Palimpsest (Book 3): Coins for Charon

by P. J. Post

  P°A°L°I°M°P°S°E°S°T

  BOOK THREE

  COINS

  FOR CHARON

  P.J. Post

  Copyright © 2017 P.J. Post

  All Rights Reserved

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  TABLE of CONTENTS

  Tribes

  A Fear of Low Heights

  Pal-imp-sest

  Noun

  Something altered or repurposed, but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.

  Tribes

  °

  I’m fucked.

  Ten days ago I didn’t give a shit about anyone, or anything, apart from finding the backbone to eat a bullet.

  But then I met Samantha.

  And now…

  Jem’s still unconscious, burning with fever. Her chest stopped bleeding early this afternoon, and that anemic death-mask fell away about the time the sun went down. She’s breathing steady again, her color’s back and she’s getting stronger — healing.

  Fuck, I think.

  I hope.

  Seven other kids are standing around her in the dark, scared and confused. So far, I haven’t had to explain why she’s not dead — I try not to think about the sun glinting off the machete sticking out of her chest.

  Emily seems suspicious, but hasn’t brought it up.

  I follow her frosty breath back and forth across the yard. She keeps throwing her knife into the overgrown lawn with a combative grunt, never far from Jem, and then purposefully strides over and retrieves it; mumblety-peg for one. She’s keeping a close eye on me too. She’s pissed, I think at herself, like she’s somehow at fault for any of this.

  I’d try to comfort her, but sometimes people need to work through shit on their own, even if they are only this many years old.

  Pixie’s lying against Jem’s side, resolute, so white she looks like a ghost, her chin’s stretched out in the dead grass between her paws like she’s pretending to nap.

  Pixie has purpose, though: pet, watchdog, fucking savior — friend; the rest of them are nothing more than really short, really useless, super needy liabilities.

  Emily’s got a Dora beanie pulled tight over her buzz cut, but I can’t get Casey to keep her stocking cap on, she’s only six or seven, but she’s already used to getting her way, fuck the end of the world. She looks up at me with big brown, calculating kitten eyes, and she’s all, “what?”

  Her long, curly chestnut hair is twisted into high pigtails, tied with long ribbons, and looks as black as her eyes in the night. She’s sticking close to Jem too. She’s sharp enough, brave enough, and loyal too, but she’s not as tough as Jem and Emily.

  And Allen is standing off near the street, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his peacoat, all aloof and shit like he’s standing watch. He’s just spoiling to die, cocky and stupid — a dangerous and terminal combination. I hope I don’t live to regret letting him keep the .38.

  The rest of them are watching, waiting on me to do something, to say something — to tell them what to do…

  Go brush your teeth!

  Go to fucking bed!

  I look back over the valley. The emergency lights from Freemont are reflecting off the thick, low clouds. That’s where I need to be, that’s my best shot at finding Sam — down there in Freemont.

  These kids aren’t part of the plan, they never were, not like this.

  I can’t drag them with me, and what am I supposed to do with Jem, carry her over my shoulder?

  I walk over to the shadows of the house, duck behind the stockade fence and light a cigarette, careful to conceal the flame. Seven sets of confused eyes follow me, searching for answers, for someone to tell them everything is going to be okay.

  It’s not.

  But Jem is going to wake up, probably soon.

  Can I leave the rest of them then? They’ll slow us down if I don’t, probably even get me or one of the girls killed.

  They’re a fucking wall between me and Sam.

  I focus on my cigarette, but their eyes are already haunting me.

  I can’t, I can’t just leave them here. You never leave the ones you love — or the ones you’re responsible for.

  Save the ones you can.

  Your tribe…

  Fuck you, Sam, you’re as bad as God — I’m not like you, I’m not that good — not that strong.

  I miss you so fucking much.

  I take a drag off my smoke, imagining her smile, her dimples…the scent of honey in her hair…

  I don’t want this gig, taking care of a bunch of goddamned munchkins, never did, this isn’t how this was supposed to go.

  Fuck the apocalypse and its shame.

  I ignore them and stare at Jem, she’s lying near the front corner of the garage under the low hanging branches of a monstrous maple tree, buried in blankets. We should probably be inside, she should be inside, but these houses skeeve me out.

  For Christ’s sake, Jem, just wake up.

  And then what?

  Order the Rupert B. Collingsworth Elementary School Fighting Falcons into battle?

  I’m just going in circles now.

  I’m so fucked.

  The gunfire from the far side of town is getting more intense. I should be down there. That’s what I do best; I’m not a babysitter — I kill shit.

  “Lane?” It’s the shaggy-haired kid who showed me Freemont an hour ago. He’s maybe twelve or thirteen; probably has a name too. I guess they all do. I might want to get on that…

  “What?” I ask.

  “No one is watching the gate, the Crayton guys, they’re leaving.”

  “Yeah, going where?”

  “Into town? There’s explosions at the other end of the valley. Maybe they’re going there?”

  Explosions?

  Shit.

