The Post-Apocalyptic Tourist's Guide to the Mojave Desert: A Novella

by Sean Hazlett

  The three men wandered through a desolate desert forest of bayonet-leaved yucca, gnarled-branched Joshua trees with dagger-shaped leaves, and hardy, dark green creosote.

  Tony supposed it could’ve been worse. The People of the Sun had left them alone thus far. But he was realistic enough to know he shouldn’t let down his guard. With horses, the cultists could easily catch up with them. Tony prayed they didn’t.

  Milkshake was in real bad shape. By sunset, the temperature had dropped precipitously, but the cold wasn’t going to save him. He was vomiting and could barely walk. Tony and Joey had had to support him for about a third of the time they’d been staggering through the desert. If he were a betting man, Tony would’ve given the kid a fifty-fifty shot of survival.

  To the west, the sky ranged from light blue to vibrant pink, and then deepened to dark orange as the sun sank beneath the horizon. A steady rumble punctuated the low hum of the desert wind. Riders closed in from the west, their black silhouettes obscuring whether they were friend or foe.

  Joey pointed to a clump of creosote. Weary, Tony dipped his head in agreement. The three shambled over to the bushes and collapsed behind them.

  The ground quaked.

  Tony said, “They’ve spotted us.”

  Milkshake wheezed.

  “Hang in there, kid,” Tony said. “In about five minutes, you’ll either get some relief or you’ll die.”

  Milkshake responded with a weak nod.

  The horsemen fanned out to Tony’s left and right, then slowly closed in toward the trio.

  “Careful, boys. They could be hostiles. Approach slowly,” Captain Fitzhugh said.

  Tony smiled. He’d never been more relieved in his life. “Captain Fitzhugh!” he rasped, “It’s Tony, Joey, and Milkshake. We’re gonna get up slowly, so don’t shoot.”

  When they rose, Tony was thankful to be surrounded by the soldiers of Alpha Troop. Tony and Joey brought Milkshake over to the captain.

  “Water,” Tony croaked.

  Fitzhugh gestured to a trooper who brought over three canteens. Tony lapped up as much water as his stomach could hold.

  Fitzhugh took one glance at Milkshake. “That boy’s a heat casualty if I ever saw one. Sergeant Marks, set up an aid station and cool that kid down. He’s also gonna need an I-V.”

  Sergeant Marks, a chubby medic with a mustache, rushed over with two soldiers in tow. They eased Milkshake onto a stretcher and set up an aid station around him.

  Fitzhugh shifted his attention to Tony and Joey. “What the hell happened? All the evidence pointed to a massacre. Have any of my boys survived?”

  Tony lowered his head.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Fitzhugh said. “Tell me everything.”

  Tony gave Fitzhugh an account of the platoon’s battle with the People of the Sun, the trio’s capture, the sadistic ritual, and their encounter with the giant spider.

  When Tony finished his story, Fitzhugh stared at him as if he expected Tony to burst into laughter like it was some sick joke. When Tony didn’t, Fitzhugh said, “You sure they didn’t pump you with peyote?”

  “Positive.”

  Fitzhugh shook his head dismissively. “Who filled your head with all those old wives’ tales?”

  “Captain, this is no joke. I’m as serious as a heart attack.” Then Tony got curious. “Wait, what do you mean by old wives’ tales?”

  Fitzhugh removed his Stetson, then wiped his brow. “Ever since the invasion, there’ve been all sorts of rumors about bizarre things roaming through these parts. Coyote men. Giant snakes. Winged serpents. All sorts of crazy tales. Never once have I seen any evidence of it.

  “Once one of our chaplains reported seeing men with coyote heads outside some abandoned trailers. Claimed they were eating people. Insisted they were a sign of the apocalypse. I just thought he was going mad. Hell, some scientists from Nellis tried to rationalize it as some sort of gene splicing experiments with human and extraterrestrial DNA. Far as I’m concerned, it’s all some sort of mass delusion.”

  Tony lit up. “That last bit might explain it.”

  Fitzhugh chuckled. “Next you’re gonna say they all had a blue hue or something.”

  Tony nodded and smiled. “That’s exactly what we saw.”

