by Brian Hodge
“Looks like you just got shot down in flames,” she heard Sam say, chuckling, then Erika disappeared into the garage, past the cars and trucks they left on the fourth level, and glad to be rid of Billy’s eyes at her back.
Four stories below, Olive was much less the canyon it had appeared last night. It was just one more path in an empty maze, sporting the occasional abandoned car and flecked with aimlessly blowing trash. She wasn’t alone here in the outside world—the desultory drones of distant cars proved that—but sometimes it still felt otherwise. Erika wondered if anyone else had done the same thing she and the others had: moved into the business district.
She walked east. Toward her right, Busch Stadium sat dormant. She thought of the Coliseum in Rome, empty, resounding with the echoes of the battles staged for a dead civilization. No more gladiators, no more Cardinals.
She hit Memorial Drive and moved south. Its north and south lanes split to either side of I-70, recessed in between like an enormous bobsled track. Still a humbling experience to see the whole layout emptied of traffic. She passed the KMOX building, its 50,000-watt voice now mute. In the distance, the Poplar Street Bridge spanned the river into Illinois, its gently twisting ramps intertwining like tendons.
Erika crossed Memorial and soon stood facing the Old Cathedral, the Basilica of St. Louis. The city behind her, she gazed upon its heavy stone blocks and pillars, sitting stoically while all else had fallen. She remembered hearing that they never locked the doors.
Been a long time since I’ve been to church, she thought. Sure wouldn’t do me any harm.
You can never drive out the atmosphere of a cathedral, but as soon as she set foot past the inner doors she knew something was off. No longer could she smell that faintly waxy smell of thousands of candles burned over the years. And the cigarette smoke didn’t belong at all.
She froze, eyes taking in the white pillars, the unlit chandeliers, the bright sunshine spilling in through the tall narrow windows ranked along both walls. And the dozen or more faces staring back from the pews and aisles, even the altar. From somewhere there came the clatter of a heavy bottle.
“Whoa, whattayaknow,” someone said with a laugh. “Looks like our prayers got answered after all!” More laughter from everyone.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Panic led to even worse decisions than she’d made already.
They moved from every corner of the cathedral, rising from pews, purpose in their strides. She noticed one guy moving down from the altar; he was short but cocky, greasy hair pushed back and hanging down either side of his face. He couldn’t have been any older than she was, maybe even younger, but his eyes…so old, so jaded.
Come on, she told herself. Let’s just ease on out of here.
They were moving quicker now, jackals closing in for the kill. She could smell their acid sweat, and their intentions. She could hear them calling out their place in line.
Floodwaters of panic rose inside. There were too many, she was too close, and twelve against one were impossible odds. But unless she wanted to wind up the guest of honor at a gangbang, she could only hope her legs would run half as fast as she wished.
Erika waited in the doorway until the closest one came within reach. He wasn’t much older than Cal had been, with spiky dark hair and a studded leather bracelet.
“Just wanna make friends, bitch,” he said. “I got something that’s just dyin’ to meet you.”
Erika swung her foot up into the juncture of his legs. His grin turned anguished as he toppled into the doorway, the heavy wooden door closing on him after she released it—maybe it would buy her a bit more time. She bounded down the concrete steps.
Erika raced back up to Memorial Drive, hearing them following close behind. Might as well give it up now, because once they caught her they were only going to be even angrier for having to chase her. She wondered if it would hurt.
Billy, why didn’t I listen to you, why didn’t I, just this once…?
Somebody in a car was roaring up behind her now. She glanced back and saw red. Great, just great. Probably friends with the rest of the asshole herd back there. Her lungs searing, she knew she wouldn’t last much longer. She stopped as the car screeched to a halt beside her and the door opened.
Just when she’d realized what the silver door was, how it had been there all along.
Okay, so they’d won. Big deal. Nobody said she had to let it be fun for them.
2
In a world as uncertain as next week’s news, some things still hadn’t changed. For Jason, driving still worked therapeutic wonders. I-64 rolled westward, and he’d not felt this good in over a month.
