Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse

by Christopher Lee

  Lifting his head, Jimmy’s eyes roamed over the other men in jump seats lining the side of the helicopter. I miss him so much, he thought, thinking of Mark as he gazed out a porthole, seeing the expanse of ocean stretching as if it were liquid glass falling off the edge of earth.

  The blue water reminded him of his mother… but Mark invaded his thoughts. Even in death, SSGT Mark Woolridge was still a hard charging Marine. Jimmy’s brother fought for attention with spirit, just as he’d always done in life.

  Growing up, Jimmy felt like a typical younger brother that would never measure up. His older brother’s greatness always seemed out of… reach. In a way, Jimmy felt like a cheaper knock-off. To Jimmy, he was an imitation that would forever be relegated under the cover of his brother’s shadow. Those thoughts, however, were challenged after one particular day.

  One event played in his head. Thinking of a time before the war started, Jimmy reminisced on a day when he and Mark played by the lake as they often did. Their joyful afternoon was brought to a painful halt. It was, or it seemed at the time, a horrific accident.

  ***

  Oregon: Tall trees surrounded the brothers on a lake. They frolicked with super charged hormones.

  It had become their favorite summer spot. They’d made a rope swing that was so damn high - high enough that it served Jimmy a healthy dose of pause… before he’d try it. It was a gut check; Jimmy’s first attempt was done in genuine fear.

  After his brother went screaming “Geronimo” and laughing until he splashed down, well, Jimmy wasn’t about to chicken out. No way he’d let his idol down, I’m doing this, he thought as his brother treaded water, watching and waiting below.

  “Come on, you can do it!” Mark yelled. His words echoed around the quietness of the Oregon crater.

  “Shut up! I’m thinking!”

  They were the only two people for miles. Jimmy stood on top of a forty-foot cliff, balancing on the base of a tree growing out at a thirty-five degree angle.

  “Come on you chicken!” Mark shouted just as Jimmy leapt off.

  It was well worth it. Jimmy remembered feeling exhilarated from showing his brother that he could do it as much as he did from actually jumping. As he swung through the air, his stomach stopped at his throat. It was an awesome feeling. Without a safety net, it was as if he’d passed from boyhood into manhood right in front of his brother’s eyes.

  While Jimmy was climbing out of the water and heading for the rope - and round two, Mark was attempting his second try. Swinging in an upward arch, Mark let go of the rope, free-falling toward the lake until he splashed down. He landed screaming.

  “Jimmy!” Mark shouted for his younger brother. “Help!”

  Those words, Jimmy would never forget. His big brother Mark was yelling for help. He’d never heard his brother ask for help, much less from him. Jimmy raced down the shore to where his brother was climbing out of the water.

  The blood, oh my God there’s so much blood, he thought, witnessing it discolor the water and his brother’s pale skin. Red and flowing, it was seared into his database; he thought he’d never forget.

  “You’re ok…” Jimmy calmly stated while taking off his shirt.

  Mark landed on something sharp, hidden under the water. The object that sliced him from his knee down to the side of his calf always remained a mystery. The laceration was deep enough to show white fascia tissue in the few seconds before the blood filled and spilled. Once it started it wasn’t going to stop, not without some help to clot it anyway. As Jimmy jumped to his knees to dress the wound, the blood ran down his brother’s leg into the water.

  “You’re ok Mark…” Jimmy calmly stated. “You’re fine, it’s just a cut.”

  Mark looked up. “Just a cut…” he said before glancing back down at the wound.

  “It’s a good one,” Jimmy concurred, wrapping his shirt around his brother’s leg.

  “Look at that thing,” Mark said before turning his head away from the gash-n-blood. “What the hell did I hit?”

  “I don’t know but it got you good, bro.”

  “Ya think…” Mark stated, realizing how well his baby brother was performing in the situation. Maybe Jimmy didn’t notice how gallantly he was acting under the pressure, but Mark had; baby brother was tougher and much more capable than he gave himself credit for.

  ***

  Like Mark, Jimmy was born to be a Marine.

