by Platt, Sean
Now, as he drifted in Derek’s pool, Charlie considered growing his hair out again. It was already longer than it had been in years, though Bob hadn’t seemed to notice in some time. The world was gone; Bob couldn’t get too pissed. It wasn’t like Charlie’s haircut would cost him a job with some Fortune 500 company.
Charlie glanced at Bob who manned the barbecue grill, cooking some recently-thawed burgers from Derek’s deep freezer. He thought about mentioning his plans to grow his hair, but Bob had been in a decent mood today. No need to rock the boat.
Callie, who had been in the house reading, came out in blue fleece shorts and a gray tee shirt.
“Look out,” she said, jumping in next to Charlie, causing him to go under and swallow a huge mouthful of chlorinated water.
He came up gagging, and saw Callie laughing.
“Thanks,” he said, splashing water at her.
She splashed back, and moved closer to him, then jumped behind him, and pushed him under the water.
“Hey!” he said, coming up, and grabbing her shoulders.
For a moment, time seemed to slow, and their eyes locked again, as they had in the parking lot. He noticed her nipples poking through her tee, could see the outline of her breasts, as the wet shirt clung to her. He quickly glanced away, but not before she’d noticed. She smiled, then dunked him again.
He came up, this time behind her, and wrapped her head in a playful headlock. As their bodies touched underwater, Little Charlie was at full attention. As she tried to break free of the headlock, her ass rubbed against his cock, and he couldn’t help but think she noticed. She pulled away, laughing, as she pushed off of him and swam away.
He went underwater, and closed his eyes trying to wish his embarrassing erection away.
Baseball… Bea Arthur… that old guy on those bran commercials WITH Bea Arthur.
When it was safe to come up, Callie was at the edge of the pool, Bob standing over her, chatting her up. Though he was clearly checking out her tits, Callie didn’t seem to notice. She was either the coyest of flirts ever or naive to what men were always focused on. Bob was just smooth enough not to get busted by Callie, but more than a couple of times, Charlie had caught him sneaking peeks. Each time, Bob would wink at Charlie or make a crude gesture.
Bob said he was just encouraging Charlie to “tap that ass.” But Charlie couldn’t help but think Bob wanted to do some tapping, himself.
Charlie felt sick, watching Bob joke with Callie while she giggled in waves.
Is she flirting with Bob? Or is she so nice that she’s oblivious to his creepiness?
It wasn’t as if there were anything between he and Callie, though they had been getting closer — whenever Bob wasn’t around as the third wheel.
While Callie was kind of a bad ass, she was also nice, funny, and kind of geeky. Not in a socially awkward way like Charlie, but in the things she liked — comics, video games, and sci-fi and fantasy books. All the same things Charlie liked. It was as if God, or whoever or whatever made everyone vanish, had picked the perfect girl to strand him with. He couldn’t help but think fate had brought her to him. Or perhaps, fate’s cruel sister, irony, to create and present someone so much like him, yet so much better looking that she’d never have anything to do with him.
Charlie had been relegated to the “friend” role far too many times with attractive girls. If you fell into the friend zone, you never escaped. One girl (who was rejecting him at the time) told him, “A girl knows within 10 seconds if she’ll sleep with you. If you don’t make a great impression right away, you’ll never get with her.”
Needless to say, Charlie had never made that kind of impression on any girls. He had too many things going against him. He was geeky and homely, with zits, and as more than a few girls had also told him bluntly, he was “too nice.”
Charlie told himself that “too nice” didn’t really mean too nice. It was code for too ugly, or perhaps the girl was too immature to appreciate a nice guy. Girls his age seemed to like so-called bad boys. And given the number of young women even 10 years older than him seemed to be attracted to losers, he wasn’t sure when that infatuation with assholes ended. He hoped it was before they got old, or he was screwed.
Callie didn’t seem like other girls, though. So he had to be very careful not to miss his one chance at bat. He had to make a good impression before she could put him in the friends-only zone. The way he saw it, he had a couple of things going for him. They met in an emotionally charged moment. He saved her life (a brave and selfless act). And, as far as they knew, he was one of the last two men on Earth, and the other was an old drunk asshole. Even if Charlie wore headgear, had uncontrollable explosive diarrhea, and suffered from involuntary spasms, he was pretty sure he made a better match for a woman than Bob.
But Charlie also had things working against him.
Aside from not being Brad Pitt, he was also a white guy. A VERY white guy, so pale he would likely be a lobster after an hour in the pool. And he didn’t know if Callie even liked white guys. He wasn’t even sure what she was, if she were light-skinned black or mixed race, which the blue eyes made likely. In either event, white guys might not be her thing. He had never been attracted to a black girl before now. Nothing racial, just not something he’d ever considered, just like he wasn’t attracted to redheads. You like who you like, not much you can do about it. But that also meant Callie liked who she liked, and geeky pale guys might not be on that list.
And for all he knew, she might like assholes… like Bob.
Yet, he felt something with Callie. When they spoke, when their eyes met, moments were there, just outside of time, when they seemed to connect on a deeper level. He didn’t know if it was just his brain’s way of lending importance to lust because he was experiencing it, or if it was something real and deep. And maybe Callie was feeling it too?
