Soft Apocalypse

by Will McIntosh

  Deirdre didn’t answer. A woman with a cane who was way too young to have a cane struggled along the opposite sidewalk. Her legs were twisted, looking as if they might come out from under her at any minute. She paused to admire a small pack of dogs tied to a parking meter. They yipped and barked and wagged their tails, eager for the attention. It was the dog taxi—the owner was sitting on the curb, fanning himself with a piece of cardboard. He said something to the woman that I couldn’t hear.

  “Ooh!” Deirdre said, pointing. “That’s how.” Before I could protest she had crossed the street.

  She used her charms (lots of “pleeease?” while standing closer to him than was technically necessary for the negotiation to take place) to whittle the guy’s price down to $20. That wasn’t bad. Not as cheap as the nothing it would cost to bike there, but not bad.

  I texted Ange to alert the gang that we’d meet them there, then climbed into the hollowed-out Mustang convertible as the driver hitched the team.

  The dogs were pretty hilarious. They weren’t like a dogsled team, all lined up and pulling in a disciplined manner—more like the keystone cops, bumping into each other, biting ears, pulling at the wrong angle. They didn’t seem to mind the work, probably because they were getting fed, and had someone telling them they were good dogs.

  Occasional traffic passed us on the single-lane causeway out to Tybee Island. Refugee tents were set up alongside the road, beside the golden marsh that stretched for miles.

  “This was a good idea,” I said. “It’s a great way to see the marsh.”

  Deirdre nodded. “Told you.” A car beeped behind us, then roared past. Deirdre gave them the finger as they passed, with a sweet smile on her face.

  The gang was lounging outside Chu’s Beach Supplies when we arrived. Ange went right up to Deirdre like they were old friends. Cortez patted me on the shoulder and called me “bro.” Ange had almost backed out when I told her I’d invited Cortez, but he was a friend, so I didn’t think he should be left out.

  The beach was packed with homeless people, leaving no space for us to spread the towels we’d brought. Strung out in a line, we stepped from one meager spot of white sand to the next and made our way to the ocean. Ange had a bottle of home brew that passed hands as we ran in the surf, splashing, laughing.

  Deirdre and I swam out a few hundred yards and fooled around. The roar of the waves was distant; sea gulls screeched overhead.

  “I almost expect to hear a lifeguard’s whistle, see him waving us in because we’re too far out.”

  Deirdre just laughed. She pulled off her t-shirt, pressed against me. A big wave lifted us up, dropped us down.

  “This kicks ass,” she said. She looked back toward shore. “Let’s go get more of Ange’s juice before it’s all gone.”

  Ange was sitting on the shore, talking to Jeannie, not noticing me at all, but I still felt a little guilty about cozying up with Deirdre in front of her. Christ, we’d slept together on and off for, what, three years? It felt weird.

  We rode the waves to shore. Deirdre pulled her t-shirt back on at the last possible minute, not that it helped much, given how wet it was. She made no attempt to tug it loose so it was less revealing.

  I liberated Ange’s jug from Cortez and took a long swig, then went off with Colin down the beach.

  “So you really like her, huh?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “She’s high maintenance, but it’s never boring.” I thought of her collection of 911 recordings, and felt an uneasy twinge that had been nagging me since that night. “Why?”

  “I’m just asking,” he said.

  “You don’t sound like you’re just asking.”

  “Well, that’s as may be. I’m still just asking.”

  We stopped, looked out toward the tiny cargo ships dotting the horizon.

  “A lot of my attraction to her is the excitement of her being so dark and edgy and hot, I admit.”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Colin said.

  The sand sucked at my feet as we stood. I let them get buried until they were completely covered by the surf, then pulled them out.

  “It’s nice being with someone, even if it’s not your soul mate. It sucks being single sometimes,” I said.

  “There are pluses and minuses to both.”

  I watched a seagull drift on the wind overhead, barely moving, like it was running in place. “What are the minuses to finding your soul mate?” I asked.

  “You worry. I worry about Jeannie all the time. I probably average two nightmares a week about Jeannie dying.”

  “I never thought of that,” I said.