And a month of healing it had been. The beating he’d taken from his own tire iron had left him nearly too sore to move, stiff as a board. The jabs with the beveled end hadn’t done him any good either. One had even pierced the skin of his side and grated on a rib. He’d still been lucky: A half-inch either way and it might have punctured a lung.
Behind the wheel, he bit into an apple, chewing slowly to make it last. He’d picked a basketful forty-five minutes ago, shortly after leaving the interstate to search for an orchard he thought was nearby. Memory proved him correct. Rows of trees stood loaded with apples and no one to harvest them. Well, no one except for some old man who’d laid claim to the main building. He wore overalls and smoked a pipe and hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. He didn’t have much to say, but told Jason to pick however many he wanted. And to come back soon.
Twenty miles to St. Louis.
Interstate traffic wasn’t entirely a thing of the past, but was winnowed down to a tiny fraction of its former self. Now and again Jason would pass someone, or they’d pass him, and he’d wonder who they were, where they were heading. Funny…people didn’t hesitate to stare at you on the highway these days. And you didn’t really mind.
Fifteen miles.
Mt. Vernon was no longer home. Everything that had made it such had died, one by one. There were no ties now, and not even any civilization left, so far as he could tell. There were people, sure, but each a kingdom to himself. He was no leader capable of rallying them together. If any remnant of society was to be found, Jason was betting it would be found in the cities. And St. Louis was the nearest place to begin looking.
The interstate evolved into organized confusion as he drew nearer. East St. Louis exits came and went and ahead, across the river, rose St. Louis, the unmistakable landmarks of Busch Stadium and the Gateway Arch standing out in the forefront.
Last time he’d been here he’d gotten mugged. It seemed like a bad omen.
The Poplar Street Bridge ferried him over the river and he veered right, taking the Memorial Drive exit instead of curving onto the lower lanes of I-70. People already, ahead in the street. Hmmm.
Jason pumped his brakes and slowed the Mustang, watching. They were all moving away from the Old Cathedral, and with each moment it became increasingly clear that they weren’t out for exercise. The gender ratio was way off-balance as well. While there was more than one head of long hair, his own notwithstanding, he was positive only one was female: the one in the lead.
“Hell,” he said, gunning the engine and shooting forward again. John Wayne I’m not. But he couldn’t leave her. Not when the ache in his side was an ever-present reminder of what could happen to someone alone. And these odds were much worse than what he’d confronted.
Jason cut into the far left lane to bypass them, whatever the scuzzy creatures in pursuit were. The girl had a fifteen-yard gain but was losing it fast.
The timing was good…she was cutting across from the northbound lane onto a crosspath that bridged over I-70 and led to the southbound lane. Plenty of room for what he planned to do.
Easy, easy…NOW!
He stomped the brake and cut a sharp left, and when the car finished its sideways skid to the right, the front end was a
imed directly at her. Their eyes met through the windshield, and she suddenly stopped. If looks could kill, Jason knew he’d have cashed in his chips right there behind the wheel.
He half pushed, half kicked his door open and stepped out with his shotgun. He jacked a shell into the chamber and aimed at no one in particular. Every last one of the grubby street urchins stopped. Nothing like the sound of a pump shotgun to catch someone’s ear.
Looks like I’m the center of attention.
A dozen pairs of eyes stared at him from the front, another from the side. Her eyes. He glanced over toward the girl. Pretty, but right now she defined the word disheveled. Dark blond hair. And were her eyes really green?
“Me or them,” he said to her. “Who do you trust?”
“Some choice.” She looked at him, his hair, his bandanna, his smoke gray sunglasses. “But you, I guess. More than them.”
“Then get in.”
She did so, slowly easing her door open and sliding into the front seat. Her eyes darted between Jason and the others, and they were still frozen in place and looking annoyed as hell for the interruption.
