After The Apocalypse Season 1 Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Hately, Warren

  “You’re talking about the Urchins.”

  “I figured you were too, when you said you had enough problems.”

  “It’s not me who owes those little fucks,” Aldous said. “It’s those fucking cultists downstairs and their hooch. They’re in hock to Fagin. That dead Confederate? That’s just his way of sending a warning.”

  “Fagin?”

  “That’s what they call him,” Aldous said. “Nasty piece of shit. Those kids all work for him.”

  Tom swallowed that, reappraising his idea these were just bad kids up to no good. Now it sounded a whole lot worse – some twisted nightmare version of Oliver Twist in the ruins of a world gone to hell.

  He sniffed with a gathering seriousness which slowly registered on Hairball’s dour, narrow face. Tom stepped closer to him and his right hand curled into a fist.

  “I want to make this a safe place we can all live, Hairball,” he said. “You want that?”

  “You’re gonna hurt me, aren’t you?”

  “Depends how you answer.”

  “Yes, I want to be safe,” the skinny man said. “Please, I want to help.”

  “You tell me everything you hear from now on, OK?” Tom said. “And you can explain what the hell you mean about the people downstairs too.”

  “OK, yes, anything.”

  Without warning, Tom threw a powerful hook right into Hairball’s bread basket. The impact lifted the younger man off the ground and when he came down, he sank straight to his knees. Gasping turned instantly into retches as he threw up whatever’d passed for lunch.

  “Next time, it’s your face,” Tom said. “Understood?”

  Aldous was quick enough to nod, despite hacking up a lung.

  “Good,” Tom said. “Now let’s see that generator.”

  *

  TOM’S PRIZE WAS a portable battery pack designed for weekend getaways where the family didn’t really want to get away from everything, or at least not Netflix, keeping their iPhones charged, surfing the internet, or checking in with the stock market. Hairball valiantly tried to distract Tom with a dusty fifth-hand generator with a broken hand crank, not quite moving quick enough to stop Tom spotting the far better generator concealed between hessian bags and a small larder of unlabeled cans. Tom claimed the battery pack with a grim look of warning and also helped himself to an armload of tins. Aldous only watched on with a hooded look, adumbrating the delicate line Tom knew he’d have to tow if he didn’t want yet another serpentine threat close to home.

  Telling his new sidekick this deal made them even, and surprised at his own childlike anticipation, Tom cast off Hairball’s questions about the laptop itself, trudging back up the stairs to his apartment instead.

  The portable generator would need recharging of its own. Nestled among Hairball’s gear, it was only at half strength – but that was enough to reward Tom with instantaneous signs of life after he plugged in the Government laptop with its new cable.

  Something about the seal of the United States coming into life on the long-dead screen fired Tom’s heart in a way even the sight of resurrected Twenty-First Century technology couldn’t. He meant it when he said maybe the Fury outbreak did the world a favor, ridding it of such machines. But in the moment, he ran a daydreamer’s fingertips across the sleek black device, as mystified and bewitched as some caveman seeing it for the first time.

  The front door juddered open as his children entered, Lilianna with a carry bag casually over one arm, eyes scanning the apartment before doing a double-take and back to Tom and the screen on the coffee table.

  “Holy shit, dad, what have you got there?”

  “Shut the door.”

  Lila did so, then followed her brother, the pair of them drawn like moths to the siren’s call of the flickering screen. There was no point hiding it, and Tom was likewise unable to conceal a bleak expression as he realized the screen was unlikely to change from the Government seal any time soon. He hit the space bar, rocking out on sense memories triggering vivid images, the mundanity of a past life lived within offices, with computers, laptops, cell phones, fluorescent screens of every size and form – and the same lights under which it all took place, the day-lit biome of life in an office block.

  And then a password box appeared.

  “Jesus,” Tom whisper-groaned to himself. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

  “Dad, what is this?” Lila asked.

  “Something I found.”

  “Can we watch movies?” Lucas asked.