He’d been trying to work up the courage to make some sort of move since last night, but each time they were alone and in deep conversation, Bob would show up to cock block Charlie. Either Bob was oblivious as hell or even more evil than Charlie thought.
Tonight, Charlie decided, as he watched Bob joking with Callie, would be the night he’d make a move.
It was, after all, the end of the world. Who knew how long they had?
**
Bob got weird at dinner.
They were sitting at Derek’s fancy dark wooden table which could have easily seated 10, when Bob set down the burgers on a giant plate, along with a bag of chips. He was bringing a baking dish from outside, which he’d cooked canned chili in, when it slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.
“Dammit!” Bob shouted, his eyes quickly targeting Charlie, “Why can’t you clean up when you track water in here?”
“What?” Charlie said, confused.
“Don’t play stupid. You tracked water in here when you got out of the pool. And because you’re too damned lazy to clean it up, I slipped, and dropped our fucking dinner!”
“No, I didn’t,” Charlie said defensively, “I came in through the bathroom door, and dried off in there.”
“Are you calling me a liar, boy?” Bob said, his face redder than his bloodshot eyes.
“No,” Charlie said, confusion turning to panic. “But I swear, I came in through the bathroom.”
“Oh, so now I’m just imagining some spill on the floor, right? Next you’re gonna say I didn’t even drop the dish, I just threw it down on purpose, right?”
Charlie looked down at the floor and while a small puddle of water was next to the broken blue baking dish and mess of chili all over the floor, it wasn’t from him, meaning it had to be from Callie. He glanced at her, her tongue tied and eyes frightened, then back at Bob.
“Maybe it was me,” he said, lying to protect her.
“I’m sorry,” Callie said, “Actually, I think I might have come in through the door and forgot to wipe it down.”
Bob stared at her, then back at Charlie, momentarily d
efused, and running a hand through his hair, then looked back at Charlie, “Clean this shit up, boy.”
“What?” Charlie said, “Why me?”
He regretted the words even as the last one trailed from his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Bob said, inches from Charlie’s face and reeking of alcohol, “Because I fucking said so. Things are gonna change around here. I worked my ass off so you and your momma could have a decent life. I worked night and day, busting my ass, and all you ever did was suckle on my tit, like a fucking parasite. You never did shit around the house, never contributed in any way, whatso-fucking-ever. But I got news for ya’, boy, your momma ain’t here no more. Time’s are a changin’ and you’re gonna earn your keep if you wanna stay under my roof! It’s time you grow the fuck up and be a man!”
Charlie’s knee was bouncing as his throat tightened, and he struggled to hold back the tears of rage burning inside him. He couldn’t even look at Callie after being ridiculed like that by Bob.
How can he?!
Charlie snapped.
“Under YOUR roof?! Your roof?! This is your brother’s house! And the house before this? My mother’s! Not yours! And according to her, you never paid your fair share! She had to beg you for money, because you held onto all yours and then had the balls to take hers, too! YOU are the FUCKING parasite, not me!”
Bob’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped.
And though Charlie knew he’d made a huge mistake, the look on Bob’s face, if for even a second, was worth the price of admission.
Bob screamed, throwing himself on Charlie. The two fell to the ground.
“You little fucker!” Bob screamed, punching Charlie square in the jaw.
Pain shot through Charlie’s face. Another punch found him right beneath the left eye and left his face at the edge of explosion.
“No!” Callie screamed, pulling Bob away from Charlie. “Stop it!”
Bob reluctantly pulled away, glaring at Charlie.
Callie bent down to help him up, “Are you okay?”
Bob continued to glare as Charlie started to cry from pain and embarrassment. When Charlie responded in a sniffle, Bob smirked and walked to the fridge to get another beer. “Clean this shit up so we can eat like a family.”
**
The rest of dinner was uncomfortably quiet, as Charlie and Callie exchanged nervous glances while Bob seemed to almost completely forget about the whole damned thing.
As Bob drank, he told crude jokes, and even made small talk with Charlie, telling him he’d done well with the pistol at target practice earlier.
Charlie played along. His pride was wounded, as was his face, but if Bob was being nice now, he’d not look a gift horse in the mouth. Charlie started to understand how his mother must’ve felt living with a ticking schizophrenic time bomb, never knowing what would set it off or what would defuse it.
Bob got up to take a piss upstairs. Callie looked at Charlie, her eyes gentle.
“Thank you for lying for me. I’m so sorry. I should’ve spoken up sooner.”
“It’s okay,” Charlie said. “Better he take it out on me than you.”
As Callie gave him a giant hug, Charlie felt, despite his weakness, like a momentary hero.
**
9:12 p.m.
Bob was in front of the TV in a drunken stupor, even though it wasn’t working. Callie and Charlie were playing chess upstairs in the bedroom Callie had taken as hers for however long they planned (and there was very little planning involved with Bob) at Derek’s house.
Thankfully, they hadn’t spoken again of “the dinner incident” and Callie was being extra nice.
