Fools' Apocalypse

by Anderson Atlas

  One shot into the heart of the gas canister is all it takes. Explosions rock the side of the building. Another explosion. Then a huge explosion erupts and the door flies open.

  All the canisters went off, Isabella thinks. She stands and looks out the door. The puppets are on fire and scattering. Now is their chance. “Run!” Each one of them grabs the handles of the carts and pushes them out the door.

  Markus and Josh follow Isabella to the parking lot and onto Cross Bay, heading back to the boat. She rams a puppet and knocks it over. It’s some dude in a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt. His buds are still in his ears, the cord no longer connected to his iPod.

  The carts vibrate wildly on the pavement. Josh loses a bottle of water. Her mind is blank as her glands spit out adrenaline like a sweat shop in China. Endorphins pump into her body, and heat flows from her spine like dragon’s breath.

  The horde falls further and further behind. Isabella slows as pain from her ankle fights through her sledge-hammering heart. She needs to focus on something in order to ignore the complaining wounds.

  The cheap wheels on the carts rattle like an insane monkey locked in a cage. The sound reminds her of the rapid fire of a nail gun. She huffs as her brain seizes the image and drags her back to her childhood, her poverty. Every now and again she goes back there, allowing the wound to reopen and the remorse to have its harvest.

  #

  Isabella remembers walking in on one of Father’s interrogations. It was late on a Sunday night and she was twelve. She’d just gotten up for water when, after grabbing a glass and shutting the cabinet door, she heard a thud. The floor had jumped under her feet.

  The basement door was open. The thud came again followed by a sudden scream. The scream was silenced as quick as it came. Isabella remembers that night so well, the squeaking of the cellar door, the damp odor flowing up the stairs, her white, velvety Mary Jane slippers.

  She tiptoed down the stairs and stopped when she could see Father. A single lamp on a desk lit the basement. Father and cousin Lorenzo had their backs to her, their shadows stretching out across the concrete floor like monsters. A guy was strapped to a chair with a sock crammed into his mouth. Blood was all over his face, and his eyes were wild.

  Her father hissed at the guy, but she couldn’t hear what he said over the thumping in her ears. Lorenzo had the nail gun. He shot a nail into the ceiling. “You gonna get one in the other leg, so help me God. Maybe in your family jewels next time.”

  Father pulled the sock from the man’s mouth and waited. The man coughed blood all over father’s face. Lorenzo brought the gun to the man’s leg and pulled the trigger. THUNK! The man gasped just as the sock was crammed back into his mouth.

  Isabella yelped, then ran upstairs. Father stomped after her, yelling her name.

  He busted down her bedroom door, pulled her off the bed, and smacked her across the face. “Do not go where you should not be.” He’d hissed. In the darkness of young Isabella’s room, he looked like the devil. It wasn’t the first time she’d met his evil side. When he was in a rage he didn’t look like Father. He looked like an orc with red eyes and deep wrinkles.

  He hit her again and again. “I have to show you with pain how not to stick your nose in business you don’t understand,” he yelled. After that beating, she didn’t cry when he hit her. It hurt, but she didn’t let herself cry. Sometimes it would piss him off that she wasn’t sobbing.

  This same man, on Sundays, would act like he was God’s favorite son. He’d hug old ladies, give money to the church and pray. He liked talking about family and strength, but he was the weakest of all.

  Isabella wonders if he’s dead, and if so, did he ever see his true self? Or did he die wrapped up in the costume of his own lies?

  #

  Isabella, Markus and Josh continue running down Cross Bay toward the boat when Isabella notices Markus trailing, so she slows.

  Markus heaves, “I . . . can’t run . . . any more.”

  “Fine, but don’t lag too much, otherwise, see ya,” Isabella groans because they are so close to the beach. Josh huffs and gasps, too. He chugs from a bottle of water.

  Finally, they reach the path that leads to the shore. No puppets. The path isn’t too sandy so the carts handle the rough terrain. However, when they hit sand they come to a halt. They push and push, but progress is slow, too slow.