  “There are so many ways people can die now. If she died, I’d never get over it.” He shook his head emphatically. “Never. You could bury me with her.”

  “Yeah.” We watched little white birds dart in and out of the surf, plucking whatever it was they ate out of the sand. “We’ve been really lucky, you know? Nothing awful’s happened to any of us.”

  “Jasper?” a woman called. I turned. She was standing at a distance, uncertain. I recognized her, but I couldn’t place where I knew her. She was slim and pretty, tall, curly red hair.

  “Hi,” I said. Who was she?

  She came over, smiling. “I don’t know if you remember me. Phoebe. Our tribes crossed paths outside Metter four or five years ago, and we hung out one evening.”

  “Of course, yes, I remember,” I said. Colin wandered off, wading into the water while Phoebe and I talked. She was here with a friend, looking for work in the beachfront restaurants. She’d had a job at Wal-Mart until it closed. Hearing that made me feel guilty, given the role I’d played in Wal-Mart’s demise. Phoebe looked great—the last time I’d seen her she’d been half-starved and probably had lice, and had still looked good. Now, she looked almost elegant.

  “I tried to call you, a few months after, but the number you gave me was disconnected,” I said.

  “Crystal died. My friend with the phone.” She kicked at the wet sand with her toes.

  “Sorry to hear it.

  Deirdre, head down, was making her way toward us. I panicked, feeling like I was being caught doing something wrong.

  “So what are you up to?” Phoebe asked.

  “I got a job in a convenience store.” I waved to Deirdre, as if I’d just noticed her. “Here comes my friend Deirdre.”

  I introduced them, still feeling like I’d done something terribly wrong. Phoebe asked Deirdre what she was up to, which was the polite way to ask what sort of work she did, if any, given that so many people didn’t actually have jobs.

  “I’m a rock star,” Deirdre replied.

  Jeannie was flagging us. I used it as an opportunity to say a quick goodbye to Phoebe. I stole a glance back as we walked away. Phoebe was looking out at the ocean.

  “Who was that?” Deirdre asked as we headed back to our party.

  “I met her once when we were nomads,” I said. We caught up to Jeannie and Colin.

  “We’re hungry. We were thinking of going to that burger stand,” Jeannie said. In fact Ange and Cortez were already on their way, winding through the maze of people. The rest of us headed after them.

  “Do you realize,” I said as we caught up to Ange and Cortez, “that this will be the first time we’ve eaten in a restaurant since before our tribe days?”

  Jeannie laughed. “Did you take a good look at the place when we passed it? There are no seats—you stand over the table and eat microwaved French fries.”

  “Still, it’s technically a restaurant. We’re moving up in the world.”

  Ange put her arm around my neck and held the bottle up. “To moving up in the world.” She took a swig, handed it to me. She was completely toasted. Good for her.

  Cortez came up close behind us. “Keep your eyes open,” he said under his breath. “There are some guys who I think followed us off the beach.”

  I glanced over Cortez’s shoulder. Two scruffy guys were lounging outside the res
t rooms. They didn’t seem to be looking our way.

  A dog ruckus erupted in the other direction: the taxi’s dogs were barking angrily and snarling. A terrified yelping cut through the rest of the commotion. We hurried over.

  Three of the taxi dogs were mauling a much smaller dog—not much more than a puppy. The taxi guy was trying to control them, pulling on one harness only to have the two other dogs fill the gap. Ange raced right into the melee, screaming at the dogs to stop. She grabbed a big pit bull by both ears; it spun around and snapped at her. She jerked her hand away. I grabbed one of the loose leads and yanked a shaggy black mutt out of the pile. Cortez and Jeannie jumped in, and a second later we had them all away from the puppy.

  Ange lifted the puppy gently and cradled it. “Poor little guy. Are you okay?” It was whimpering pathetically, but it didn’t look badly hurt—just some chew marks on its ears.

  “I tried to stop them,” the taxi driver said. “I was feeding them and the little one tried to get at their food.”

  “He’s starving,” Ange said, taking a closer look at the little black pup. She took one of the puppy’s paws and shook it. “You want some French fries? Hm?” The puppy’s ears went down and it licked her hand.