  This is it, our best shot at getting through, but it also means the fight on the other side of town isn’t going well, whatever the fuck that means, I don’t even know who’s fighting who, but it looks like they’ve called up the last of the reinforcements just the same.

  “Did some stay behind or did they all leave?” I ask.

  The kid looks up to the clouds, like he’s trying to remember, and then moves his lips, silently counting off on his fingers. He looks back to me and shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

  Under all of the filth, I’m pretty sure he’s an Asian kid, his black hair’s hanging into his face, eyes dark. He’s wearing the official uniform of the apocalypse: ratty jeans and even rattier shirts, the one on top is some eight-bit Mario meme, he’s got them layered up under the heaviest coat he could find, which turns out to be a discount brand, chartreuse parka with bubble-gum-pink fur around the hood.

  I can only assume that somehow, in the moment, choosing this coat was a win.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  He’s quiet for a second, and then he says, “Shinji.”

  “Give me your coat, Shinji.”

  He looks at me with mistrust but pulls it off.

  I take it and fold it over my arm. “It’s the wrong color.”

  “Green?” he asks as he hugs himself.

  “Bright, easy to spot. I need you to crawl down there, by that shopping center, and do some spying.”

  “No, I can’t, I won’t,” he says as he shakes his head and reaches for his coat.

  I hold him back with one arm, like I’m bullying him in the hallway between classes. “Yeah, you will, we need you to, it’s just that simple. I’ll keep your coat safe.”

  “I can’t…I…”

  “You’ve done a lot of shit you didn’t think you could since this whole thing started, right? Emily got you loose at the cafeteria, didn’t sh
e?”

  He nods, glancing over at Emily.

  “You hid then. This is the same thing, more or less, you’ll be fine.”

  He doesn’t look like he’s going to be fine, he looks terrified.

  I don’t give a shit.

  I take a drag off my smoke, watching him.

  If he doesn’t make it, I’ll send another kid.

  There’s a small lake that runs north along the edge of town, so we either get through at the gate, or we have to take our chances up here, spending the better part of another day circling the whole goddamned valley only to be stopped by the fighting at the other end of town sometime tomorrow afternoon.

  Fuck that.

  If Crayton or whoever is guarding the gate splits, I can get us into town and find a place to hide until we can disappear among the millions of refugees, but not until I know it’s safe.

  Soldiers will want to ask us a bunch of questions; they might even think we’re with whoever they’re fighting at the other end of town. I can’t leave these kids up here alone, and I won’t risk having the assholes down there split us up.

  I don’t have time for questions; I have to get to Samantha.

  We said we’d meet at Dunks.

  “Sack up, Shinji,” I say firmly, blowing smoke into the crisp night air.

  A girl slips out of the shadows. I didn’t even know she was there.

  She rests one hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, no, you won’t, who are you?” I ask with growing irritation.

  “Acid Burn.”

  “Acid…what? Fucking…really? From the movie?”

  She’s a mocha colored girl about the same age as Shinji. She’s got delicate features, pretty, with big topaz eyes. She’s dressed pretty much the same as he is, except she’s got better boots, a thick, black corduroy coat…and a matching eight-bit Princess Peach t-shirt.

  “Look, you punk-ass bitch,” she says pointing defiantly at me. She’s trembling, but trying to keep up the tough-guy act. She takes a step toward me, shoulders back, chin up and continues, “The world quit me, not the other way around; I can be what I want.”

  Okay, little Miss Crewcut…

  She catches her breath and starts up again, “You can’t…”

  I raise a hand, cutting her off. “Let’s pretend I’m in charge, sound like a plan?”

  She puffs out her chest. “What makes you in charge, you’re not that much older than us.”

  She’s seen what happened at the school, with Jem, with the Cart Guy, with Emily, and she’s still trying to stick up for her friend even though she knows what I am…what I’m capable of — good for you, girlfriend, like for realz, but…

  I lean over her. “Because I’m the one with the goddamned gun, did you hit your fucking head back there? And, you know what, I’m not going to call you that. What did your parents name you?”

  They both look down at the grass.

  “We don’t have all night, I’m going to toss your boyfriend here over the fence in about sixty seconds, so talk fast.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she says, glaring at me.

  “Yeah, spill it.”

  She looks around for a second, focuses her attention on me, then Shinji and then the ground again. “Holly,” she says softly.

  Jesus Christ.

  “What’s wrong with Holly?” I ask.

  “It’s not just…you wouldn’t understand. It’s a black…that’s just not me anymore, okay?”

  I take a drag off my smoke and stare out over the houses toward town, every so often the sky lights up with another explosion. “A black thing? Is that what you were going to say?”

  She continues to glare at me.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that shit doesn’t matter anymore,” I say.

  “Why not?” she asks, “What’s different? Looks like white folks still think they’re in charge to me, they’re still taking what they want.” She looks me up and down, with increasingly haunted eyes, and wraps her arms around herself.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Miss Burn; no one’s in charge of jack anymore. Lose the attitude.”

  “Screw you,” she hisses, her arms falling to her sides, hands squeezing into little fists.

