AFTER THE APOCALYPSE
a novel by Josh Roseman
Table of Contents
Commendations
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter List
Start Reading
Acknowledgments
Afterword
Translations
About the Author
About the Artist
Also Available
Commendations
After the Apocalypse
"Josh Roseman skillfully weaves dark humour with high stakes tension, with a generous serving of pop culture references, in this gripping twist on the superhero genre. What happens after she saves the world? You’re about to find out!" -H.B. Lyne, author of Seeds of Autumn
"Josh Roseman’s After the Apocalypse is a refreshing approach to the superhero genre, a Bridget Jones Diary meets Supergirl tale that immediately hooks the reader with its painfully honest portrayal of a young superhero years after she has saved the world." -Sabrina Peña Young, author of Libertaria Chronicles and The White Lily Society
Memories of My Father
"Memories of My Father is a compelling, intellectual novella with a premise and family relationships that are both unique and relatable. The casual narrative guides readers through a story that grows in complexity page-by-page." -John Hope, author of Silencing Sharks and No Good
"Memories of My Father gets to the science-fictiony widget early, points it out for the audience, and goes right back to tearing apart the reader with emotional human drama. Don’t worry, though; there’s still enough widget for any SF fan." -K.T. Katzmann, author of Murder with Monsters
"Like the best science fiction, the emphasis of Memories of My Father is less on the technology that makes time travel possible and more on the believably complex and heart wrenching situations that make the human experience so uniquely tragic." -Sabrina Peña Young, author of Libertaria Chronicles and The White Lily Society
The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories
"This is a great book, the kind you read for enjoyment rather than duty. It crosses time and space, from steampunk to space opera, and the stories are intelligent, compelling, and always entertaining." -Sean McMullen, winner of the Aurealis and Australian Science Fiction awards, and author of the Greatwinter trilogy
"A diverse and fiercely-intelligent collection, these are stories that interrogate the future while reflecting on the past. Highly recommended." -C. S. McMullen, AWGIE-nominated screenwriter and author
"Clever, thought-provoking, and occasionally unsettling in all the best ways, The Clockwork Russian challenges and encourages the reader to see something new in a genre most wrongly decide is not for them. Definitely a must-have on your bookshelf." -Andy Martello, author of The King of Casinos: Willie Martello and the El Rey Club
"Josh Roseman transports the reader into his stories with vivid details and incredible pacing; a moment never lingers too long, and I can see the scene unfold in my mind's eye." -Beau Hall, author of Snapshot
"The Clockwork Russian includes more than a dozen thought-provoking stories that reach out, grab you, and make you want to keep reading well into the night. Each one is more intriguing than the last, building strange worlds, situations, and characters that remain long after the page-turning pleasure has passed." -Bigg Anklevich, co-editor of The Dunesteef Audio Fiction Magazine
Secret Santa
“Secret Santa is a Christmas story with an edge, with a bit of bite to it, that stands out from the crowd. That doesn't mean it can't warm the little cobwebbed corners of your heart before the end, but you're in for a wild ride along the way.” –Rish Outfield, co-editor of The Dunesteef Audio Fiction Magazine
This book is copyright © 2017 by Josh Roseman.
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All chapter titles are episode names from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1997-2003, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television
Dedication and Epigraph from "Chosen", written and directed by Joss Whedon, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2003, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter One quote from "Serenity", written and directed by Joss Whedon, Firefly, 2002, Mutant Enemy Productions/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter One quote from "The Gift", written and directed by Joss Whedon, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2001, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter Ten quote from "The Body", written and directed by Joss Whedon, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2001, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter Ten quote from "Inca Mummy Girl", written by Matt Kiene and Joe Reinkemeyer, directed by Ellen S. Pressman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1997, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter Thirteen quote from "Welcome to the Hellmouth", written by Joss Whedon, directed by Charles Martin Smith, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1997, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter Thirty-Three quote from "Welcome to the Hellmouth", written by Joss Whedon, directed by Charles Martin Smith, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1997, Mutant Enemy Productions/Sandollar Television/Kuzui Entertainment/20th Century Fox Television.
Chapter Thirty-Four quote from The Princess Bride, written by William Goldman, directed by Rob Reiner, 1987, Act III Communications/Buttercup Films Ltd./The Princess Bride Ltd./20th Century Fox.
This book has been released without DRM.
Dedication
For everyone
who ever wanted to be
the one girl (or guy)
in all the world.