  Capt. Banks leaned in to speak to the pilots before turning around to face his men. “Seven Mikes!” he shouted over the rotor wash, communicating that they were seven minutes away from RMB Pendleton.

  Lance Cpl. Woolridge looked down at the picture and in the moment, he knew he’d finally measured up to his brother. Pride, he felt it for a few fleeting seconds and then… he faded into guilt. He was alive and Mark - dead.

  Jimmy wanted to tell his brother about the mission. Share his first war story. It was an impossible fantasy. In that moment he knew he couldn’t possibly miss his brother, his idol, any more than he did.

  The landscape changed from ocean blue to brown endlessness as both Vulcan helicopters turned in towards RMB Pendleton. As they touched down on the only home they had left, Jimmy put the picture away.

  While Marines fought by him like mall walkers on black Friday, Jimmy slowly exited the Vulcan. He let them pass until he was the last man. Lance Cpl. Woolridge stopped and turned around, looking toward the sea where he’d scattered his brother’s ashes. Fuck it… With tears, he turned away and started walking across the grinder.

  Capt. Banks noticed Jimmy lagging behind and downshifted to wait for him. “Your brother would be proud Marine.”

  Jimmy looked up at Capt. Banks and didn’t answer as they continued walking side by side.

  The officer placed his hand around the base of Jimmy’s neck and shook him. “Real proud… But Marine, don’t ever do any of that crazy Kamikaze shit again. Got me?”

  Lance Cpl. Woolridge stopped and looked Capt. Banks directly in his eyes. “Roger that, sir…”

  “I mean it, Lance Cpl. We can’t afford to lose one Marine.”

  “I was so angry… I wanted pay back, sir.”

  “I know y…”

  Jimmy interrupted. “I wanted to smash those metal bastards… I…”

  “I know, son,” Capt. Banks said. “I know.”

  As the tears began falling from his eyes again, Jimmy let go of his feelings. The emotional dump of battle mixed with the thoughts of his brother. It was too much to hold in. Lance Cpl. Woolridge couldn’t fight it off; he couldn’t hide his weakness, not even in front of his Captain.

  He composed himself. “It won’t happen again, I promise, sir.”

  “You’re a hell of a Marine, son. I don’t want the amazing job you did today to get lost. Just don’t be so goddamn reckless… But then again, honestly son, I wish I had fifty more just like you. Go clean up and get a hot meal, Lance Cpl., you earned it.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  CHAPTER 23 - WHO’S BELL?

  “If daughters couldn't soften a man,

  then nothing would.”

  ― Linda Weaver Clarke

  “I know I said… I said we could go look for your mother but…”

  “You promised we could.”

  Russ glanced at a lone picture of his family he always saw before heading out on his daily patrol. For some reason, that picture was ok to leave out. “We need to be prepared for a trip like that Clio.”

  Clio pointed through the kitchen. “It’s only a few miles away… the RMB isn’t that far from here.”

  “Yes. You’re right… It’s not far but we still need to be prepared.”

  “We’ll take your guns and…”

  “Well… you need to know how to use those guns… and besides… we need to figure out the best route… lots of things we need to account for.”

  Clio turned and walked to the gun rack and placed both hands on one. “Teach me then,” she said rubbing her palms from muzzle
to stock until they met in the middle. “Teach me.”

  “You’re not afrai…”

  “No, I’m not. I’m more angry than afraid,” Clio said. “Please.”

  “Ok… We’ll uh… All… all right… we’ll start training for it in the morning. You’re going to get a crash course… This is a bad idea though. Jesus H Bad.”

  Clio didn’t answer as she turned back toward the rack of weapons and continued to let her hands run, tracing around cold metal parts.

  “Come on… Let’s get our rest, young Clio.”

  “Ok,” Clio answered knowing she was already and probably now… always going to be afraid of the dark. She followed Russ down the hall.

  They walked a short distance with their footsteps echoing off the wood floor the old man installed himself years ago. “This way,” Russ said, walking down the hall pointing. “Bathroom’s here, a towel is under the sink… soap is in the tub.”

