Pursuit of the Apocalypse

by Benjamin Wallace

  Erica lunged forward and grabbed the wrist that held the gun. She pushed the wrist down and away, half turned and drove an elbow into the top of the woman’s mouth, knocking the beret off her head and a tooth from her mouth.

  Carrie stumbled backwards and relaxed her grip on the weapon.

  Erica pulled the gun free and spun the opposite direction, catching Carrie’s cheek with a right elbow. It wasn’t until Erica punched her for a third time that Carrie finally stopped talking.

  The woman sneered at her through bloody lips and chipped teeth and screamed something unintelligible and gurgley before charging. Her fingers were curled like claws. Her eyes were the color of insanity. Even her hair seemed to be reaching out and trying to strangle someone.

  Erica whipped the automatic like a club. The crack against Carrie’s jaw was satisfying but not as much as the complete silence that followed. Even the gurgling stopped.

  Carrie stood and looked at Erica but there was nothing left in her eyes. They were unfocused and remained so as the woman fell face forward to the floor.

  Erica delighted in the lack of screaming for a second before stripping Carrie of her jacket. She listened for the other guards but heard nothing. Erica stepped to the door and found where the beret had landed.

  She put on the jacket and the hat and slipped into the hallway. The guards were out of sight, but she could hear them talking.

  “I haven’t heard Carrie say anything for a minute.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”

  “Should we go check on her?”

  “Let’s enjoy it for a minute.”

  Erica ran down the hallway away from the guards and found a door to a stairwell. Two minutes later she was outside and making her way through the town of Tolerance.

  FOURTEEN

  They had to speak at the gates. That wasn’t the plan, but sticking to one word answers got them into the town. Once inside, Willie and Coy did their best not to talk to anyone. The fact that no one wanted to talk to them didn’t make it any easier. Now they were forced to not offend anyone with their looks. And this had been a challenge their entire lives.

  They tried not to smile. If compliments could get you arrested, there was no telling what an unwelcomed smile could do. But they also worried about frowning. They didn’t want to give anyone the idea that they were judging them. Willie found wearing a neutral face more difficult than he would have thought and his mouth bounced back and forth between a smirk and a frown giving him the appearance of having a facial tic. One person approached concerned he was having a stroke.

  Coy, on the other hand, had his chin nearly straight up in the air while simultaneously trying to direct his eyes to the ground in front of him. This extreme focus caused Coy to subconsciously chew on his lip, which exposed his teeth in a twisted snarl and gave him a lumbering gait.

  Willie directed his partner down an empty alleyway and shoved him behind a brick wall that had been built to hide a dumpster. “Coy, what the hell are you doing?”

  Coy turned his whole body to answer without taking his eyes off the ground or his nose out of the sky. “I’m doing what you told me to do.”

  “I’m pretty sure I never said walk like a retarded Frankenstein.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “It is, though.”

  “It’s not. You told me not to look at boobs. This is me not looking at boobs.”

  “Yeah, but you’re making it too obvious, dummy.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are, too. That’s an ‘I’m not looking at boobs’ face if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “So what if it is, Willie? You told me not to look and I’m not looking.”

  “Yeah, Coy, but you can’t get caught not looking.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because some women find it offensive if you don’t look.”

  “But you told me women find it offensive if I do look.”

  “Right.”

  “Well how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference between a woman that wants me to look at her boobs and one who don’t!?”

  “You moron, they’re the same woman.”

  “So you’re saying a woman might get upset if she sees me looking at her boobs. But the same woman might get mad if she sees me not looking at her boobs?”

  “Exactly.”

  Coy finally dropped his chin and, after a moment of trying to process the new information, shouted, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Right. So look but don’t look, and don’t look but do look. But whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

  “Don’t get caught doing what?”

  “Looking. Or not looking. Or both. Or either.”

  This confused Coy even more. He sputtered over several questions starting with why, how, how in the hell, and finally gave up. “What the hell am I supposed to do then?”

  “Just act natural.”

  Coy shook his head slowly and a sad look crossed his face. “Willie, this place makes my head tired. Let’s hurry up and catch the guy so we can get out of here.”

  Willie peered out around the brick wall. They had been directed to the square in the middle of the campus. Most people seemed to congregate there. He scanned the crowd for the Librarian. “Don’t worry. I’m working on a plan.”

  “Well work faster, would you?” Coy sat down next to the brick wall, leaned back and found a handful of pebbles to toss at the dumpster. “I’m bored and now all I can think about is boobs.”

  Coy’s pouting fanned a little flame of rage in Willie’s stomach. Even before the end of the world all the big ideas had been his responsibility. Even the little ideas fell to him. Not because his ideas were the best, but because Coy was the laziest bastard he knew. And he could say that because Coy was his best friend. Everything the pair had ever done that amounted to anything had first been spawned in his head, not Coy’s. Willie finally snapped, “Maybe you’d like to come up with a plan for once.”

  Coy looked up with a scowl before a thought flit into his head. “Maybe I will.”