For everyone
who ever stood up
and said
“I’m ready to be strong.”
For everyone
who wants to take
all the tropes in the world
and kick them in the ass.
And also for Alyssa,
my one girl in all the world.
Epigraph
Faith: "Yeah... you're not the one and only chosen anymore. Just gotta live like a person. How's that feel?"
Dawn: "Buffy? What are we gonna do now?"
From Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Chosen", written and directed by Joss Whedon.
Chapter List
CHAPTER ONE: Older and Far Away
CHAPTER TWO: First Date
CHAPTER THREE: Tough Love
CHAPTER FOUR: The Harsh Light of Day
CHAPTER FIVE: Smashed
CHAPTER SIX: Wrecked
CHAPTER SEVEN: Normal Again
CHAPTER EIGHT: Restless
CHAPTER NINE: Help
CHAPTER TEN: Helpless
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Homecoming
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Initiative
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: What’s My Line?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Puppet Show
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Checkpoint
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Gone
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Touched
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Him
CHAPTER NINETEEN: End of Days
CHAPTER TWENTY: Surprise
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Killer in Me
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Pangs
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Crush
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Spiral
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Beneath You
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Ou
t of Sight, Out of Mind
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Intervention
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Killed by Death
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Some Assembly Required
CHAPTER THIRTY: Showtime
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Seeing Red
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: The Body
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Revelations
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: As You Were
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Real Me
EPILOGUE: Same Time, Same Place
AFTER THE APOCALYPSE
+++++
CHAPTER ONE
OLDER AND FAR AWAY
+++++
Buffy’s sitting on my chest again. I can smell her breath.
Stupid cat.
“It better not be the middle of the night,” I say without opening my eyes.
A long pause.
Then: “meow.”
Crap. Still not a dream.
I open my eyes slowly, turning my head to look at the bedside clock. “Oh, come on,” I growl, “it’s not even five o’clock yet!”
All she says is “meow”.
Then, just because she has to be like her sister, Willow adds a little “mew” from where she’s curled up in the pillows.
“Please,” I whine, “please, just let me go to sleep!”
Buffy stands up. It’s unbelievable how much pressure the paw of a ten-pound cat can put on a person. I swat at her, but she’s too fast for me; she’s already gone, claws pulling at the blanket and making little popping noises as she jumps. “Damn it, cat!”
“Mew,” Willow says.
I roll onto my side. “Mew yourself.” I pull her pillow closer and kiss her fuzzy little head. Buffy’s a full-sized tawny thing, but Willow was the runt of the litter, all patchwork calico and super-soft fur. I’d hate to say I love one of them more than the other, but put a gun to my head and I’ll say Willow’s my favorite.
“Mew.” Right in my face. Her cat breath is just as bad as her sister’s.
“Okay,” I grumble. “Okay, I’ll get up. Brat.”
Willow jumps off the bed and makes for the door; Buffy’s probably long-gone, and even if she’s in here somewhere, I don’t see her. Well, if I step on her, it’s her fault.
Climbing out of bed reminds me just how much has changed in the past eleven years. For starters, I’m seventy-five pounds heavier than I was on graduation day. Instead of walking briskly across the darkened bedroom, I shuffle my feet -- I stopped being a morning person back then, too, and I started needing a lot more sleep.
The bathroom light is way too bright, but I’m not one of those people who can pee by the glow of a night-light. I think about just taking a shower now, getting it over with, but it’s a quarter to five in the morning, and if I’m lucky I’ll be able to grab another hour on the couch before I have to start getting ready for work.
Something else I never thought I’d have to do. Of course, I thought I’d be dead, but we all make mistakes.
I set the fresh bowls of cat food on the floor; Buffy and Willow are there in an instant, gobbling kibble like it’s the best thing in the world. Maybe it is, to them, but to me it still smells like moldy bread and some sort of acid. I give Willow a little nudge with my toe, just because, then shut off the kitchen light and drop onto my couch. I wish it had a footrest, but that’s okay; I just tuck myself into the corner and put one leg up on the cushion. Not the most dignified position, but who’s going to see me?
No one, that’s who. I had a boyfriend once, but he got ticked off when I told him once and for all that I wasn’t going to tell him about my past. We didn’t last much longer after that.
Fine by me. I didn’t need him, not really, and I don’t need anyone now. I have Buffy, and I have Willow, and I have my own apartment and a good job and Professor Wedlund still puts money into my account every month and if I don’t have a boyfriend, who cares?