Jason stood his ground a moment longer. Never before had he seen such a nasty bunch, the kind of guys who would steal coins off a dead grandmother’s eyes. Even so, could he really have squeezed the trigger, cutting one of them in half? He’d killed before, yes, three times, but the memory still brought nausea.
One of them finally stepped forward, and Jason trained the shotgun on him. He was a runty fellow with hair all one length and a complete absence of fear. Something about him said leader.
“I never forget faces,” he said, shaking his long bangs away from his forehead.
Jason pulled off his sunglasses, tossed them inside, onto the car’s dash. “Then take a good look.” He stayed put for a moment longer, as long as he dared, then slid back into his seat. He aimed the shotgun out the window as he closed the door, even as he geared the Mustang and headed north in the southbound lane. A moment later he checked the rearview, found them milling about in the middle of the street. He saw a couple of bird fingers lifted for his benefit.
His heart was thundering. He glanced across at his passenger, gave a lopsided grin, laid a hand across his chest and laughed with relief. “Three hundred beats per minute, easy.” She smiled back, sort of. “Friends of yours?”
“They wanted to be,” she said, and smoothed her stray hair back into place, wiped her forehead.
“Lucky I came along to save your virtue.”
She shrugged. “You’re a few years late for that.” Then she flushed, dropping her head onto her palms. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Jason laughed again, pretty sure if he kept it up, he’d have trouble stopping, and it wouldn’t be an entirely sane sound.
“Thanks anyway, just the same.” She gave him one last wary look. “I guess.”
“I know I’m a little ragged right now, but you’re not going from the frying pan into the fire.” Jason watched the buildings along the left. To the right swelled a large green hillock leading to the Arch, trees scattered along this small park. He noticed her eyes seemed glued that direction. Away from him, or toward something over there? “Is there anyplace I can take you? Someplace you need to get back to?”
No answer. He repeated the question.
She whirled her head around. “Huh? Oh…sorry. I had my mind on something. Ummm, yeah. You know where Brannigan’s is?”
“Sure. Meeting someone there?”
“Sort of.”
Jason turned left a couple corners later, onto Olive Street. Why there, he wondered. They talked briefly, exchanging names, where they were from. And when he reached the store, idling in the middle of the street, Erika asked him to wait a minute.
“I’m hoping my judgment’s holding out here,” she said, “but this is where some of us are calling home now. Just over twenty of us. We’ve got one of the floors converted over sort of like a dorm.” A little line crinkled between her eyes. “I don’t know anything about you or where you were going. But you helped me out, and you didn’t have to, so I just wanted to let you know. It’s nothing permanent here, it’s only until we figure out something else, but…anyway, we’re not a closed society. If you’re interested in taking a look, I’ll take you up.”
Jason toyed with the softly vibrating gearshift knob. Sooner than he had expected it to happen, but this was where it really came down to it. He’d lived alone for a long time. Was he ready to start cooperating with others again, or would the solitude of travel suit him better?
Or am I afraid of losing them, too? People I haven’t even met yet?
Finally Jason looked her straight on, nodded. “I’ll take a peek.”
* *
He wasn’t welcomed with opened arms, and he hadn’t expected to be. But he could tell it wasn’t outright hostility. Instead, he felt almost as though he were starting a new job, and was being introduced to his coworkers. The warmest reception came from a big guy Erika called Rich. He was the kind of guy you never minded drinking with because he could keep pace and he always paid for at least half the rounds. The chilliest reception came from one of the first two Jason had met…one of the guards at the end of the parking bridge. Billy something. Tall guy, a few years older than himself. He grumbled a greeting when Erika introduced them and explained how they’d met, then scarcely looked at him.
Either shacking up with her, Jason thought, or wishing he was.
The morning went on, and although he hadn’t been counting, he thought he must’ve met everyone at one time or another. And he gained a new appreciation for the phrase stranger in a strange land—it was as good a description as any of how he felt under their scrutiny.
