by Pieter Lars
“NO, TOM! IT’S SO MUCH WORSE!” She pointed out the little window between the shower and the sink.
Tom looked out. At first he didn’t see anything, but then a flash of color drew his attention.
It was a balloon. A red balloon, floating lazily in the air above the condo across the street.
His heart seized. For some reason he knew. He knew it wasn’t a birthday party, or some kid’s lost toy.
And yet he had to look. He struggled against his own body, urging himself not to look. But his eyes moved from the balloon, down to the condo’s roof, down further to the second floor windows, then to the shrubbery.
And there it stood.
The clown.
It stared straight up at him with its greasepaint face and its big stupid red shoes and its pom-pom buttons and its red lips.
It was smiling.
It raised its arm to waive, and squeezed a little flower on its lapel. Something wet spurted from the flower and Tom heard a faint squeak, like a chew toy.
Nonononononoo, he muttered, or maybe only thought it. He wasn’t sure. He turned the blinds until they were all the way closed, then backed away from the window.
He ducked down to the floor, knowing it was irrational. That the clown couldn’t see him. They were on the second floor, and the blinds were closed. But all he wanted to do in that moment was shut himself up in a vault and wait for the next apocalypse. Even if it was Giant Spiders again. He could deal with that.
He could not deal with creepy clowns in shrubberies.
He kicked the door closed and reached up to turn the thumb lock.
“The front door is locked, right?” He said, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
“I think so,” Samantha said.
He took her by the arms and made her look at him. “Are you sure, or aren’t you! This is serious!”
She took a moment, then nodded. “I’m sure. I locked it last night. Definitely.”
“OK,” he said, taking deep breaths. “We’re fine. We’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t feed the animals,” Samantha said.
“I’m not leaving this bathroom, Samantha. They’ll have to go hungry.”
Samantha paused, then nodded. “They’ll be fine. But what if we get hungry?”
“Then we go hungry. We have mouthwash. We can at least get a little drunk while we wait it out.”
“And it’ll be a new one tomorrow? For sure?” Samantha asked.
“That’s what the crazy guy on the moon said.” And he hoped it was true. Midnight was a long way away.
8
Dinopocalypse
It was 1:45AM and they were in the kitchen eating through everything they had in the fridge, trying to wash the taste of mouthwash and toothpaste out of their mouths.
Tom still felt a little ill. By the end there, he had been so delirious with hunger that he almost ate a tube of Neosporin. Samantha knocked it out of his hand at the last second.
They had spent the whole day and most of the evening listening to squeaky footsteps on the street outside. Once they had heard a child giggling, but then the giggles had turned to shrieks.
They weren’t sure if the kid had survived. Maybe it had been turned into a clown, or maybe it had been dragged into the storm drain to be fed upon. They couldn’t bring themselves to look out the window and find out.
So now they were in the kitchen, gorging on grilled cheese and ginger ale, convincing themselves that a new apocalypse was upon them. That it would be safe to leave the condo.
First though, they needed to sleep.
The streets were pretty quiet that morning. Everyone was probably recovering from the previous day’s horrors. Sleeping late, hugging their loved ones a little tighter.
It was Sunday, which was really throwing Tom off. Normally the apocalypses reset on Mondays. This was all kinds of weird. Waking up on a weekend and not knowing what to expect.
Tom liked routine.
Samantha rolled over and nudged him with her elbow. “Let’s go kayaking.”
He looked at her, at the crazy nest of bed-head and her puffy, sleepy eyes, and the line of dried drool stretching across her cheek.
It was crazy how much he loved her.
A year ago he would have said, but what about the apocalypses? We don’t know what to expect!
Instead he said, “OK. I’ll go feed the animals,” and then climbed out bed.
He filled the bunnies’ meat bowls, the kitty’s kibble bowl, and the frogs’ meal-worm bowl, smiling the whole time. He started thinking about how he had always wanted a dog. Why didn’t they have a dog? They had everything else.
“Babe,” he said, walking into the kitchen where Samantha was preparing breakfast. “Can we get a dog?”
“Yeah!” She said, hopping a little with excitement. “I thought you’d never ask! Maybe after rafting we can stop by the SPCA.”
“Sounds good. What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the pentagram on the kitchen table. It was drawn in chalk. Or salt. He wasn’t sure. “Did you draw that?”
“Oh. Yeah. I was thinking it might be hell-spawn again today, so I thought I would leave a little sandwich in the ritual circle. Just in case.”
Tom nodded. “OK, but we’re not adopting an imp or a demon, no matter how cute they look. Alright? I have to draw the line somewhere.”
A little frown creased her eyebrows, but she nodded. “OK. As long as we can get a dog.”
Tom was thinking how weirdly calm it was as he pulled his Subaru into the parking lot of the Salt River visitor’s center. The lot was mostly empty, despite it being a warm day with plenty of sunshine. Was this one of those apocalypses where people just disappeared without a trace? Like another Rapture event maybe?
Had the Skrillex come back? He hoped not. He would be sad if he and Samantha weren’t invited to the next invasion, though he supposed he was being a bit selfish. He couldn’t imagine they had room on their ships for everyone. Unless they had some sort of weird time/space-bending technology that allowed them to fit multitudes into a smaller physical space.