  “Fine. Go right ahead.” Willie scooped up his own handful of pebbles and dropped to the ground. “I’ll just be waiting right here for your big idea.” He threw a stone into the corner and watched it bounce off both walls before it dropped to the ground. He smiled and did it again. It was way better than thinking.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched Coy think. The strain showed on the man’s face. Coy’s lips moved as he processed ideas, and he squinted and shook his head when they didn’t pan out. A bead of sweat broke out on Coy’s temple.

  Willie chuckled. “Not so easy, is it?”

  “Shut up, Willie.” Coy got to his feet and began to pace and whisper to himself. He had ideas and he shot ideas down in a series of mutterings. “We could ... no, he’d never fall for that. What if we ... no, that’s stupid. Maybe if ... but where would we find a tiger? If we ... no, no that would be wrong. Maybe if ...” his voice trailed off and he just began laughing.

  “Focus, super genius. We haven’t got all day.”

  “Shut up, Willie.” Coy paced faster around the brick enclosure, muttered more and then suddenly stopped. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

  “Right. Sure you do.”

  “No, I really do. Listen. We can set it up right here.” Coy began to gesture with his hands. He ducked behind the wall and began to choreograph the whole plan. “We get the library guy to come around here. Come past the dumpster and stop at this metal door.” Coy paused.

  Willie watched a smile grow across Coy’s face. “And?”

  “He stops here. Wanting to get in this door. But he can’t. So he shakes it and maybe bangs on it. But he can’t get in.”

  “So?”

  “So that’s when we jump out of the dumpster.” Coy slapped the dumpster with a bang. “And shoot him with a net gun.”

  “Really, Coy?”

  “Really, Willie.”

  “One small problem.
There’s no such thing as a net gun.”

  “Sure there is.”

  “So where do we get one? The future after someone invents it?”

  “There really are net guns, Willie. I saw one on a nature show one time.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, really. And you shouldn’t go around calling me a liar.”

  Willie threw up his hands. “Fine, but since we don’t have a nature show host around from which to borrow a net gun ... what do we do?”

  “Well, we could use a regular net.”

  Willie stood up and threw the rest of the rocks against the dumpster. “Well, that’s a pretty good plan, Shaggy, but how do we get him to the door? Should we maybe draw an X on the ground? Or maybe we fill a bowl with birdseed.”

  “I doubt that would work, but we do put some bait in there.”

  “What kind of bait?”

  “That Chris guy.”

  “Brilliant. But, we don’t have a Chris guy.”

  “Yeah, but the library guy doesn’t know we don’t have that Chris guy. What if one of us dressed up as him in that stupid white suit and his dumb hat? Then the library guy would think we’re that Chris guy and follow us right to the door. Then,” Coy slapped the dumpster with a bang, “we jump out of the dumpster and catch him in a net that may or may not be fired from a net gun.”

  Willie brushed the pebbles from his palms and dropped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Coy.”

  “Yes, Willie?”

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. But, it just might work.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. You get to be the Chris guy.”

  “Wait. Why?”

  “Because it was your idea, Coy. And because the library guy really wants to kill the Chris guy a lot. So it would be better if you did it.”

  “But ... but I don’t know how to be the Chris guy. I don’t know how to act.”

  “Look, all you have to do is walk around in the crowd in a white suit until someone starts to follow you. Then lead him back here and,” Willie slapped the dumpster with a bang, “I jump out of the dumpster and drop a net over his head. Or, you know, a bag or something if we can’t get a net.”

  “Hey,” Coy pointed a finger at Willie. “Don’t you go changing my plan.”

  FIFTEEN

  Andy Levinson was the best door kicker in the apocalypse. Small and wiry, his rise to the championship was possibly the first Cinderella tale in the new world.

  The sport branched off from Breaking and Entering—a popular pastime following the end of the world considering almost everyone participated while looking for food and supplies.

  Sure, some survivors resisted for a time, citing moral reasons or the owner might be alive and have a gun reasons, but even the holdouts got into the act out of desperation or pure boredom. It wasn’t long before everyone left alive had an opinion on the best way to kick down a door. And once someone has an opinion it doesn’t take long for some asshole to condemn it. Egos are bruised and sports are born.

  Pretty soon the sport had grown in such popularity that people were breaking and no longer entering. More could be made from the purse of a good Door Kicking Contest than could be scrounged from inside the home. Contestants would just move down the street from house to house kicking in each door and moving to the next. And the crowds followed their every move.

  Much like NASCAR, the activity grew from its criminal beginnings quickly into a spectator sport. Unlike NASCAR, it was exciting to watch. In this way it was not much like NASCAR.

  Fans made stars of the contestants overnight. Though he retired early, Head Banger Hollis was an instant legend despite his short time in professional competition. Bam Bam Barros was so named for a two-fisted approach that shattered the “legs only” strategy of every other contestant. Sweet Talking Shirley was known more for her pregame rituals than her actual contact method. Two-Ton Todd was renowned for a total lack of style. Instead fans loved his energy and aggressive flailing.

  But, despite his size, Andy Levinson rose above them all with his Flying Foot technique. It had a flair that was impossible to deny and an effectiveness that was hard to beat. He was inspiration for the everyman.