  Tom glanced at the boy, tried a smile, distracted by the tightness around his daughter’s mouth as Lilianna dream-stared at the screen.

  “Dad,” she said eventually. “It’s got a United States Government emblem.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She stared at him. Tom tried to keep it light and failed miserably. His glum outlook triggered something in her and Lilianna looked away with a palpable air of grief.

  “Honey?” he asked.

  “Can we watch movies?” Luke asked again.

  Lilianna brushed Tom off.

  “Long day.”

  “What about you, buster?”

  “Dad, can we watch movies or not?”

  Tom gently threw his hands up, damned if he knew the point of anything. Lucas took this as his cue to move closer to the device, setting down the copy of the Guinness Book of World Records and the old department store brochures he sometimes read, gingerly touching the console’s sides, moving it around as if he might find the password taped to the bottom of the damned thing. Instead, the boy carefully depressed the DVD drive, which whirred and clicked out to reveal itself loaded already with a disposable disc.

  Tom’s eyebrow arched.

  “That doesn’t look like a movie DVD,” his son said with obvious disappointment.

  Lila absented herself from further discussion, recovering her bag and moving off to the back bedroom. Tom let her go, removing his gaze in case she had lady-stuff to do. He redoubled his attention on his son instead, pleased Lucas didn’t even register him putting his arm around him, then wondering why he’d be worried at all.

  “How was your day?”

  “Yeah, it was OK.”

  “You saw your friend at school?”

  “Kevin,” Luke said. “Yeah.”

  “Any hassle?”

  “With Kevin? No.”

  “Other kids?” Tom asked lightly.

  Lucas said nothing, not finding it hard to hide himself in his fascination for the screen. Now he did turn the laptop slowly over, mindful of the open screen. When he moved to insert the DVD again, Tom stayed his hand.

  “Our DVD player back home started by itself if you pushed in the tray,” Lucas said.

  “Maybe,” Tom said. “I didn’t get as much use from this thing as I thought I would. The DVD might be useful.”

  He tried the re-insertion as Luke urged, and then they sat a few long seconds before confirming the flat result. Tom eyed the password prompt and couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm for hope.

  “Tell me you didn’t trade anything decent for this,” Lucas said.

  Tom laughed.

  “No, and now we have this generator too.”

  “How do you charge it?”

  “I haven’t figured that bit out yet.”

  “We could use Einstein’s pedals?”

  Tom opened his mouth as if in refutation, but the idea had too much merit.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll speak to him in the morning.”

  Once again, Tom opened and closed his mouth, twisting from silent consternation into curiosity at the casual worldliness in his son. He sat studying Luke’s profile a few more of those long, silent seconds, until the boy glanced Tom’s way and frowned.

  “Quit looking.”

  “How are you finding it, being in the City?”

  “It’s good.”

  Tom gently nudged Luke’s arm.

  “Tell me more than that, man.”

&nbs
p; The boy sighed and looked slightly vexed, resembling his father at few other times as then.

  “I thought we were going to some fancy dinner?”

  “Later,” Tom said. “We have a meeting to attend first. Would you answer my question?”

  “It’s better here than living in the wild,” Lucas said begrudgingly.

  He shrugged in response to his father’s motion for more detail.

  “I don’t know, dad,” he said and shrugged again. “Nothing’s perfect.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “At first I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to come,” the boy said.

  He averted his eyes as if the confessional required it.

  “I knew we should come,” he said. “That’s why I voted yes, with Lila, when you asked. But part of me wasn’t sure. Afraid of change, I guess.”

  “Do you think that’s all it was?”

  “There’s other stuff too,” Luke said and now his gaze grew faraway. “You all had things I never had. Like the internet. I thought – in my head, when we were walking here – I imagined it a lot different.”

  He looked at Tom and startled his father with the venomousness of it.

  “I thought we were gonna be a lot safer,” he said. “But it’s not like that, here.”