  “Now look here. Me and my boys spent half our lives ranging this desert. We’ve seen a lot of crazy things. But the more experience you have in the bush, the better you get at separating reality from madness. This may be your first rodeo, son, but it sure as hell ain’t mine. And you’d do well to remember that.”

  “Fuck you, old man.” Tony hurled his words at the captain with venom. “I know what I fucking saw, and there’s no way in hell I’m imagining it.”

  Fitzhugh shot right back. “You got proof?”

  Tony had to restrain himself from grabbing the captain by the throat. “Oh, I better stop fighting this giant fucking spider for a second so I can gather some evidence for Captain Fitzhugh. Are you listening to yourself?”

  Fitzhugh held out his hands in a calming motion. “Fine. I know you believe what you saw was real. Let’s just keep it at that.”

  Tony agreed it didn’t make sense arguing the matter any further with the stubborn bastard. People either believed you or they didn’t. So he changed the subject. “What about you? Did you find your man?” Tony hesitated for a moment before blurting out, “Was it worth sacrificing a platoon?” Sometimes he just couldn’t resist rubbing salt in a wound.

  Fitzhugh glowered at Tony. “Yeah, we found him. Unfortunately, he was impaled on a utility pole and flayed.” He tossed a bloody saber at Tony. “If your kid, Milkshake, doesn’t die of heatstroke, give this to him. He’s the only one of you three that doesn’t seem to be a real asshole.”

  Joey scowled at the captain.

  “That’s it?” said Tony. “You didn’t run into the People of the Sun or see anything unusual?”

  Fitzhugh shook his head, paused as if in consideration, then continued, “Well, we didn’t run into the People of the Sun, but several of my men reported a winged serpent stalking them from the sky. But when men spend a long time out in the heat, their minds play tricks on them. It was probably just another raven hunting for food. Those old birds are as common as sand out here. Really freaked my men out, though. They’re still carrying on about it.”

  Tony wanted to know more about the sighting, but doubted Fitzhugh would indulge his curiosity. Plus Tony didn’t want to trigger another argument with the captain. “Uh-huh. What’s next?”

  Fitzhugh scratched his head. “Once your boy’s feeling better, we’ll return to the wagon train, gather what’s left of our supplies, and continue west toward Baker.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Tony turned to Joey. “Wait here. I’m gonna see how Milkshake’s doing.”

  Tony walked a short distance to the aid station, which consisted of a cot resting beneath a makeshift tarp. A metal stand crowned with a clear bag of fluid flanked Milkshake’s cot. Tubing extended from the bag into Milkshake’s arm.

  Tony kneeled beside him. “You doing all right, kid?”

  “Yeah,” Milkshake said in a weak, raspy voice. “Sergeant Marks is taking good care of me. He says I just need more fluids. I’ll be ready to go by morning.”

  Tony grinned. “Glad to hear it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve been dying to ask you this for the past few days. Now that we’re alone, I can. What’s inside Joey’s box?”

  Milkshake sighed. “It was the weirdest thing. There was nothing there but a bald plastic head.”

  Confused, Tony said, “Like a mannequin’s head?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  Tony scratched his temple. The boss never spoke in riddles. And he never beat around the bush. No, this little stunt was more Bobby’s style. And if Bobby was behind it, there was a message to it. Tony just wasn’t sure what that message was.

  V. Mayhem at the Mad Greek

  The town of Baker was nestled in a depres
sion at the junction of the I-15 Trail and old State Route 127. It was a rest stop on the way to Vegas or Death Valley, if you were into that kinda thing. To the southwest, the jagged peaks of the brown Cronese Mountains stabbed the pale blue sky.

  As Tony stared down into the valley ahead, he chuckled at the garish hundred-and-thirty-four foot thermometer that towered over Baker. A lonely monument to the excesses of a pre-invasion paradise, it rose to the left of the main drag running through town. Without electricity, it no longer had a purpose other than as a landmark in the harsh desert.

  In stark contrast to the dead digital monolith, the blue-and-white Mad Greek Cafe thrived across the street. Tony considered the restaurant’s survival to be a minor miracle. Suspicious even.

  Even more suspicious than the People of the Sun leaving most of the caravan’s supplies untouched. When he’d returned to the laager site, Tony had been surprised that they’d only taken the horses and five wagons. When the Regiment had inspected what remained, he’d held his breath, hoping they wouldn’t find any methamphetamine. And he’d counted his lucky stars when they hadn’t. The troopers had hitched some of their horses to the remaining wagons and continued west.