Was that a thing? Or was he thinking of a magical Bag of Holding?
“Tom, can you give me a hand?” Samantha was struggling, trying to pull their inflatable kayak out of the trunk.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” He rushed over to help. “I was just thinking-”
A screech sounded from overhead and they both looked up, squinting in the bright morning light.
A huge leathery shape flapped across the sky.
“Dragons!” Tom shouted. “Awesome!”
“No. That’s not a dragon. That’s a Pteranodon!”
They both looked at each other, wide-eyed and grinning.
“Dinosaurs!” They shouted in unison, then high-fived.
“This is perfect!” Samantha said. “We’ll be on the river all day! I bet we’ll see all kinds of dinos when they come to the banks to drink! And the water’s too shallow for a plesiosaur, so we won’t have to worry about a thing!”
Tom was giggling. There were a few books he clearly remembered from his childhood, and the one about the dinosaur theme park was by far his favorite.
He worked the kayak’s foot pump like nobody’s business, and they carried it into the river as fast as they could.
An hour later they had seen three more pteranodons, a dilophosaurus (that, sadly, had not tried to spit purple goo at them), a whole group of Coelophysis who were rummaging through someone’s abandoned ice chest, a triceratops with a car tire stuck to one of its horns, and a stegosaurus in the distance that had become tangled in a porto-potty.
“Man, this is a bummer that we’re only going to get one day of this.”
Samantha sprayed herself with another application of sunscreen, then passed the bottle to Tom. “I bet we could have found another hiking group, like we did with the Dragon Swarm week.”
“That would have been fun. Especially if we got that same crazy tour guide who kept picking up all the poop
and showing it to everyone.”
“Scat, Tom. It’s called scat when it’s wild-animal dung. But, yeah, she was awesome. I loved how everything she wore, from her shoes to her hat, was khaki.”
They heard a roar from somewhere in the distance. Tom frowned. It was probably some species of Tyrannosaurus. He felt like they were a bit overplayed in the media.
The dinosaur he really wanted to see was an Ankylosaurus. They were awesome. Like big horned toads with flail tails. Maybe he would see one fighting!
Heck, he’d even settle for a Hadrosaur. At least he might get a chance to learn if they really did make sounds out of their weird horns.
“Tom! Samantha!” Someone shouted. Tom turned his head around and looked up-river. There was man floating in a black inner tube. He was waving at them, trying to get their attention.
“Oh, God. That’s mister Phillips.” Samantha tried to duck down in the kayak, but then realized that he’d already shouted her name. She was made.
“You think we can paddle faster? Pretend like we didn’t hear him?”
But Phillips was fast. Tom watched as he splashed his arms into the water, pushing his little tube closer and closer until he was just a few feet away.
“Hey!” he said. “Looks like we all had the same idea! Beautiful day. Can you believe all these dinosaurs? This is wild.”
Phillips’ neck and arms were fairly tan, but his chest was blindingly white. He had a smudge of zinc on his nose and was wearing a big floppy hat.
“Hi, Mister Phillips. Good to see you out in the wild,” Samantha said.
“Oh, it’s the weekend, Samantha! Call me Nigel!”
Tom snorted.
“Tom! It’s good to see you.” Phillips had floated close enough to bump into Tom and Samantha’s kayak. He reached over and grabbed onto their gunwale. It looked like they were stuck with him.
“I heard about your NEA training getting cancelled. I’m sorry to hear it. I know you were excited about that.”
Tom frowned, then realized that Phillips was being sincere. “Thanks...Nigel. It’s a bit disappointing, I guess.”
“Yeah. I bet. Although, if you believe the news, you’d be stuck in some alternate dimension right now with the rest of the NEA people.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” Tom asked. They hadn’t really been watching the news for the last few days.
“Yeah. That guy up on the moon has ‘em all stranded, apparently. So maybe it’s for the best. Who knows where you’d be right now. I know I can’t talk you into coming back to work for me - I probably wasn’t the best boss anyway - but if there’s anything I can do for you. Either of you. You just let me know, alright?”
Phillips was smiling at them both, and he had a look of genuine warmth on his face. Tom found himself wondering if maybe he’d been too harsh in his perceptions of him. Maybe he was just a normal guy feeling pressure from his own bosses. Heck, he’d let Tom stay on as a salesman long after he should have. Tom had been a terrible salesman. Any other boss probably would have fired him after his first month.
“Thank you, Nigel. I really appreciate that,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Samantha said. “Me too. You’re a really good boss. And a really good guy.”
Phillips grinned and fished in the river by the side of his tube, producing a six pack of beer. “Here. I brought more than I should probably drink by myself. You guys want some of these?”
Tom nodded. “Sure! Thanks!”
“OK.” Phillips tossed them a six pack. “Make sure you keep those in the water, though. They’re local. From my favorite micro-brewery. You don’t want to let them warm up too much before you drink them. It ruins the flavor profile.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll be sure not to ruin the flavor profile. Thank you.”