  It was getting dark. We asked the taxi guy if he would mind sticking around for a while longer, and he said he would, for an extra five. Seemed fair enough.

  We cut over to the next street, where the burger joint was.

  My mind kept wandering back to my chance encounter with Phoebe. If I wasn’t dating Deirdre, I would have asked for her number. I’d had a great time with her that night. I was regretting that I was with Deirdre, and that made me feel like a complete flake, given how I’d dreamed of being with Deirdre just six weeks ago. I felt childish for being so fickle. I was damned lucky to be with Deirdre—a lot of guys would give their souls to be with her.

  Still, that bad feeling nagged me.

  “Watch it. Stay close.” Cortez had come up right behind us.

  I glanced around, not sure what he was talking about. Then I spotted the two guys from outside the rest room. They were heading in our direction, laughing and goofing around. One of them had had a run-in with the flesh-eating virus—one side of his face was all but missing. As we reached them they walked up to us.

  “Hey, you got a light?” the one with the mauled face said. He had a red rebel handkerchief tied around his head, and couldn’t have been more than five-six.

  “Sorry, bro, none of us smoke,” Cortez said.

  “How about a dollar and I can buy a lighter?”

  Cortez fished in his pocket and pulled out a dollar. He held it out.

  “How about twenty, so I can buy a couple of packs too?” His companion chuckled.

  “Sorry, that’s all we got. We ain’t rich people,” Cortez said.

  “You got more than a buck,” the lead guy said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled a knife. “Empty out your pockets.”

  “Bullshit,” Deirdre said. I gave her a look, trying to shut her up, but she went on cursing as the rest of us dug into our pockets. Jeannie reached to hand over her money.

  Cortez blocked her hand with his. “Put it away.”

  The guy glared at Cortez. “You want to die? Is that it?”

  “Back away,” Cortez said to us.

  Colin and I exchanged a startled look—what the hell was Cortez getting us into? “Let’s just give them the money,” I suggested.

  “Relax, everything’s copacetic,” Cortez said. “Just move back. Give me your shirt first.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. I pulled off my shirt and pushed it into Cortez’s hand. He never took his eyes off the guys, who looked more eager for a fight than for the money. We backed up as Cortez wrapped my shirt around his left hand.

  Cortez struck an impressive karate pose—hands out front, squatting slightly—and floated toward the lead guy, who was grinning and waving his knife like it was a snake with a mind of its own.

  Back in the peanut gallery, Deirdre was shouting for Cortez to kick their asses. I told her to shut up, but she ignored me.

  Cortez lunged, his wrapped left arm leading. The guy slashed at Cortez and missed. Cortez kicked him in the knee. The guy went down. Immediately. Cortez did a stunning 360-degree spin and kicked the second guy in the chest, then reversed his spin and hit the guy in the throat with the edge of his hand.

  The guy he’d kicked in the knee had gotten up. Cortez dropped, spun, swept the guy’s legs out from under him, then stomped on the hand holding the knife as soon as he hit the pavement. The guy screamed; the knife clattered onto the sidewalk.

  “Let’s go,” Cortez said, arms wide, corralling us away. We ran.

  “Man, Cortez, I didn’t know you were that good,” I said as we reached the taxi guy.

  Cortez stifled a grin, shook his head. “I been practicing. What else do I have to do?”

  “Watch it,” Colin said, steering Jeannie around bricks and glass.

  It was unsettling to watch your city die. My mom had once bought a painting from the art gallery that used to be in the building we were passing—the one that had spit the bricks and shards of glass onto the sidewalk. Was the city dying, or just resting before it rose and dusted itself off? Surely one day it would come back. Soon, I hoped. I missed fresh paint. Only the trees kept their color. I tried to soak it in, letting my eyes linger on the leaves. Bright color was like a vitamin I was deficient in.

  “Oh, jeez,” Colin said, turning his head pointedly away from a homeless guy sitting in the eave of a stairway. At first I didn’t understand, then realized the guy was masturbating into a rolled up newspaper.

  “Charming,” Jeannie said.