  Tom considered his response for so long he sort of got lost in it, the hidden gravities of Luke’s words conjuring a slew of thoughts like the rubbish piles off the freeway – and just as haunted by the dead of the past.

  Lucas considered their conversation ended, and stood with the sudden detachment only a near-adolescent could manage. Lilianna came out of the bedroom and it was clear she’d been crying.

  “Is everything OK with you, hun?”

  Lilianna’s tears refreshed. She shot an almost anxious look across to Lucas and palmed beneath her eyes.

  “Today’s Jasmine’s birthday,” she said. “And I miss mom.”

  The statement hung in the air like the most acrid smoke. Tom chanced a look Luke’s way. His twisted look was even worse than before.

  “Jasmine wasn’t our sister,” he said.

  Tom drew a breath and fought the instinct to intervene – the right move at the wrong time.

  Just then, a tentative knock sounded at the door and it dawned on Tom he hadn’t told the children his news about Dkembe.

  *

  LILA SWORE AND vanished into the bathroom before anyone could say anything. Tom threw a look like a life buoy to his son, a wordless gesture with open hands as he gave a subliminal growl of frustration at himself and moved back to the front of the apartment to unlatch the door on its improvised rig.

  Dkembe stood with a small sports bag over one shoulder. He gave a weak wave as Tom answered and Tom nodded and simply stood back so he could come in.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to my children,” Tom said.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  For an eleven-year-old boy, Lucas moved towards them with a surprising swagger, seemingly unconcerned about threatening a six-foot near-stranger in the prime of his life with such a dangerous look. With a sick feeling, Tom was glad he’d confiscated the knife.

  “Luke, chill,” he said and stepped between them. “Dkembe didn’t have anything to do with robbing our place.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Luke’s eyes at once fell to Dkembe’s feet encased in weathered work boots.

  “I asked him,” Tom said.

  He shot Dkembe an apologetic look.

  “The break-in had us all rattled,” he explained.

  “I wanna see his boots,” Lucas said. “The soles.”

  Dkembe held up his hands before Tom could say anything else.

  “Hey man, it’s fine,” he said. “Look.”

  The apocalypse had sharpened Dkembe’s frame, which lacked the heavier muscle he’d look more comfortable carrying. But the constant work – and survival – had kept him flexible and lean. He wrestled one of his boots off in a heartbeat and thrust it at Tom’s son.

  “Here,” he said. “If you need this to trust me, do it.”

  The unexpected openness threw the boy. As Tom knew, it was sometimes easier to go on the attack than deal with the more subtle moments. His son’s eyes dropped to Dkembe’s boot as if not knowing what else to do, and he took the item and dutifully turned it over and just as quickly had his beliefs quashed. They were nothing like the tread of whoever kicked in the family’s front door.

  Lucas thrust the boot back into Dkembe’s hands and quit the room, flustered and embarrassed as if shamed before them.

  Lilianna returned as if following stage directions. At least her face lit up to see Dkembe, her earlier sadness shelved for now. Looking awkward, the young man dipped his head and flashed the slightest of smiles. He deposited his gear, head still down, and something in Tom’s heart broke for a moment and he walked over and squeezed Dkembe’s shoulder. At once, the young man collapsed in tears.

  Tom didn’t voice the startled cuss words, but they coursed through him as he put an arm around Dkembe’s shoulders in support. Lilianna had the good graces to quietly backtrack from the room as Tom let the erstwhile stranger soak his shirt, bawling for a handful of moments before rearing himself back, almost slapping at his dark face, abashed, and in every line was writ not so much the child he’d once been, but the truly young man he was. Tom knew from his days on the news beat leading a younger team, the old hands seemed so much wiser and more knowledgeable than they really were. He felt like a total fake in the comforting role.

  “I’m sorry,” Dkembe half-spluttered.

  “It’s cool.”

  Tom patted him on the shoulder again and retreated invitingly to the kitchen sink, fixing the marooned carpenter a mug of water.

  “It’s been tough, man.”