  Soon crowd size made traditional competitions impractical. The events soon moved to an arena atmosphere and, instead of kicking them in, doors were carefully removed from the frames and brought to the kickers.

  This, the Librarian figured, was how he made his way to the home’s garage without encountering a single door—kicked in or otherwise.

  Jerry found his way to the release cord in the middle of the room and gave it a pull. This produced a pop and a bang from the door springs as the door jumped an inch from the ground. The door lifted with ease despite years of being unused and let the winter sun into the garage.

  One bay of the garage was empty. From the disarray of the house inside it appeared as if the occupants had left in a hurry in a single vehicle. The other bay held a car shrouded beneath a canvas cover.

  Jerry pulled back the cover exposing the vehicle’s quarter panel revealing a screaming cat logo. He whistled as he ran his fingers over the cat. “This is something special.”

  Chewy barked from the truck’s cab.

  “Keep it down. I’m coming.” He jogged to the truck and got behind the wheel.

  The dog barked again.

  “Stop it. I was just looking. I know you like the truck.” He turned the ignition and backed the truck into the garage before disarming himself.

  The dog looked at him with a cocked head as he pulled guns and knives from various pockets and then set about removing the holsters and sheaths that held them.

  “These people are really against guns that aren’t theirs,” he explained to the dog, who woofed quietly that she didn’t really understand or care. “It should be an easy walk through town. I can’t recall any particular threats. And everybody lives on the campus.”

  The pair left the truck and closed the garage door behind them. He was fairly confident the truck would be waiting for them when they returned. Few people passed through this way, and almost no one passed through twice.

  As they walked away, he patted where his gun usually sat. He’d considered trying to sneak a weapon in, but figured it wasn’t worth the risk. If he needed one, there was sure to be one he could grab. Besides, he was more than willing to kill Mr. Christopher with his bare hands.

  The streets were fairly clear of debris and trash. If one could forget about all the bombs dropped and lives lost, the walk would feel more like a lazy Sunday morning stroll. The trees lining the streets clung to stubborn leaves. Those that had fallen raced along the ground in a gentle breeze.

  Chewy sniffed her way along the curb jumping into a yard every now and then if a particular smell interested her. She didn’t bristle or growl at anything on the route. It would be a perfectly safe, quiet little town to live in if it wasn’t for the gathering of dangerous idiots at the campus.

  The homes got smaller and older as they approached the old university. The spire of the old administration building rose above the century-old homes and the duo turned towards it down an avenue of flags and banners that snapped against the wind.

  Propaganda Way put his nerves on edge. The popping was a constant chaos that interfered with thought, but it was the messaging itself that frayed his concentration. The town was built on hate. They had picked their villains, focused their ire in the name of good on ghosts of the past and refused to move forward. It didn’t matter if their accusations were valid or not. It was far too late to do anything about it. They hung on to past grievances that could never be settled and forced this way of life on any who wandered into their midst. Basically, they were grumpy bastards. All of them. All of the time.

  The last flag bothered him the most. The Tolerance flag itself was a conglomeration of people forming the peace symbol while doves and paper cranes flit about with broken rifles in their beaks over rainbow colors filled with an as
sortment of gender symbols and raised fists. The Librarian had no issue with any of this as a concept, but the design was horrible and, as it flapped about, he was sure it should come with a warning label to prevent strokes. They were idealists, not artists. That much was clear.

  The guardhouse stood beneath the town flag and Jerry took the two Guy Fawkes by surprise when he wished them a good morning.

  The two guards scrambled to remember where they had put their rifles. They found them and rushed toward Jerry and Chewy. One guard was all Guy Fawkesd up while the other had the mask sitting atop his head.

  “Put your mask on,” Guy Fawkes one whispered.

  “It is on.”

  “Put it on your face, moron.”

  “Oh. Hold this.” The guard handed his rifle to the first guard, positioned the mask, and took back the rifle. “Okay. I’m set.”

  Jerry could see Guy Fawkes one’s eyes roll inside the mask before they landed on him.

  “Halt,” the first guard said.

  “We’re halted,” Jerry said.

  Guard number two stepped forward. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to do a little trading.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Guy Fawkes two stepped up and began to pat him down. “You been here before?”

  Jerry raised his arms and allowed the pat down. “Are puppies and kittens still cute?”

  “They are,” Guy number one said.

  “Did ferrets ever make the list?”

  “Missed it by a single vote, last I heard. One of the council members said she found them creepy the way they wriggled.”

  The Librarian shook his head. “That’s a shame. It would be such an interesting conversation to have.”

  Guy number one just grunted as Guy number two finished the pat down. “He’s clean.”

  The Librarian dropped his hands and moved towards the gate when the barrel of a rifle fell across his chest.

  “Not so fast.” The first guard tilted his head toward Chewy. “Do you want to tell me what that is around the dog’s neck?”

  Jerry looked at Chewy, wondering if the dog was trying to pull something. Nothing looked out of place. Jerry answered the guard. “Her collar?”