  After the ordeal of the last few days, Tony was truly looking forward to seeing his old friend, Gus DeLuca. Gus was now running the Mad Greek on behalf of the Five Families.

  Tony thanked Saint Christopher that he’d made it to Baker in one piece. He’d been certain the People of the Sun would make another run at the wagon train, and was surprised they hadn’t.

  Baker’s distinct lack of security had always puzzled Tony. No trench works, no palisades, no armed associates. Nothing. It didn’t make any sense. Now after barely surviving capture by the People of the Sun, it really worried him.

  Tony ultimately convinced himself to stop imagining problems where there probably weren’t any. He consoled himself with the notion that if anyone attacked, they’d face the fury of Alpha Troop.

  Fitzhugh set his three remaining platoons in a cordon around the town. Then he, his four surviving lieutenants, and about ten noncommissioned officers joined Tony, Joey, and Milkshake. They all headed toward the Mad Greek.

  Joey cradled his cardboard box, while Tony lugged the blue Coleman cooler. For his part, Milkshake stowed the Altoids tin, the duct tape, and the Motorola in his pants’ cargo pockets.

  A row of white plaster statues interspersed with Corinthian columns and white vases decorated the cafe’s external facade. Tony walked beneath a blue-and-white-striped awning to enter the restaurant. Once inside, he passed through two more Corinthian columns. On his right was an open seating section with blue leather seats and more white statues. Tony kept walking until he reached the front counter. A curmudgeon with wavy gray hair regarded him with a bored expression.

  Gus squinted at Tony crosswise for a few seconds before recognizing his old pal. “Hey!” he said, making a big show of walking around the counter and giving Tony a hug. “What you been up to all these years, you big son-of-a-bitch?”

  Tony patted his old friend on the back and made a big show of looking around the restaurant. “You know, I think this place needs more blue.”

  Gus chuckled.

  Tony smiled, then scratched his nose. “But in all seriousness, I’m trying to earn my button just like you are. But I hear you’ve been doing nothing but making milkshakes and gyros.”

  Gus jutted his head toward Milkshake. “Who’s this?”

  Without skipping a beat, Tony said, “You’ve got your milkshakes, and I’ve got mine.”

  Gus shot Tony an expression of confusion. “What? You fucking this guy or something? I never knew you swung that way, Tony.”

  Tony laughed. “Nah. I just call him Milkshake ‘cause he reminds me of you, Gus.”

  “Now you’re just busting balls.” Gus’s eyes shifted to Joey, and his mood darkened. “Ah...good to see you too, Joey.” Gus forced a smile and shook the mute’s hand.

  Tony introduced Gus to all the commissioned and noncommissioned officers. Once Tony had finished, Gus wiped his hands on his smock. “Where are my manners? What will you all be having? I recommend the Mad Greek’s famous strawberry milkshake. We also make the best gyros in what’s left of the country.”

  Gus gave everyone a menu and took orders. He barked commands to three cooks in the back. Tony, Milkshake, and Joey grabbed a booth all to themselves near the Mad Greek’s entrance. Tony placed the cooler on the floor at the edge of the table. Joey kept his box close on the windowsill to his left.

  Within thirty minutes, Gus brought the crew the finest gyros and strawberry milkshakes west of the Mississippi. Then he sat down beside Joey and across from Tony and Milkshake.

  “It’s good to finally see you, brother,” Gus said to Tony. “It gets lonely out here.”

  “I hear ya,” Tony said. He took a sip from his milkshake, appreciating its refreshing taste. “You know, Gus, I’ve always wondered, how the hell you keep these milkshakes so damn cold out here in the middle of the Mojave Desert. And with no electricity to boot.

  Gus grinned.

  Tony shook his head. “No, Gus. I’m fucking serious. I need to know. Milano’s expecting me to bring him an unmelted strawberry milkshake in this cooler.” Tony tapped the Coleman with his foot.