  A guitar riff started up in the distance. “Hurry, it’s starting,” I said, picking up the pace. Above the wall of overgrown azalea ringing Chippewa Square, smoke wafted into the Spanish moss.

  We made it to the square just as Deirdre’s voice split the night:

  “So sorry about the wheelchair,

  But why should I clean my carpet

  For a man who can’t even fuck me

  When there’s always more dogs than bones?”

  She reached down with her free hand and stroked the long mike. The crowd whistled and cheered. Deirdre grinned lasciviously.

  “That’s just beautiful. I’m getting all teary-eyed,” Colin said. Jeannie laughed, wrapped an arm around his waist as we settled into a spot inside the square. The crowd was huge. The daylight was beginning to fade; Deirdre was bathed in the light of a lamppost, her eyes closed.

  “What’s that you say?

  There can still be sex after Polio-X?

  Then walk on over and spread my legs,

  Cause I ain’t carrying you.

  “If you can’t come to bed

  Wheel your crippled ass home.

  Cause there’s studs lined up to take your place

  There’s always more dogs than bones.”

  The crowd ate it up. Except for the kids in wheelchairs.

  But that was Deirdre’s appeal, I think—she called it like she saw it. You got her unfiltered thoughts.

  She launched into the next song. I didn’t recognize it, and given that I was now Deirdre’s biggest fan, I knew it must be a new one. It opened with a recording—a 911 call. The woman Deirdre had played for me, screaming into the phone. Then Deirdre began a ballad of sorts, a story about a group of gypsies walking a street in a suburban neighborhood.

  No, she wouldn’t, I thought.

  She did, though.

  “Oh, my god,” Jeannie said as Deirdre described Jeannie holding out the knives and each of us taking one. She didn’t use our names, but she described it all just as it had happened. Just as I’d described it to her. She’d set a collage of 911 recordings in the background to accompany her, a chorus of frantic souls screaming for help.

  Jeannie sobbed, buried her face in Colin’s chest.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know about this,” I said.r />
  Jeannie looked at me. “What do you mean, you didn’t know about it? Where’d she get all of those details?”

  “Well,” I said, swallowing, “I told her about it, but not to use in a song.”

  “Well, what did you think was going to happen when you told her? She doesn’t care about us, she only cares about her career.”

  Colin leaned in close to Jeannie’s ear. “You want to go?” he whispered. Jeannie nodded.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said as Colin led Jeannie away.

  I watched Deirdre gyrate onstage, my heart pounding with anger. She’d used me. The thing was, it didn’t even surprise me that she’d used me, and why should it? That was Deirdre; she didn’t even pretend she wasn’t self-centered. The question was, what was I doing with her? She didn’t relate to people in the normal way—showing interest in what they did, offering something of herself… she didn’t do any of that.

  The knot that had been in my stomach for weeks unclenched. I was done with her, I realized, and I was relieved.

  “Did you hear my new song?” Deirdre asked after the concert.

  “Yeah, I heard it.” I started walking. I wanted to get away from the adoring crowds. “That was an awful thing for us. I don’t appreciate you capitalizing on our suffering.”

  Deirdre’s mouth fell open. “I thought you’d like it,” she said.

  “No,” I said, stopping to face her. “I didn’t like it. And I may have lost my best friends over you.”

  Deirdre glared razors. “That’s right, your friends.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You think I don’t see the expression on their faces when they’re talking to me?”

  “What expression?” I said.

  She balled her fists on her hips and got right in my face. “The one that says there’s an inside joke that I’m not getting, because I’m it. ‘Look at the stupid little whore, she thinks she’s our friend.’”

  I looked at Deirdre, at her bulging, furious eyes and marveled at how utterly mismatched we were. How had I missed that before?

  I hadn’t missed it, I’d just ignored it. I loved the idea of Deirdre so much that I’d blocked out the actuality of Deirdre. It wasn’t just Deirdre’s music that was perfect for the times; Deirdre herself was perfect for the times. Dark and violent. Unpredictable. Infused with primordial energy. I, on the other hand, was not of these times. I was a great water beast, trying to dance the Watusi on fins. There seemed no better time to end things—Deirdre was furious at me anyway. She’d probably thank me at this point.