He sat beside Erika at lunchtime. Macaroni and cheese made with powdered milk was the main staple. Everyone sat on the rummage sale arrangement of furniture, holding plates of the stuff. Someone had brought along a battery-powered ghetto blaster, with Dire Straits providing the dinner music for the afternoon.
“I feel like something under a microscope,” Jason said, leaning closer to Erika. He’d felt a lot of glances coming his way since they’d all gathered in here; most were averted once he looked up.
“It’s been over a month since we took in someone new,” she said quietly. “Just give it time.”
He nodded, scratched at his throat. His August beard was gone, but it’d been five days since he’d shaved. He felt suddenly self-conscious of that. He forked up some of the bland macaroni and cheese, held it at eye level for inspection. “Wow,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “You eat like this every day?”
Erika giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Feast today. We wanted to impress you.”
Jason rolled his eyes and let his fork drop onto the plate. Her laughter delighted him to no end. She needed to laugh more often, he decided. It seemed to do her good.
Something just happened here, he thought. I think we just clicked.
But then he watched her laughter fade, the little worry-line reappearing between her eyes. She went at her lunch more intently than before.
Then again, maybe not.
After he finished his first unmemorable Brannigan’s meal, he pondered something for a moment. Go with it, he decided, and made a quick trip out to his car. He returned bearing the bushel basket full of apples he’d picked that morning. Everyone fell on them as if apples would be their last meal. He happened to catch sight of the way Billy Strickland was regarding him: as if he were buying their friendship. If he was, the price had been right enough, because some of the walls did come tumbling down.
But when the future was at best uncertain, a few shortcuts here and there could be forgiven.
* *
“You think you’ll be staying?” Rich Patton said. His jaws worked slowly over a bite of grilled canned ham.
The evening meal
was notably better than lunch had been. Ham, corn, and he was drinking a beer the autumn evening air had chilled down in the parking garage. He and Rich and Jack Mitchell were off by themselves at Jack’s request. Jason had decided that Jack looked like an accountant, or maybe a philosophy professor, with a balding pate and glasses and moustache and neatly trimmed goatee.
“Is this an official invitation?” Jason said.
“More or less,” Jack said.
“I’ve been here less than eight hours. You don’t know anything about me.”
“We’ve talked to everyone. Nobody much objects.”
Rich nodded. “We’ve learned how to make quick appraisals. If we’ve learned anything since summer, it’s that.”
“Yeah, I hear you there.” Jason wiped his mouth, frowned a moment. The offer seesawed in his mind. The hidden quiet fear of losing more friends squared off against the louder need to hear friendly voices again, to know that if he felt like talking, someone would be there to listen. It wasn’t much of a contest. “Count me in,” he finally said.
“Nobody gets a free ride, understand that right now.” Jack took off his glasses. His nose had a narrow, pinched look. “You’ll work to keep everything going. Every job, no exception. And yes, there’s a shit detail. We take turns, and you’ll be no different.”
Jason nodded. “I didn’t expect any different.”
Jack smiled and replaced the glasses. “I don’t want to come off like a dictator. But that’s the way things run around here, and so far it’s worked out.”
“Sure.” Jason looked sadly at his plate. Two more bites of ham; three if he was lucky. “Can I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
He glanced around at the rest of the floor, the others illuminated from the light of a half-dozen Coleman lanterns. “What kind of future are you working toward? You’ll eventually run out of stuff to salvage. Maybe not soon, but nothing lasts forever. Everybody who died didn’t take it with them, but the important stuff will dry up someday.”
Rich and Jack exchanged an uncertain look, and both shrugged amiably. Finally Jack answered. “We know that. Nobody’s got any illusions. But I guess I’m as guilty as anyone in putting that out of my head for the time being. Everyone’s still trying to make sense out of what happened. Regain their equilibrium. The future…we’ll get to it when we can.” He plucked his glasses off again, this time to massage the bridge of his nose. “That’s not much of an answer, I know, but it’s an honest one.” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going out after another beer or two.”