Willow leaps up onto the back of the couch and butts her head against mine. “Oh, come here, you,” I say, gathering her up and cradling her against my chest. She purrs, a surprisingly-strong vibration I can feel all the way down to my heart. “Let’s see what’s on, huh?” I ask as I grab the remote.
She doesn’t respond. Why would she? She’s a cat, and I haven’t been able to talk to animals for eleven years.
I haven’t been able to do a lot of things for eleven years.
Willow wakes me up by squirming out of my arms. I hang in the space between sleep and not-sleep until Buffy jumps down from somewhere -- the thump is loud and unmistakable. That brings me up the rest of the way. I fumble with the remote until I find the info button.
7:15.
“Damn it!”
I jump to my feet and get to the bedroom. The shower is still cold when I slide the door shut, but I don’t have time for anything more than a whimper. I was supposed to be up at six, damn it. “Damn it!”
Cursing doesn’t help, but it makes me feel at least a little better. So does the water, which is finally warm. I finish the shower quickly and wrap a towel around my body. I’d like to blow-dry my hair, but that’s not going to happen. I also didn’t have time for conditioner, so the comb gets stuck in the curls. For once, I’m glad I’m not back in high school -- I might have tried to drag it through my hair and ripped some of it completely out. Instead I take a moment to pull the strands apart with my fingers before combing it again.
Much better.
I’m not a fan of the first clean thing in the closet -- a gray blouse and black slacks with a zip up the side -- but I don’t have time to pick a better outfit. The zipper is tough to pull up, but I suck it in and manage it as best I can. These weren’t this tight last week, were they? What the hell have I been eating?
Oh. Right. Way too damn much.
I need to stop thinking that word. Stop thinking it, stop saying it. It’s not helping anymore.
I trip over Buffy on the way out of the bedroom. She yowls and zooms away. “Damn it!” I shout. “What the hell, cat?”
If I had time, I’d find Buffy and cuddle her a little, but time is not on my side. I grab a meal bar -- stupid doctor, stupid diet -- and my bag, and then I’m at the door, struggling into my jacket. “You guys be good,” I call to the apartment at large. “Try not to barf on anything expensive!”
No one deigns to give me a meow. I lock the door behind me and go down the steps. The 99 is late, as usual, which means that I catch it in plenty of time.
I also catch the stares of other people on the bus. I’m used to it, but I don’t have to like it. The big girl always gets the stink-eye whether she tries to squeeze into a single seat or not. At least in high school I could be called curvy; now I’m lucky if people call me rubenesque.
The hell with them, anyway. They don’t know how lucky they are that I’m alive to sit here on this bus and be stared at by them.
My phone vibrates in my pocket; I pull it out and check the screen. Just a text from Professor Wedlund, reminding me of our appointment this evening. Like I could possibly forget. I text him back, just a simple “Okay”, then settle back against the seat. It’ll be a few minutes until I transfer to the 27. I really ought to get a car, but even if I had one, the money it would cost to rent a parking spot in my apartment’s lot would be absolutely wasteful. I can afford it, thanks to the Professor’s money, but why bother getting stuck in traffic every day? I hear enough about that from my co-workers.
I wonder what it would feel like to fly again. I didn’t learn how to do that until I finished my junior year, and I don’t think the Professor was too happy I figured it out. At least if I could fly I wouldn’t have to take the bus to work every day. It certainly made my life easier when I overslept in high school.
I think I miss flying most of all.
It takes about an hour to get through my e-mail, and then I grab a cup of coffee from the upstairs break-room and make my way to Jake’s office. “Hey, kid,” he says without looking up.
“Hey.” I sit carefully in his guest
chair and set the paper cup on his desk. “How’s it going?”
“Average, but trending down. You?”
I shrug. “Cats woke me up at 4:45 again. Almost missed the bus.”
“You know, if you didn’t let them sleep in your bedroom, this wouldn’t happen.”
“They’d just scream outside the door until I got up. Believe me, this is the best compromise for everyone.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” He has a huge Starbucks cold cup on his desk, full of water; he sips from it without picking it up. “So, any plans for the weekend?”
“Nothing special. Maybe see a movie.”
“Oh, a date?” Jake raises an eyebrow at me.
“No,” I say quickly. “Definitely no dates.” I haven’t had one of those in a while. After Owen broke it off, I went out a couple of times with a guy named Steve, but when he figured out I wasn’t desperate enough to sleep with him, he stopped calling.
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