Everyday Apocalypse: Season Two

by Pieter Lars

  The other two pronghorn were scooped up in turn, each of them cooked mid-flight, and then the McCaffreys soared to the ground to begin their feast.

  Samantha had her binoculars up, but turned away suddenly, her face pale. She didn’t want to watch the poor little deer be devoured.

  “It’s the circle of life, Sam,” Tom said.

  She smiled weakly. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch.”

  The rest of the observers were hopping around excitedly, jostling each other and laughing. Only the guide stood apart. The little old lady was looking around anxiously.

  Tom watched her walk to the end of the trail, where it overlooked the widest panorama. She scanned the skies, brought up her binoculars and swept them over the desert.

  When she turned Tom felt a lurch in his chest. The guide was waving frantically. She lifted the speaker that hung from her neck, shook it, then banged it against her knee.

  Tom nudged Samantha and shouted: “Hey! I think the guide is worried about something. Look!”

  Samantha followed his gaze, then looked up at him with a worried expression.

  “Maybe we should turn-” Tom started, and then his voice was lost as a rumble rose from the desert.

  At first he thought it was an avalanche, but that was silly. Wind kicked up around them, blowing sand and grit against his face plate. The other watchers had noticed, and were looking around with wide eyes.

  A dark cloud rolled across the desert, blocking the sun. The McCaffreys took to the air, ignoring the remains of their meal. They flew quickly toward the horizon.

  What are they afraid of? Tom thought.

  And then he understood.

  It wasn’t a cloud.

  It was the Ancalagon. The Draco Lord.

  Tom didn’t know where it had come from but he looked up to see half the sky blotted out by a jet black dragon the size of a skyscraper. Its scales were dark as pitch, glossy, each as large as a car windshield. It seemed to regard their little group as it flew overhead, and in its gaze Tom felt as small as an ant perched on top of a house.

  The Ancalagon opened its mouth to roar. Tom felt it more than heard it. The sound seemed to cover the entire spectrum of human hearing, reverberating down to his very bones. His heart thudding, he turned to grab Samantha, ready to run back toward the car.

  And then the black serpent turned back toward them. It hovered in the air, a hundred yards away but it might as well have been three feet, the thing was so immense. It opened its mouth. Tom heard a scream, and then everything around him turned to fire and smoke.

  Kachina Point was engulfed in an instant. Flames blew across the trail, licking at the railing. The dragon’s breath washed over the commemorative plaque, melting it until it ran down the stone base.

  And then the blast hit the watching party. Tom threw Samantha to the ground and wrapped her in his arms. He huddled over her and ducked his head. The fire washed over them. Even through his suit it felt like being in a blast furnace.

  The flames raged and raged until he thought for sure the suit would fail and he would be reduced to charcoal. He smelled burnt hair and realized his arms were singed. Maybe the hair on his head for all he knew.

  And then it was over. Tom looked up to see the Ancalagon soaring away on wings the size of cruise ships.

  Nobody moved for a full minute, and then, one by one, they raised their heads. The faces of the watchers were red and glistening with sweat as they stood and started looking themselves over. Some were missing eyebrows or mustaches. One man had half his beard singed off.

  A couple of fire extinguishers went off with sharp hisses, retardant enveloping the group and snuffing out a few smoldering blazes.

  Tom let go of Samantha and looked her over. She looked up at him, wild-eyed. He realized she was grinning. She stood and jumped in the air, pumping her fist.

  “That was amazing!!!” She shouted. “Did you see that!?”

  Tom stared at her in shock. “Did I see that!? I almost got barbecued!”

  “Yeah, but that was an Ancalagon. That was a once in a life-time opportunity! That’s even more rare than seeing Haleys’ Comet!”

  She was jumping up and down, laughing and waving her hands.

  It was infectious. Tom saw the rest of the watchers start jumping in the air as well, overcome with the relief of not having been cooked alive. A couple of the men were doing chest-bumps and high-fiving each other. One of them came over to Tom and started shaking him by the shoulder.

  “Did you see that, man!? Incredible!”