  Gus smiled. “Well, it sure as hell ain’t easy. While I’d be happy to make you some milkshakes for the road, I doubt they’d be cold by the time you returned to Vegas.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Oh, what the hell. During the late winter and early spring, I trade with mule teams who lug big chunks of ice down from the Sierras. I store the ice in local caverns. When I need the ice, I send teams to the caverns to haul it here. I stock that ice in a storage tunnel beneath this restaurant.”

  Then Tony recalled the ice blocks he’d seen in the tunnels. “That’s quite an operation you’re running. How do you protect your cargo from the People of the Sun?”

  Gus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, I usually hire mercenaries to protect my shipments.”

  “Huh?” said Tony. “The Regiment’s the only major mercenary operation within three hundred miles. How come you don’t already know Captain Fitzhugh?”

  Gus waved his hand. “There are plenty of mercenaries if you know where to look.”

  “Hmmm.” Tony slurped his milkshake. “You mind if I ask you one more question?”

  “Anything, Tony.”

  “Why aren’t there any defenses in Baker?” Tony took another draw on his straw.

  Gus shrugged. “I’ve got an arrangement.”

  Now Tony was getting pissed. “What kind of arrangement?”

  The double doors leading to the storeroom burst open. Scores of cultists armed with sharpened sickles flooded into the restaurant. The troopers fumbled for their sabers. For most of them, it was too late.

  Tony glared at Gus.

  “I’m sorry, man. I had no choice. They’ve been waiting underground for your crew.”

  Tony grabbed Gus by the throat. “You sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”

  Milkshake pulled out the duct tape and ripped off a strip.

  “Please!” Gus stuttered. “They only want the officers. That’s it. You play your cards right, all three of yas can walk outta here alive.”

  A coyote warrior stormed toward them. Milkshake rolled out of the booth and dropped to a knee, hamstringing the man with the saber Fitzhugh had given him. Joey swooped down on a throng of warriors with his machete, slicing their necks. Blood fountained from their throats.

  Tony grabbed a sickle from the floor and slashed at yet another charging cultist. Milkshake tapped Tony on the shoulder, then pointed beneath the table. There, Tony saw the neon green Motorola wrapped in green duct tape. At first, Tony was confused. Then he understood.

  Turning to Joey, Tony said, “C’mon, Joey. We gotta scram.”

  Tony plunged into the crowd of hostiles, scything a path through them. Tony, Joey, and Milkshake formed a wedge with Tony in t
he center.

  The troopers fought hard. But the attack had been so sudden, they’d been caught flatfooted. The People of the Sun slaughtered anyone who tried to escape and warn the Regiment’s rank and file.

  The three men trudged over severed body parts and corpses. They hacked their way toward the restaurant’s exit. With the radio on, Tony felt an extreme urgency to escape. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he didn’t want to be around to find out.

  A goliath of a man blocked the exit. He wielded a macuahuitl in one hand and a sickle in the other. He leered at Tony’s crew, then lunged forward.

  The brute’s macuahuitl narrowly missed Joey, slamming into the linoleum floor. But the warrior’s sickle kissed Tony’s cheek seconds before Tony could duck. Tony stumbled backward in shock. But Milkshake and Joey gutted the warrior in a lightning quick pincer movement.

  Tony burst out of the restaurant and hollered for back up. Troopers on horseback rushed to the cafe, then dismounted and joined the fray.

  While the men of Alpha Troop were racing into the restaurant, the trio commandeered two horses. Tony rode with Milkshake. They galloped west, away from Baker and toward safety.

  Minutes later, Tony glanced over his shoulder. In the distance, a swirling black cloud descended upon the Mad Greek like a locust swarm.

  “My God,” Milkshake said, “I thought we were gonna die in there.”

  Tony nodded. “We almost did.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be heading east?”

  “You’re not wrong. But ain’t no way we’re getting through that territory alive again without an escort.” Tony thought for a moment and then decided to give credit where credit was due. “Son, you saved our asses. Tell ya what: I got a Five Families contact near the Cajon Pass who can hook us up with provisions and men to get me and Joey back home. The ride from Baker to Cajon should be a lot safer. Alpha Troop may be gone, but the rest of the Regiment is still out there and has tighter control over the I-15 Trail in that area. My contact in Cajon also happens to run a wingsuit operation that sends smugglers west over the San Gabriel Mountains. You follow me and Joey to Cajon, and you’re free.”