  Behind Markus there is movement. Quick movement. Isabella blocks the sun with her hand. The movement is fast, like. . . Ian on a mountain bike?! Hana and Tanis follow him along with a dog? It’s a hairy, white mutt with brown and black patches. It looks so happy. Fuckin’ dogs always look happy. Josh jumps up and down. Don’t ask why. Maybe he loves dogs or bikes.

  Ian skids to a stop and runs to Isabella. “Hey, nice work.” Strapped on the back of his bike is a metal rack with two five-gallon gas cans. Tanis’s bike has two more.

  “Looks like you did okay, too.” Isabella smiles for the first time in a while. He looks at her cockeyed like she’s a mute that just spoke English. “Nice smile.”

  “Shut up,” She hides her smile, but he keeps staring. His smile is as wide as it goes. “Don’t make me smack you upside the head.”

  “Right,” Ian says, but he’s still smiling.

  Hana pulls up to Ian’s side. “Nice to see you brought the groceries,” she says. “Let’s get off the mainland, shall we?.”

  “Yeah, let’s,” Josh says as he pets the dog.

  “This dog comin’ with us?” Isabella doesn’t like dogs much. The mutt comes up to her and licks her shoe. It looks dumb and happy. She shoos it away. “I’m off-limits, mutt.”

  Tanis rides past her slowly, “My dog’s name is Kat.” He laughs and rides off. When all six of them get to the water, Tanis freaks out. He hops off his bike and runs down the small dock to where the rowboat is supposed to be.

  “The boat’s floating away!”

  Isabella runs to the water’s edge. The rowboat bobs in the water, slowly moving away.

  Markus reminds them about their six. “The walkers are gathering. If we don’t get that boat, we’ll have to swim to the Pioneer.”

  Ian waves for him to follow. “Get all the gear to the end of the dock and be ready.” Before Isabella has a chance to react, Ian dives into the water. She considers joining him. He’s as slow as a cripple.

  After what seems like forever, Ian tries to haul himself into the rowboat. It rocks and takes on water. Isabella gets hot in her veins as she watches him struggle. Never send a man to do a woman’s job. Finally, he gets one leg on the boat’s edge, but he can’t pull his other leg from the water.

  “For fuck’s sake, Ian! You look like a wus!”

  “Something’s got my leg!” he cries out. He manages to get mostly in the boat. Sure enough, a hand has grabbed his leg.

  Isabella pulls out her pistol, flicks off the safety, and aims.

  “Don’t shoot me!”

  “Then don’t move!” Isabella can see the puppet holding onto his ankle. She aims for the wrist. Damn, he’s moving too much. The puppets tries to pull him off the boat. Isabella takes a breath. He’s only ten yards away, no problem. She taps the trigger.

  The puppet’s forearm splits in two, freeing Ian’s leg. He swings it into the boat. The boat calms. Ian starts rowing toward the dock.

  “That was cool,” Josh says. “Where’s a vid recorder when you need one?”

  “Yeah,” Tanis agrees.

  “That was unexpected,” Markus says. “They aren’t drowning. That one was under the water waiting.”

  Markus and the others start hauling the groceries and the fuel to the end of the dock. Puppets are thirty, maybe forty yards off. The path is full, and there are more bush-whacking through the thicket. Isabella looks at Ian. She tries to hurry everyone, “Get a move on it!”

  Finally, Ian bumps into the dock. He tosses the painter to Hana as Isabella runs past, Beater in hand, to stand guard. Everyone else starts loading the boat.

 
A puppet lumbers up to her and grabs her arm. Its fingers are strong, stronger than the others. This puppet used to be a middle-aged chick. She’s got fake tits and short shorts. Her brown hair is matted and mud-splattered. Her skin is bluish and pale. Roots protrude from multiple places like hooks. Isabella raises her Beater and points it at her face. The woman tries to grab it. Her cheeks are sunk in, but there’s movement under the skin. It sickens Isabella who tires of looking at her ugly mug. With a thrust that would run a lion through, she jabs her stick into her face. Her skull cracks like an eggshell and knits her brow together. She reaches out regardless, so Isabella swings at her large chest.