  Tom grinned, despite himself. He was alive, after all. It hadn’t been that bad.

  In fact, it had been kind of cool. How many people got to say they survived a blast of dragonfire?

  4

  Fast Zombies

  The foam suits were extremely hard to run in, and Tom didn’t know how long they would withstand the zombies’ ravenous teeth. He was sure he cut a comical figure as he bounced across the parking lot toward the gate, arms flailing out at his sides, his legs splayed.

  He felt like that kid in that christmas movie who was wearing so many winter layers that he couldn’t even move.

  There was a loud snarl and one of the zombies shot out from behind the dumpsters and sprinted towards him. Its eyes were red and its teeth black behind its torn and ragged lips.

  Tom picked up the pace, chugging along as fast as his padded legs could carry him, but it wasn’t fast enough. The zombie slammed into his back, throwing him to the asphalt.

  It didn’t really hurt - even his hands were covered in thick padded gloves - but it did knock the wind out of him. He let the monster gnaw on his shoulder for a few moments while he caught his breath.

  There was a snarl, a thunk, and the zombie rolled off him. He looked up to see Samantha standing in her own suit. She held a thick padded baseball bat in her hands.

  She grinned. “Thought you’d make it for sure that time!”

  “I know! I was so close!” He got up and tried to brush himself off.

  “You owe me five bucks,” Samantha said.

  She slammed her suit into his with a giggle, knocking him off balance. He laughed and bounced right back into her. It felt like being in one of those huge sumo suits you would see at summer camps. Put two kids in huge foam suits and just let them slam into each other like human pinballs.

  It was by far the most fun they’d had in weeks.

  “What do we do about this one?” Tom asked, pointing to the zombie at their feet.

  Samantha shrugged. “Let’s just drag him to the curb. Hopefully he’ll wake up before Grossman leaves. It’ll be a fun surprise for him.”

  Tom laughed and bent down as best as he could until he could get a grip on the zombie’s legs.

  “Drag him over to those bushes by the front door,” Samantha said.

  Tom did, positioning the zombie so it would be within arm’s reach of anyone leaving the office. Well, arm’s reach of Grossman when he left the office, as he was the last one there that day.

  “Hope he remembers to put his suit on before he leaves,” Tom said.

  Samantha shrugged. “Whatever. Might do him good to run around as a zombie for a week. He’s pretty out of shape.”

  They went through the parking lot gate and stripped out of their suits, stuffing them into the trunk of Tom’s Subaru.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” Samantha asked.

  “Feel like eating corn dogs and drinking beer?”

  “When do I not feel like eating corn dogs and drinking beer?” Samantha replied. “Is there a bar around here that serves corn dogs?”

  “Nope. I was thinking the race tracks.”

  “Oh, Tom. I don’t think I can do that. I hate how they treat the horses.”

  Tom shook his head. “Nope. It’s not horse races this week.”

  “Dog-racing is even worse. You know they keep those greyhounds in kennels all day long? And then when they retire them, after only two years, mind yo
u, they-”

  “Nope,” Tom interrupted. “Not greyhounds either. Even better.”

  “Then what are we going to do there?” Sam asked. Tom just kept looking at her until realization dawned. “Oh. This is going to be fuuuun.”

  “We have some real contenders today, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer began. “In lane one we have Clean Crusader, racing for Trustfree Bank and Loan. Don’t let that tuxedo fool you, folks. Crusader’s a serious sprinter!”

  Samantha and Tom took their seats, each loaded up with corn dogs and sixteen-dollar beers. Samantha pointed down at the starting gates. Lane two had a banner above it that read: Genesis Insurance Solutions!

  “I didn’t know we were sponsoring a runner,” she said.

  Tom squinted. “Is that Gloria from accounting?” The zombie lady in lane two certainly looked like their co-worker. She was tall enough, and had the fiery red curls. But surely Phillips would have said something if one of his employees was racing. He probably would have tried to make it a team-building thing, even if the poor woman was a zombie for the week, and had no idea what she’d been recruited into.

