Find more information on Heather and her books at heathermarieadkins.com, or follow her on Facebook and Twitter

  The Temple

  A mythical hunt in search of souls, an ancient temple with a paranormal problem, and a girl with supernatural powers determined to find answers.

  The Last Christmas

  Alan Nayes

  “What time is it?”

  Without taking his eyes fr
om the slender young woman in the hospice bed, Max said, “A little past two.”

  “Day or night?”

  “Day.”

  The woman sighed, not sadly but more with a sense of resignation as if any hope had at long last deserted her. She coaxed her palm across the sheet until she found Max’s hand. “I’ve been asleep that long?”

  Max slid closer, raising her fingers to his lips. He kissed each digit gently. “God, Monique, you’re so beautiful when you sleep. I could just watch you until the end of time.”

  Momentarily, a cynical smirk formed on her lips. “The end of time, dear? You have all of about nine hours…” She began to weep.

  ***

  The asteroid had been christened the Xmas Star soon after it was discovered, only six months ago. The space rock had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and scientists were still at a loss to explain why no one knew of its existence until it had suddenly become visible at the edge of the solar system. A behemoth piece of iron and nickel, it dwarfed any celestial object this close to the earth’s atmosphere, excepting the moon. Roughly twice the size of the state of Texas and shaped like a very thick bowling pin, the massive meteorite was traveling through space at over a hundred thousand miles per hour. Once it passed Jupiter, its magnetic polarity had flipped, allowing a steady acceleration in the space rock’s velocity. After several vain attempts at outer space nuclear detonations and a failed massive interstellar magnet project that only succeeded in shifting the giant rock’s angle of trajectory from the East Coast further west, it would impact Earth somewhere near the California-Arizona border on Christmas Eve. At collision time, scientists predicted the Xmas Star would crash into the third planet from the sun at a speed of well over a quarter million miles per hour. What would happen next no one could say with one-hundred-percent accuracy—would the entire planet fragment? Would the resulting explosive force blow the atmosphere into space, leaving Earth devoid of oxygen? Or would a toxic cloud form and block the sun for the next million years? One consensus was unanimous, though. The end of mankind would arrive at 11:13 PM Christmas Eve, Pacific Standard Time.

  ***

  Max watched his wife as the elderly nurse adjusted Monique’s intravenous drip. The name of the medicine running into Monique’s veins had about twelve syllables and he still hadn’t mastered the pronunciation, though she’d been on it for the last three months. It was an experimental antiarrhythmic drug and required the electric ivac monitor to accurately administer the dosage. So far it was the only medicine that kept Monique’s heart pumping normally.

  This nurse was older and unfamiliar to Max.

  Monique’s eyes fluttered open. “Where’s Bethany?” she asked.

  Max guessed Monique could tell a stranger was in the small hospice room by the woman’s scent—perhaps a different shampoo or perfume. She’d always been good at that—telling when a stranger was nearby. Being blind since childhood from glaucoma did that for a person’s olfactory sense, Max surmised.

  The nurse cast a quick look at her bedridden patient. “Bethany left early this morning to be with her family. Her mom lives in San Francisco and she wanted to get there before…” Her voice trailed off briefly. “Well, you got enough in the IV to last until the end…the end of…”

  Monique smiled ruefully. “The end…period.”

  The woman nodded glumly. “Meant to say shift…Anything else I can get you?”

  Max studied the woman’s name tag. “Why aren’t you leaving to be with your family, Cheryl?”

  “So my new nurse is Cheryl,” Monique said. “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thank you.”

  Monique stared at where the woman’s voice seemed to come from. “Max is right, Cheryl. You don’t have to stay at the hospice. It’s Christmas Eve. Leave. Go home. Be with your family. Max can watch the IV. And when it runs out—well, my heart is the least of our concerns.”

  The elderly nurse’s lined face hinted of a hollow grin. “I’ve been a nurse for over half a century. I figure I’ll just hang out here and do what I can. I promised when nightfall came I’d sing a few Christmas carols with the woman down the hall. She had a terrible stroke last year and has been in rehab here since. She has no visitors and no place to go. Besides, my family consists of one brother who lives in London. I never married so no children. After the news broke about the Xmas Star, I’d planned to visit him. But last month the planes stopped flying except for emergencies—no pilots—so I’ll remain here.”

  Max knew what the nurse meant. “Seems over the last several weeks no one is working much. Pilots, police, bankers—all taking time off. I quit my job as an accountant. Who the hell’s worried about taxes now? Seems like the world is winding down.”

  “Even doctors have quit,” Monique added. “My doctor told me he was taking his family back to Texas last week to be with their relatives. I don’t blame him. Everyone should spend this time with loved ones. If I wasn’t so dependent on this IV, Max and I would have driven to Lake Tahoe—it’s where we spent our honeymoon. But…” she sighed. “I’m sorry, Cheryl, I mean about the planes and you not getting to London.”

  The woman shrugged. “I’ll be fine. If you do need a doctor—”

  Monique waved the nurse away. “Don’t spend time on us, dear. Max and I have each other. Help the other patients.”