  “Yep.”

  “Not just here, I mean.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Realizing there was no shame in the admission, Dkembe seemed to loosen. He accepted the drink, calmer now, and finished the whole thing in one gulp. Tom motioned for the cup and refilled it and Dkembe repeated the action, more slowly now, then set it down on the bench.

  “Even things like a drink of water, we just took ‘em for granted.”

  “We sure fucking did.”

  The young man’s eyes seemed darker still in his shadowed face.

  “I appreciate you throwing me a lifeline, Mr Vanicek.”

  Tom nodded and smiled tightly and mostly held Dkembe’s gaze.

  “From now on you call me Tom,” he said gently. “I know it might seem like I’m older and I know what I’m doing here, but that’d be a lie. I offered you the room because we could help each other. I trust you . . . but I’m not your dad, Dkembe. I have kids already and they always come first. Call me Tom. I need an equal, not another kid. Help me . . . and help yourself, cool?”

  It was an unaccustomed barrage of words, Tom knew. Dkembe’s face rocked with the conflicting messages, at once slapped back into adulthood by the subtle rebuke and honored at the same time. He chewed Tom’s speech over long enough it looked like he’d gone into shock, and Tom left him mulling his thoughts near the sink and returned to the laptop and swiftly disassembled it while Dkembe’s back remained turned.

  “If you could look at the front door, it needs a tradesman’s touch,” Tom said. “Front room’s yours. Have you eaten?”

  The other man slowly shook his head and turned around.

  “There’s not much here right now,” Tom said. “But take what you need. There’s a tin of fruit on the shelf in there with your name on it, metaphorically speaking. Kids and I have to go out.”

  Dkembe nodded slowly.

  “Thanks . . . Tom.”

  *

  THEY WERE PROBABLY running late. Tom couldn’t care less. He wasn’t in any hurry to go to any Council meeting anyway, but it’d be awkward dining with Councilor Wilhelm if he didn’t turn up to the main event. Things being what they were, he’d keep company
with Judas Iscariot if it meant the chance for meat and greens – and doubly so for his children. That said, Lucas was in a mood, and Lilianna kept her respectful distance, however much that was possible with the three of them together standing in the one bedroom.

  “Lucas,” Tom said and deliberately kept his voice low like he knew he’d be doing a lot in future – just another unforeseen, unintended consequence of their surprise cohabitation.

  “Lucas?”

  Tom said it as if trying to hail the kid’s attention like a passing cab.

  “Are you OK? Come back to me, big guy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Lucas all but hissed. “I will be a big guy, soon.”

  “Soon,” Tom said. “But not yet.”

  “Lilianna’s right,” Lucas said. “You don’t tell us anything.”

  “We’d been together five minutes,” Tom said and glanced at the watch he no longer owned. “If that, even. I’m sorry.”

  “Luke. . . .”

  Lilianna gave a fey, cautious smile, trying to help lure the angry boy back. Tom was heartbroken by her efforts – and the need for them. And he resisted the urge not to cross the short distance to his son and crush him in a hug. This wasn’t some saccharine movie, even if a bear hug would probably do the trick. If Lucas really was growing up, he’d need space to be a sawn-off little teenage prick now and then.

  “It’s OK,” Lucas said.

  He wiped his nose, the words still hanging angrily despite their more casual signifiers. Tom watched his son trying hard to make it like he was doing anything other than just watching him, gleaning the signs like some hunched Nordic soothsayer decoding a mess of rune-carved bones. The boy looked uncomfortable under his gaze, whatever way he took it. He turned his back to them and harrumphed – his usual cue for wanting some privacy while getting changed.

  Tom crossed to Lilianna and hugged her instead.

  “Dkembe can fix the door, help watch our backs, help keep the apartment occupied when we’re not around,” he said loud enough to make sure Lucas heard it too. “It’s like Lucas said to me earlier on. It’s not as safe as we might’ve hoped. But there could be good things here, too . . . if we work together.”