  “In lane two we have Fried Cyclone, racing for Genesis Insurance Solutions. Let’s hope her racing is as fiery as that mop of hair!”

  “Oh, my god,” Samantha said. “It is her! That rascal, Phillips, probably had a hand in this! The poor woman, being exploited like that.”

  Tom scanned the crowd while the announcer shouted out the names of the other four racers. He saw no sign of Phillips.

  The starting gun sounded and the race gate opened. There was a CPR dummy hanging from a bar on the inner rail of the track, where the rabbit lure would be in the greyhound races. The zombies immediately started running after it with their arms raised and their jaws snapping open and closed.

  “Well, folks, looks like Clean Crusader is starting off strong! He’s a hungry man! But wait, coming up in lane three is Streetwise Yoga! That lovely mother of three is taking off like a rocket! Nobody’s going to be making fun of yoga pants today, folks!”

  “Come on, Crusader!” Tom shouted. They had placed their bets before heading to their seats, and Tom felt a little bit guilty not cheering for Gloria. Thankfully though, Samantha had picked Fried Cyclone. She clutched her ticket and waved her arms, almost splashing beer on the guy to her right.

  “Go, Gloria, go! You got this, girl!”

  The CPR dummy swung around the halfway mark. There was a buzzing noise, and red liquid started spurting from the dummy’s neck.

  “Here we go, ladies and gentlemen! The blood line is open!” The announcer laughed. “Don’t worry though, that’s not real blood. But those racers sure don’t know it!”

  The bloody decoy made the racers insane. Each of them starting sprinting even faster than Tom thought was possible. The racer in lane four, a teenage boy wearing a hooded sweatshirt and skinny jeans, tripped and fell and was trampled by the lady lady behind him who was wearing what looked like overalls.

  Gloria seemed to catch a second wind. She let out a high-pitched moan and took off like a rocket, her head swinging side to side.

  “There she goes!” Sam yelled.

  “Whoa, there, look at Fried Cyclone! And we thought Streetwise Yoga was hungry! This lady can move! Looks like she might take it, folks. No, wait! Here comes Crusader from behind. He’s gaining on her!”

  The spectators all stood and started shouting and cheering, each yelling out the name of their favorite. Tom stood so that he could see over the man in front of him.

  “Twenty yards to go!” The announcer screamed. “Ten! Crusader is closing in! Five yards, and whoa folks! This one might be too close to call!”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone looked up to the monitors, waiting for the track camera to make the final call.

  The image popped up on the screens. It showed Crusader and Gloria, neck and neck. Gloria’s face was frozen in a terrible grimace, but her thin, desiccated arm was outstretched, reaching for the CPR dummy. It was enough to call the win.

  “Fried Cyclone takes it by a fingernail!”

  The crowd went nuts. Half the people were booing and hissing, the others cheering.

  “I won!” Samantha yelled. She had her ticket in her hand and was waving it around, doing a little dance. “Let’s go to the cashier!”

  They merged into the group of spectators that were streaming up the steps to the lobby. Tom scanned the crowd for any sign of Phillips.

  He was about to give up when he looked up at the box seats. There was a man with gray hair, wearing a gray suit, who was conspicuously holding a newspaper up in front of his face. As Tom watched, the man peeked over the edge of the paper, directly at Tom and Samantha.

  “There’s Phillips! Up in the boxes!” Tom said.

  He pointed and Samantha looked up. When she saw Phillips her face reddened and she stood, spilling part of her beer on the man standing next to her. The man opened his mouth to say something, took one look at Samantha’s glaring face, and looked down at his feet.

  “We’re going up there, Tom. Follow me. I’m not going to let this stand. He can’t just take advantage of his employees like that. I mean, not more than he already does.”

  Before Tom could argue she squeezed past him and started up the track steps. He finished his corn dog, then took off after her.

  They reached the box seats, but there was no sign of Phillips. Samantha stormed in anyway. “Sam,” Tom began, but then he heard her start to yell.

  “You’re hiding on the floor! Get up, Mr. Phillips. I see you!”