  Remaining silent, Clio peered in and followed Russ toward the bedrooms.

  “Room’s here; sheets are clean,” Russ said, realizing it was where his daughter had slept countless times. But they weren’t countless, not anymore, not since her life ended too soon. God I hope I can keep this one safe, Russ thought, knowing it would be difficult given what Clio wanted to do – where she wanted to go. This girl wants to find her mother in a bad way, he thought.

  The little girl was angry, anyone could see that, but the old man saw a fire in her eyes, the likes of which he hadn’t seen in a long time. Well… except… Russ saw it in one other person recently. Daily. Every time he looked in the mirror.

  Exhausted, they both fell fast asleep.

  Sunrise:

  “Up and at ‘em, Clio.”

  Dreaming of her mother, Clio woke to the sound of his voice. It was a wonderful dream that she desperately wanted to keep and hold. Like gold dust sifting away in a breeze, the more she tried to grasp it, the more it slipped through her fingers. She started to fall asleep again…

  Lady rammed her cold nose against Clio’s neck and jolted the girl after her eyes drifted shut. The dream was totally lost, replaced by being awake now - alert with swimming thoughts.

  “Morning,” Clio said as Russ was already walking out of the room.

  Russ spoke from the hallway. “Let’s get some breakfast.” Clio heard the words bouncing off the walls as the old man walked toward the kitchen. It was silent for a moment…

  “Oh I forgot.”

  “Ahh!” Clio jerked under the covers, startled after Russ came back into the room without warning.

  “Bell was about your size. Some of her clothes are still in the closet there,” Russ paused, staring deeply toward the slat doors. “Go ahead and try some of them on... see if they fit… Sorry if I startled you.”

  Clio held her chest, trying to keep her heart from bursting out. She felt it beating hard as if her entire body were a smashed thumb. “Ok. Thanks…”

  Lady barked and followed Russ down the hall for a few steps before returning to stay with Clio.

  Feeling the sand granules against her tootsies, Clio walked barefoot across the floor. She wiped her soles against her ankles and fingered through the hanging clothes.

  It was strange going through someone else’s things but Clio didn’t want to put her dirty clothes back on. Covered in old sweat, she could smell them as she turned and looked at where she’d draped them over a chair next to a child’s desk. The chair was too big to fit neatly under the desk, as if they’d upgraded one and not the other.

  This will do, she thought pulling a pair of jeans and shirt down. Little loose, but it’ll work, she thought. Seeing a few belts that hung from a hook in the back of the closet, she grabbed one.

  Lady sniffed her crotch as she sat on the bed and tried to pull up the borrowed britches. “No Lady!” she said pushing the dog’s head away.

  As if she wanted the girl to hurry, Lady barked and sat down looking at Clio with curious eyes.

  “I’m hurrying,” Clio said, leaning toward the nightstand. She opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of socks.

  Lady followed her out of the room after she grabbed her shoes and headed down the hall with the belt flapping from her hand like a dead snake.

  “You hungry?” Russ asked standing over the stove.

  Most homes had backup generators that ran off of antimatter or solar power cells. The old man always thought it was a good idea to have the best power source he could afford.

  “Who’s Bell?” Clio asked, fishing the belt through the loops before putting her socks and shoes on.

  Russ was cracking eggs with one hand and plopped them down into a mixing bowl. He stopped. “My daughter… She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clio answered, wanting to take her question back.

  “Funny… Sue and I thought we couldn’t have kids. Too old… Always dreamed about having some but gave up on it after a while. Then one day… there she was.”

  Clio knew the conversation was already started, like an out of control blaze, so she went with it. “How old was she?”

  “’Bout a year older than you… thirteen and a half,” he said cracking another egg.

  “I’m sorry,” Clio whispered, feeling stupid and not knowing what else to say.

  Russ went to whisking the eggs with determination. “…Alright. It’s ok… Not your fault.”

  “I know it’s just that… I don’t know… everyone’s lost someone I think. Doesn’t seem fair… this goddamn war.”