  Shinji steps forward. “You can’t talk to her like that, you don’t know what happened, you don’t know…”

  I flick my cigarette at him. “You don’t know what I know, Mario.” Christ, they don’t get it, but then again, why should they, they’re just kids — even after everything they’ve been through, the whole apocalypse thing hasn’t caught up with them yet, what it all means for tomorrow.

  I grab her arm and stretch it out, jerk back her coat sleeve, exposing her forearm and pinch the skin.

  She squeals in surprise.

  “This doesn’t matter anymore; black, white, fuck — rich, poor, it just doesn’t. What was, fucking isn’t. There’s assholes out there, bad fucking people, and they don’t need a fucking excuse to be dicks or psycho. None of this matters,” I say pointing toward Freemont. “What’s important now is your tribe, and that’s us. This is your tribe — it’s the only thing we have left, each other, the ones we love,” I say, looking back and forth between them.

  And then I find Jem and Emily across the yard, my voice fading, “Maybe it’s all we ever had.”

  “But…” Shinji starts.

  “All we can do is survive, and help each other to survive, trust each other, be there for each other — save the ones we can.”

  She looks unconvinced, but she looks a lot less sure of herself than she did a minute ago.

  I want to hug her, reassure her, but…we’re not in that place yet. “No matter how bad you think it’s been, and I know that’s probably saying a lot, it’s about to get a lot worse, like back at the school worse. You’re one of the oldest, saving these kids from the psychos…from those evil motherfuckers…”

  She meets my gaze, keeping up the badass front, but I can tell she’s got memories bouncing around inside her head, inside her heart.

  “That’s your job now. What if I don’t make it? What if I get shot or stabbed or fuck — eaten? What then?” I ask.

  Her eyes go round.

  “Don’t let anyone make a fool of you, not religion, and not family honor, and especially don’t let your past, your mistakes,” I say as I look away, remembering my own backyard, the window in the kitchen and the taste of gunpowder, “don’t let shame make you stupid — you’re in charge of you, not nobody else.”

  She looks over the group, lingering on each face…she knows them, but I have no idea how long she’s been with them. I don’t remember killing any black men or seeing any black women in that U-Haul trailer. I wonder how long she’s been on her own, even before the war.

  She’s not the oldest, but I’m pretty sure she’s lived the most.

  “So what’s it going to be, you want to keep playing at this poor me, you-just-don’t-understand crap, or what?”

  “You can’t talk to me like that…” she echoes Shinji, but her voice is softer now.

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want, but there’s something special about you, at least I think there is. Or am I wasting my time?” I ask, lowering my voice.

  She wipes at her eyes.

  “Besides, hacking isn’t really a thing anymore, and you can’t give yourself a nickname in the real world, it has to be given…let’s see…look at me.”

  She slowly raises her chin again.

  “From now on, I’m going to call you…Hawk.”

  “You can do whatever you want.” She moves back, but stays between me and Shinji, and then, “Why Hawk?” she asks.

  “Do you always question everything?” I ask.

  Shinji smirks sourly. “Yes.”

  She punches him in the arm. “Do not!”

  I sigh, thinking about how stacked the odds are against her ever making it through her teenage years. “Because I don’t want to think about you growing up to be a sca
venger, out there on the fringe wasting away a little more each day,” I say.

  She looks at me, her jaw set.

  “Holly-hock. It’s a pretty flower, just like you, Princess. I have a friend, she says everything matters, not just who we are, but where we come from, our families, all of the people that didn’t make it — everyone’s story is the story of all of us, it all matters.

  “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.

  “But if we live through this, long enough to see that world of tomorrows, then one of these days we can talk about your Before Time, if you want, remember it together, forget the bad shit together too, but for now, it’s about living the day. Your name’s Holly because that’s who you are, but you’re also Hawk, because you’re a hunter, that’s who I think you are too. Like I said…prove me right.”

  I think she senses my sincerity, if not exactly where I’m coming from, fuck, I don’t even know where I’m coming from. But there’s something about her that reminds me of Sam, the way she stands or holds herself, the way she looks me in the eye, something…she’s a fuckload tougher than she knows.

  She nods and we make a silent pact, until she says different, she’s Holly Hawk.

  “But Shinji here,” I say, laughing as I shake his shoulder, “Christ, he’s a total loser, if you know what’s best for you, kid, you’ll stick with this girl.”

  He looks up, grinning and then pushes my hand away.

  “Okay, Shinji, Hawk, cut the shit — time to get serious. When you’re sneaking up on someone, it’s the movement that gives you away. Two people crawling down the hillside and sneaking through that parking lot doubles the chance of fucking it up, and we really need you to not fuck this up, Shinji, so that’s why you both can’t go. Make sense, Hawk?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Don’t mean I have to like it.”

  The moment with Hawk has passed and Shinji’s nerves are back.

  “You don’t need to get very close, just make sure there’s not a shit-ton of them sitting around drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, you know, just inside the gate. Hawk, stay at the fence up here, come get me if he gets…”