  Max reached for his wife’s hand. “Merry Christmas Eve, Cheryl,” they both wished.

  ***

  “You’re at the window again.”

  Hearing Monique, Max nodded in silence and continued staring out the second-story room to the street below. “How did you know, baby?”

  “I can hear you breathing in that spot where we sometimes stand. In fact…” Monique sat up and swung her legs off the mattress. “I want to stand with you.”

  Max watched her. “Let me help.”

  “No, I can do it. Save me a seat.”

  He noticed her smile, that same smile of determination and strength he’d fallen in love with almost two decades ago. Her family had moved in across the street of their quiet, shaded Anaheim neighborhood when he was ten. Monique, two years younger could see then, but had to wear these thick scary-looking glasses. That first day at school, Max had bloodied the nose of some bully that had called out, “Clear the way, here comes Coke Bottle Eyes.” Max and Monique had been inseparable ever since.

  By her twelfth birthday, her blindness from pediatric glaucoma was total. “Guess I can get rid of these,” she had said as she’d tossed the coke bottle lenses on the lawn in her back yard. She had smiled then too, trying to be brave.

  Max could still recall how cute she’d looked, standing under the big Eucalyptus tree next to her dad’s work shed. Cute, and oh so brave. Without asking permission, Max had looked around quickly to ensure no one could see them, then he’d stolen his first teenage kiss. Monique had actually giggled, until she kissed him back. Wow, he remembered thinking, I’ll never tire of these.

  And he was right. Eleven years later, they’d wed.

  Yes, it was challenging at times, being married to a sightless person, but he wouldn’t change one minute of their time together. Except, of course, for the heart arrhythmia the cardiologists had diagnosed nine months ago. Myocarditis, the doctors had explained, from a virus. Damn, Max had cursed, as if blind wasn’t burden enough for the woman he loved, now her heart was a ticking time bomb. Only the drugs being pumped into her veins prevented her heart from stopping completely. Being only twenty-six, she was added to a transplant list, but with the “occupying space disaster” blowing in on them, any hope of a cardiac donor becoming available was moot. Max hated the circumstances, yet he was helpless to do anything except to stay as close to her as possible. Every minute counted now—really counted. God, how he loved being near her, gazing into her blue eyes, touching her perfect nose and lips and holding her warm body next to his. Their one regret, no children together. They’d planned to start a family when Max received his next promotion at the fi
rm in another year. Max winced, glad Monique couldn’t see his expression of regret. One year—now they had less than half a day together.

  “What do you see?” Monique asked, moving beside him, pulling the ivac monitor along with her. With her free hand she reached out and lightly touched the hospice room window pane, before sliding her fingers into Max’s hand.

  “It’s real quiet out there,” Max replied, kissing his wife on the cheek before gazing at the street below.

  “Decorations?”

  “You bet,” Max lied a little. Sure he saw a few wreaths, but not like past Christmases. Everyone had far more pressing concerns than hanging holiday lights.

  “No traffic, no dogs barking, no more sirens, guess everyone has arrived at where they want to be when Santa comes calling.” Monique replied, leaning into Max.

  “Yup, baby, Santa’s got a big surprise for everybody.” Max began to sing softly, “Santa Claus is coming to…Earth.”.

  Both grinned just a little and embraced. Santa was Monique’s nickname for the Xmas Star, ever since December 1st came and went. Every evening they would sit together in her quiet hospice room and sing a Christmas carol together. Last night it’d been his turn to choose and he and Monique had sung that old Burl Ives number Have a Holly Jolly Christmas. Tonight Monique would make her choice. She hadn’t told him what it was yet, but he had already guessed. She wanted to sing it on the stroke of Christmas. That might be problem tonight, Max realized, but he hadn’t mentioned this. When Nurse Cheryl had brought up singing Christmas carols with the other hospice patient, Max had worried Monique might invite them to her room to sing. Not that Max would have minded the company, but he really desired to be alone with this woman he so desperately loved on their last night together.

  If it had to be in an Anaheim hospice, so be it. He would have loved her if they’d been stranded in the middle of the Sahara.

  “What’s the sky like, Max?” Monique asked, gazing upward though he knew she couldn’t see.

  “Blue.”

  “Clouds?”

  Max shook his head. “No clouds in three weeks. No rain, no snow in Lake Tahoe.” He felt her squeeze him.

  “It’s happening just the way they said,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” was all Max said. The scientists had predicted the nearer the Xmas Star—Santa—came to Earth, the more the moisture in the atmosphere would decrease. If there’d been any other reason than Santa for the cause, the news would have been filled with stories about global warming, droughts, the declining ice packs. Not now, though. Most of the cable channels had gone off air or were just running newscasts taped weeks earlier. No one was working anymore. It was like Earth had stopped spinning. Strangely, no public disturbances, no riots or panicked hand-wringing anymore, either. Now, on the precipice of mankind’s ultimate demise, it seems everyone had accepted their common fate and total annihilation.