Phillips gave them another grin, then pushed off. “Alright. Take care, you too. If you don’t get married soon I’m going to fire the both of you!”
He started cackling as he drifted away. “Or, wait, I guess I’ll just fire you Samantha!”
They watched as he drifted around a bend and then Tom looked over at Samantha. She had a strange look on her face. Sort of thoughtful, but also apprehensive.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Do you think-”
“No! Not at all. I wasn’t thinking anything.”
Tom frowned. “Are you sure? Because-”
“No, Tom. He’s crazy. Let’s just drink this beer and enjoy the rest of the day.”
Tom took a deep breath, let it out, and said, “OK. Yeah. He’s a weirdo. But surprisingly generous!”
Sam popped open one of the micro-brews and passed it to Tom, then opened one for herself. She took a deep gulp, belched, and grinned. “These are good!”
9
Nuclear Wasteland
Tom couldn’t figure out how so many people had already outfitted their cars with spikes and roll-bars and armored plating. Had they stayed up in their garages the night before?
That didn’t make any sense. How would they have known there would be a wasteland on a Monday?
He pulled the Subaru to the side of the road to let a pack of wastelanders pass. The convoy was a mix of suped-up muscle cars, pickup trucks, and SUVs. Some of them had spiked hubcaps, others had chains and hood ornaments made of animal skulls. Most of the drivers were wearing hockey masks or gas masks and were bare-chested with leather bandoliers.
They hooped and hollered various battle-cries as they passed, slamming their nailed planks against the sides of their vehicles. The lead SUV had the words Cannibal Killaz spray-painted on the side.
Tom hoped that was just posturing.
The air was full of ash and the gutters full of debris. He was pretty sure that Phoenix hadn’t been hit with any actual bombs. Someone at the gas station mentioned they had mostly gone off in the desert.
Nobody seemed that concerned with radiation.
Tom’s plan was to see Samantha safely to work, then go home and watch some Seinfeld DVDs. The EMPs had messed with their internet and cable connections.
They stopped at an intersection. The traffic lights weren’t working and as Tom inched forward to see if there was any oncoming traffic a huge diesel pickup screamed into view from Tom’s right. He slammed on his brakes.
The truck also had Cannibal Killaz sprayed in red paint on the side.
“How many of those guys are there?” Samantha said.
“Should I try to go around them?”
“No. Let’s just wait. I don’t want to attract their attention.”
So he sat and watched to see what the truck would do, but it just sat there in the middle of the intersection with its engine idling, black smoke belching out of its exhaust stack. The driver yelled something and another gang member popped into view from the bed of the truck. He shouldered what looked like a soviet-era RPG launcher and took aim.
Tom turned to his left. Another vehicle was approaching. An old Jeep, painted pastel blue. A line of armored Buicks trailed after it, all with similar coloring and the requisite spikes and armored plating.
The Jeep approached the intersection and the Cannibal fired the RPG. The projectile streaked down the street but the Jeep swerved out of the way and the rocket struck a fast food sign, blowing it to smithereens.
The Jeep screeched to a stop and the Buicks fanned out behind it. Each of the vehicles had Granny’s Ghouls painted on their sides in bright pastel orange. The driver of the Jeep was a small figure wearing a leather jumpsuit and a rubber halloween goblin mask.
The driver opened the door and hopped out, then went around to the back of the jeep and pulled something from the back seat. It was a long pipe, connected by rubber tubing to a tank. The tank had padded shoulder straps hanging off it and Tom watched as the driver struggled it onto their back.
The Cannibal driver was angry-yelling at the guy standing in the truck-bed who was trying to fit another rocket into his launcher.
Both Cannibals screamed. The truck reversed, flipped a quick u-turn, and drove off the way it had come.
The Granny turned towards Tom’s Subaru. He jammed the stick-shift into reverse, but the Granny just waved.
Samantha leaned forward, squinting out the windshield. “Is that-” she started.
The Granny lifted the goblin mask and Tom saw that it was Mrs. Garmin, one of his favorite former clients.
“Hi Tom! Hi Samantha!” she shouted. The drivers of the Buicks honked their horns in unison and waved their hands at them through their open windows. Manicured nails flashed and gold rings glinted in the sun.
“You heading to work?” Mrs. Garmin shouted. “We’ll give you an escort!”
She ran back to her jeep. Was she wearing slippers? Tom wondered
Mrs. Garmin threw her flamethrower into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. She revved the engine and pulled into the intersection with a screech, waving for Tom to follow.
He did. The spiked and armored Buicks pulled in line behind them and they all made their way across town.
10
Solar Flares
This was so annoying. Yesterday the nuclear EMPs had disrupted their cable and internet. Today it was the solar flares. Even Tom’s wrist-watch was doing weird things.
He turned over in bed to see that Samantha was gone. A note on his nightstand read:
Hey, Babe. I didn’t want to wake you. I took your bike to work since the car wouldn’t start. I also took all the sunscreen, so DON’T GO OUTSIDE!
He had a weird mole on his neck that he’d been meaning to have checked out by a dermatologist. He didn’t think it was a big deal, but Samantha was all but convinced that he had skin cancer. She made him wear a big floppy hat when he went outside.