  “Easy. Watch your language, young lady.” He knew it was petty to scold her but couldn’t help acting like a dad. For all he knew, she might be the only twelve-year-old left on the planet and he couldn’t help being a father figure.

  Clio wasn’t bothered by his comment. “I just hate those damn monsters. Those godda… those Ker too...”

  Russ turned and glanced over the top of Clio’s head and then scanned down at her. “I hate ‘em too, sweetie,” he said, as he finished whisking the eggs. “Scrambled ok?”

  “Yes please… That’s how my mom always makes them.” Lady barked several times.

  “You’re getting some too, relax,” Russ promised, eyeing his dog.

  The old man walked over to the table where Clio sat and served her. “Eat up; we have a long day ahead of us.”

  CHAPTER 24 - THE PRESIDENT

  “But even the President of the United States sometimes must have to stand naked.”

  -Bob Dylan

  Atlanta:

  The President and the rest of his cabinet were holed up at the Governor’s mansion in Atlanta. Most of the military force stayed a few miles away.

  The surviving Marines from Camp Lejeune that didn’t go to Fort Jackson were dispatched to protect the Capital. Few made it through the first attack wave, and those Marines that did survive escorted the President to the Dirty South.

  The Devil Dogs arrived and scouted for a new place to call home. They found a place, good as any.

  The Marines now resided at the Eclipse; an old high-rise building that was scheduled for demolition before the war started. The remaining forces of Ft. Bragg called the St. Regis Hotel, which was spitting distance from the Eclipse, their home.

  Now occupying its condominiums, the Eclipse was home to five hundred or so Marines. Like a concrete hive, it had over three hundred rooms and a covered parking structure where they could secure vehicles. Two tanks and thirteen Hum-Zs were all that was left of their mobile ground force.

  Twenty-one stories high, The Eclipse’s flat lid offered an excellent observation post. As if they were blackbirds on a high wire perch, round the clock duty stations were assigned on its rooftop.

  The Army’s Ft. Bragg didn’t fare as well as the Devil Dogs in the initial war. They didn’t have the security of the ocean that Camp Lejeune offered and unlike the Marines, they had dozens of Ker working inside their base. Bragg was landlocked and the Ker did an outstanding job of decimating the base, along with its mobilized infantry. Seve
n pathetic Hum-Zs were all the Army had left - that was it.

  Down the road, a force of less than one hundred guarded the President at the mansion. Acting as lookouts, small details were stationed around the perimeter a click or two from the Governor’s former estate.

  Dr. Pavlov’s address at the CDC was just over eight miles away from the old Governor’s mansion, aka the new White House. The Soldiers and Marines were less than two miles from the President’s new digs.

  All the players were close.

  Seth Pavlov didn’t have to pass by the Eclipse and the St. Regis to get to the President, but he did, on purpose. After storming the politician’s new palace, he knew the military would come his way.

  Might as well take them out first.

  1:21PM:

  Seeing the ruins that were now the Dirty South, a Marine stood watch, observing from the vantage point of Twenty-one floors up. He saw them coming and his eyes widened: Holy shit!

  “Mayday! Mayday!” the SGT shouted through his handset, standing on the roof of the Eclipse. The Marines nicknamed the high-rise building, “The Saipan 2,” after an old decommissioned LHA ship and ran it like a gator freighter.

  “I’ve got Ker inbound on the southeast and southwest corner. Do you copy! Over? I say again my last, Ker inbound from the south and west corners!”

  “Roger that! I copy!” shouted the duty officer that was stationed in the lobby. Ground level, he jumped over the concierge desk and ran to the fire control panel, pulling the alarm.

  Running wide-eyed with hands on top of his head, the second duty came out from the package room. “Make the announcement!” he shouted, “I’m not ready for this shit man!”

  Both Marines headed toward the main fire control room and one grabbed the handset mike. Squeezing the button, he barked over the howling fire alarm.

  “Attention on deck! Attention on deck! General Quarters! General Quarters! We’ve got Ker inbound! I say again my last, Ker are inbound! This is not a drill! I repeat! This is not a drill!”