  Isabella sweeps her Beater behind her leg, and she falls onto her butt. The puppet gets up awkwardly, pathetically. What kind of monster is she becoming? Isabella jabs her in the chest, feeling her ribs crack while making sure her Beater doesn’t get stuck. A scream bursts from the woman’s throat, exposing a large root wrapped around her vocal cords. Isabella keeps the sickening creature at the end of her stick and forces her to the water’s edge. She thrusts her into the water where she stumbles and falls. For a moment, Isabella sees her own weakness. She doesn’t like fucking up something that is so weak, so twisted. She’s not totally cold inside.

  The others finish loading the food and water and Markus yells for her to join them.

  Another puppet reaches her, some ugly dude. She grabs his shirtsleeve and spin him like a top. The next one that reaches for her gets a jab to the knee. His whole leg breaks sideways. He’s not able to stand anymore and topples to the sand.

  “Come on, Isabella!” Ian yells.

  Isabella runs to the rowboat and gets in. Too crowded. She lands on some cans and boxes. Something hits her injured ankle and makes it throb. Ian pushes off the dock.

  The chick with the fake tits sloshes toward them. It can’t swim, but it sure is trying.

  “Come on,” Josh complains. “Let’s go faster.”

  Ian bellows like some kind of strained mule. “Uh, we’re dragging,” he says.

  “Yeah, I feel it, too,” Hana replies.

  The one sloshing toward the boat submerges itself up to its head, but it’s obvious it’s still moving forward.

  Josh yells, “The puppet is still under us!”

  Hana and Ian push and pull the oars through the water, but it’s pretty clear, the boat isn’t moving at all.

  “There’s more than one below us, Ian!” Markus yells.

  Chapter 1.26

  Markus:

  The Big Camel

  Mitchell and Markus run out of the Ali Ben Abid Mosque and into a nest of Tunisian soldiers. They bark orders. Mitchell holds Markus’s hand like a vise. Markus, while covering his eyes, peeks at his feet, and run, as he was instructed. For an instant he looks out, but regrets it as ten machine-gun barrels stare back, making his heart sink.

  Cringing and waiting for the bullets to tear through his body, Markus says a prayer. Pops explode in front of him like fireworks. White light washes out all color and a pressure hammers his mostly closed eyes, so he shuts them tighter. Mitchell pulls him hard, and he tries not to stumble. It’s an incredibly bright light. The red of his closed eyelids is almost neon pink. The light fades, and his eyes open. Mitchell still pulls Markus as the men yell and shoot. Bullets pass by. Bits of the walls and the pavement burst all around.

  “Run old man!” Mitchell yells. The two race around a building and duck into a corner. Mitchell takes something from his pocket and jabs it into Markus’s shoulder.

  “You’re going to have to run as fast as you’ve ever run in your life. Got it?”

  Markus nods and takes off. His lungs relax immediately and stop gasping for air. His muscles and sore knees stop aching. He’s never felt better in all his life and he wants to sing! Mitchell looks back, smiling.

  “What was that?” Markus yells.

  “What was what?” Mitchell runs away, but Markus catches up.

  “I’m running like The Flash,” He yells. His shoulder is tender where the needle jabbed him. “You drugged me!”

  “CIA sweet stuff!” Mitchell yells. “Experimental. Gets you going! I was saving it. Don’t worry. Side effects are headache and a bit of nausea!”

  It’s quite fantastic. The air is cool, and Markus’s clothing snaps in the wind sending tingles through his body. They zigzag through the neighborhoods. There are a few people in the streets, but they stay clear. The two run through the old dome houses, around a manufacturing plant, and past some apartments.

  The sun sets. Lamps begin to light the streets, but they are few and far between. Markus and Mitchell zig and then zag and eventually turn in the opposite direction.

  At the edge of town, they slow down. Mitchell stops at a huge gate. It’s wooden and painted red but weather beaten. Behind the gate are two camels. They’re packed with water, food, and supplies. Mitchell has been preparing. Markus should have expected that. The Lord is shining on him because he is with a man of God. Markus feels like giving him a hug.

  After struggling into the camel, they move out. Markus feels like he wants to jump out of the saddle and run to the moon.

  They approach a small guarded station. Mitchell tells him to wait and hide and gives the camel the order to stay. He climbs off his beast and disappears into the night. Ten minutes later he returns. Blood is splattered on his hands and forearms. Markus feels guilty he had to kill anyone but God bless this angel.