The house had five spare rooms in addition to the master bedroom, though only three had beds. While they’d each slept in separate rooms each night, Charlie was hoping tonight, Callie might stay with him.
He didn’t event want to have sex with her — though he would in a heartbeat — so much as just lie beside her and hold her.
“Are you letting me win?” she asked as she took his black Queen with her white Bishop. “How could you have not seen that coming?”
“I dunno,” he said, trying to work up courage. His stomach was butterflies. “I was just thinking about stuff.”
“Like what?” she said, her beautiful eyes meeting his.
“Um, I dunno,” he said, suddenly realizing that he didn’t even know HOW to make a move on a girl.
Do I kiss her? Do I ask her out? Is asking someone out even possible now? I mean, how the hell are you gonna date when you don’t even know if you’ll be attacked by zombies tomorrow?
His head was spinning as he tried to think of something, anything, other than the rambling words falling awkwardly from his mouth. His mouth was moving a mile a minute, but he wasn’t hearing the words. It was just small talk, meaningless gibberish, as panic moved to full steam.
He had to get control of the situation before his lunatic ramblings sent her running.
Be bold. Be assertive. Girls respect boldness.
“I like you,” he said. His racing heart pushed out the three words, then stopped on a dime.
* * * *
BRENT FOSTER
October 15
9:47 p.m.
New York City
Brent’s apartment was a fortress of darkness, barely illuminated by a single battery-operated lantern. A second light sat in the hallway, turned off to keep the batteries fresh.
The refrigerator blocked the doorway and the kitchen table blocked the living room window. Brent’s mattress, dresser, and a trunk blocked the window in his and Gina’s bedroom. The window in Ben’s room was blocked, partly, by his mattress and dresser.
Their fortress wasn’t impenetrable by any means. They hoped it would slow the creatures down long enough to defend the apartment with the small arsenal spread out on the coffee table.
It had been nearly an hour since the massacre at Stan’s apartment. An hour of horrible silence and endless waiting.
“All this time, I was hoping Gina and Ben were out there, lost. But now I’m not so sure. If they’re out there, with those things, there’s…” Brent couldn’t finish. The mere thought of some monstrosity attacking his wife or child, especially his child, was something worse than unimaginable.
But even as he tried to squash the thoughts from his mind, his brain drew the image of Ben seeing one of the monsters, thinking it was a cool cartoon or toy come to life, and calling out to it. And then the look in his son’s eyes as the thing came closer and then finally attacked.
Brent rose from the chair, pacing, wanting to do something, but not knowing what to do. What he could do.
“Do you think they’d be better off if they just vanished?” Luis asked.
“I don’t know. If the same creatures who killed Stan and Melora are also behind the vanishings, then no. But maybe … maybe whatever took all the people was actually saving them?”
“Saving them?”
“Yeah,” Brent said, the idea starting to spin and gather speed in his head, “Maybe some benevolent force was calling people up before these creatures showed up.”
“What? Like God or angels?”
“I dunno,” Brent said, “I mean, the things in the video didn’t seem all that godly, but would we know divine intervention if we saw it?”
“Then why didn’t this … divine source … take us all? I mean, I could see if it was the Rapture and all the sinners or non-believers were left behind. But if that were the case, the city would be packed with people, right? As far as we know, it’s just us four. Well, now two.”
As darkness enveloped the city outside, Brent and Luis took turns taking naps. Luis told Brent to go first, lying on the sofa while Luis sat in the recliner. Brent didn’t think he’d fall asleep. But as Luis was telling him a story from his life before the vanishings, Brent fell into the breath of nothing.
**
In Brent’s dream, he found himself reliving a year-old memory.
Brent and Gina wer
e in bed, listening to the baby monitor as Ben whined, not wanting to sleep. He was almost three years old, and had been sleeping on his own for almost two years, but had suddenly developed a fear of sleeping in his bedroom. Gina was trying to sleep. It was 10:20 p.m., and she had to be up early. Brent was typing story notes on his laptop. He didn’t have to be to work until 11 a.m., but he had a few hours of work ahead of him still.
“How long do you want to let him cry it out?” Brent asked. “It’s been 15 minutes.”
Gina sighed, “We can’t keep giving in or he’s not going to outgrow this.”
Gina was right, and surely in stress listening to her son cry yet not going to him, but she was strong. Brent found it hard to listen to his son’s cries without going to Ben’s room.
Ben’s recent night fears were likely inspired by Brent’s absence at home as he worked later and later. Most nights, his son was asleep before Brent got home. He couldn’t help but think if he went into Ben’s room and cuddled with him a bit, it would do more good than the harm Gina felt would come from surrender.
“I’m going in,” Brent said, closing his laptop.
“Sucker,” Gina said, playfully, and half asleep. He was glad she wasn’t going to argue with him. Raising a son was tough, but not agreeing on things with your wife made it harder. They didn’t have huge disagreements, just lots of little things, which added to the stress he already felt under the insanity of his workload.
He slipped from their room, laptop in hand, and set it on the dining room table before going into Ben’s room, dimly lit by the blue Stanley Train nightlight on the wall.