  Mr. Phillips struggled to his feet. There were bits of cracker jacks and peanut shells stuck to the sleeves of his coat.

  “Did you enter Gloria in the race?” Samantha demanded.

  Phillips had the presence of mind to look embarrassed. He opened his mouth and stammered, “Well...yeah. I knew she would win. She does all those triathlons and stuff.”

  “Does her family know? What, were you just using her to make some extra money while she’s a zombie? That’s shameful.”

  “It was her family’s idea!” Phillips said. “I only offered them some money for extra marketing! And, yeah, I bet on her too, but I swear it wasn’t my idea. Besides, I saw you cheering and waving that ticket around. Didn’t you bet on her, too?”

  “That was before I knew it was her!” Samantha yelled, but a frown wrinkled across her eyebrows. “I’m giving her my winnings, Mr. Phillips. And I suggest you do the same.”

  Phillips shrugged. “OK. Fine. It was still good marketing.”

  Samantha huffed, then pushed past Tom and out to the lobby. Phillips looked at Tom. They both shrugged.

  “See you Monday, boss.”

  Phillips grumbled something in reply, but Tom didn’t stay to listen.

  5

  Hell Spawn

  “Holy Water! Get your Holy Water, here!” The barker was holding a cheap, dollar-store spray bottle in one hand, and pushing his jingling cart with the other.

  Samantha and Tom stood in line, waiting to buy their movie tickets. The theater was running a new release, Love in the Time of Armageddon. The line was stretching around the block.

  Tom missed superhero movies sometimes, but they had gone the way of the buffalo. The cycle of plots involving world-wide catastrophes had started to feel a bit trite.

  The only movies that seemed to attract these kinds of crowds were those that had been filmed before the apocalypses began.

  Tom was worried they might not get tickets or, worse, would have to sit in the first row.

  The signs on the walls promised that there hadn’t been a single hell-rift in any of their theaters for the past three days. Tom was looking forward to the respite. They’d only had one demon pop up in their office that week, but he’d seen others on his commute.

  They were small ones, thankfully, but on his way into the office on Tuesday he had seen a group of them prowling the parking lot of the pharmacy. Little red creatures - imps, according
to the NEA pamphlet - with clawed hands, forked tails, and big wet fangs. Six of them.

  As Tom drove by he watched them claw their way out of a glowing ritual circle etched into the pavement. Their skin smoked and they looked around, wincing at the bright sunlight and startling an old man with a walker who was probably there to refill his antacid prescription.

  They grinned at the old man who, to his credit, stood his ground. He had been armed with the NEA holy symbols and brandished them courageously. The imps had retreated in search of easier prey.

  Now, in the line of the theater, he held Samantha tight. He wasn’t sure how he would respond to a hell rift. The imps might be OK. He might be able to fight them off and impress his girlfriend, but anything larger would probably send him running. The pictures in the pamphlet were absolute terrifying.

  The imps were the lowest caste, followed by minor demons, and then the Lords, Dukes, and ultimately the Arch-Demons. The Arch-demons looked exactly like Tim Curry in that movie Labrynth, only bigger. They had horns as long and as thick as trees, hooves the size of volkswagens, and tails that could skewer as many a six men.

  He would probably voluntarily submit to subjugation if he ever met an Arch-demon. What was the saying? We welcome our new demonic overlords?

  That would be Tom. First in line to the Underworld.

  Hopefully the lines wouldn’t be as long as the theater’s.

  Samantha yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. They had enjoyed a nice pasta dinner and it was making both of them a bit drowsy. The whole week at work had been spent either on the phone with angry clients whose claims had been rejected (hell fire, while all-consuming, was not considered an act of god. Quite the opposite, in fact.) or watching Grossman to make sure he wasn’t joining any new cults.

  It was exhausting.

  The barker called out again: “Holy Water! Fresh from the Vatican!”

  Tom frowned. There was no way that was true. He watched as a few people in line went up to the barker and handed over some money in exchange for the spray bottles. Did they really think that would work?