  The stars are out in full force. Those were the heavens he was familiar with when he was a kid. He grew up in Alabama and always watched the sky at night. Since moving to New York, he’d become estranged from it. Pity. The stars are so majestic and beautiful. His happiness is so intense he thinks he’s going to cry.

  Luckily, he doesn’t have to steer or do anything. He’s along for the ride. They pass a large electric power plant at the edge of town that spews an acrid stench of burning coal.

  Markus looks behind him and sees the lights of Medinine. A group of helicopters fly around the city where there is lots of activity and spotlights. It’s dark, but because of Mitchell’s plan he knows they’re going south, into the heart of the Sahara Desert. Markus prays like a thief at the foot of the almighty. He doesn’t want to go into the Sahara. He quotes a verse from Psalm.

  “The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; He shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

  An hour later they reach the edge of a large lake. The reflection of the rising moon in the water as well as the bright stars mesmerizes Markus. They ride on the water’s edge so the lapping waves will wash away their tracks.

  “So beautiful!” he yells to Mitchell. He’s seeing beauty everywhere, except for the stench coming from the power plant. This is an enchanted place. He raises his hands. “Oh, if Marian could be with me! She would be filled with romance. Oh, oh, if Sister Jordan could see this. Jordan was my secretary and has a wandering heart. She wanted to see the world more than I.”

  “Beauty is skin deep here. The lake is completely dead,” Mitchell replies. “Poisoned by a chemical factory fifteen years ago. They dumped chemicals into underground rivers which flowed into the lake.”

  Markus shrugs. “Still beautiful.” He does some thinking while on the back of his camel, gazing at the stars. He imagines what the Apocalypse will look like. Who will be the Four Horsemen? Who’s the antichrist? Will he be the president of a country or the head of an international corporation? His head buzzes and tingles with so many possibilities. The stars seem to dance like fireflies on the edge of the Alabama River. Is God trying to talk to me? He listens to the twinkling lights for a while.

  The camels continue to move along into the night, walking easily on the soft sand. Besides a grunt now and again and an odor, they are quite pleasant.

  The night goes on, and eventually, the moon sets. A pressure grows in Markus’s head. The stars aren’t so pretty now and neither is the moon. All the li
ght around grows coarse and jagged and has long exaggerated spikes emanating from every source.

  “You okay?” Mitchell asks. “You’re not cooing over the view anymore.” Markus doesn’t answer. Pushing air from his lungs seems too arduous a task. He can’t help but slump in his seat. That’s when the nausea kicks in. He loses his stomach over the side of the camel in heaving convulsions.

  “Light nausea!” Markus screams at Mitchell, wiping his mouth. Oh, if the Lord permitted me violence, I’d kill Mitchell for drugging me even though he saved my life. The muscles in his legs tighten. He tries to rub them, but his hands ache too much. Pain follows until he slips from his camel like a sack of stones and passes out before he hits the ground.

  Markus wakes up to the bright sun. The air is still cool, but that will change soon. His head thumps. He reaches up and pulls a tattered wet rag off his forehead.

  “You feeling better?” Mitchell asks. He’s sipping on a cup of coffee.

  “I will once you share that coffee with me.” Mitchell hands Markus a small blue metal mug. It’s some of the best coffee on Earth. “Wow,” he says, sipping eagerly.

  “Arabian Java,” Mitchell says in between sips. “Very fresh.”

  “You’ve been holding out. We haven’t had fresh coffee this entire time.”

  Mitchell nods. “Saved it. I knew we’d need the boost on our trip. We have to cross about five hundred kilometers of desert to get where we’re going.”

  “Please, I’m American. How many miles is that?”

  Mitchell laughs, “About three hundred.”

  “That sounds better even though I know it’s the same distance.” Markus feels safe now, safer than he’d felt in a long time despite the fact that there is nothing but sand dunes everywhere. “And where are we going?” Markus asks, sipping the warm, heavenly coffee.

  Mitchell points toward the rising sun, “A secret CIA base outside of Touggourt, Algeria.”