Wasted World | Episode 2

by North, Geoff

  You bet he’s still after you, girl. He’s going to find you, and he’s going to keep his promise. You should just wait where you are and let him get it over with.

  Angela’s stepfather wouldn’t shut up inside her head. The more frightened she became, the more hopeless things seemed, the louder he got. “He’s not going to find us.”

  “You’re talking to yourself again,” Amanda said.

  “Sorry.” She took the girl’s hand and the three continued walking west.

  He’s got guns, remember? I’m sure it will be quick and painless. Stay where you are and let him catch up. Let him end your worries with a bullet between the eyes.

  “Can I see one of the guns?” Michael asked.

  Angela was rubbing the skin between her eyebrows. “Guns? Why do you want to see one of the guns?”

  “I just want to hold one… see what it feels like.”

  They had two guns. One they had taken from Roy after Michael incapacitated him with an oversized golf driver swing between the shoulder blades. Angela had picked the other from the waistband of a teenager she had murdered with a knitting needle through the heart. “It feels like a gun, cold and heavy. There, now you know.”

  “You know what I mean, I want to hold it on my own. One of us should know what we’re doing in case we need to defend ourselves.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of defending all three of us, and you’re too young to be handling guns.”

  Angela and Michael hadn’t gotten along all that well since the three had been stuck together. He was continually challenging her, testing her ability to look after them. Angela had never had children of her own, and the twins had never been without a mother up until a few days ago. They were both adjusting, Angela realized. She would have to patient; their parents were gone, and she would have to fill the void as best she could.

  “Leave her alone,” Amanda said. “She’s kept us safe. She’s kept Roy away.”

  Michael didn’t say another word. He trudged on beside his sister as they made their way to the city’s outskirts, silently stealing from cars and trucks along the way. Sometime just before noon the lines of stalled traffic became more backed up. They were getting close to the airport. The drivers and passengers had left their vehicles and headed for the towering ruins of collapsed hotels ahead, or so Angela thought. They had probably believed it would be safer to take cover in the concrete and steel structures, that the bomb’s effects wouldn’t be so devastating this far out from the city’s center. The buildings here looked as destroyed as any Angela had seen further back. She started to wonder if more than one bomb had dropped. Perhaps she was leading the children into an even more lethal zone of radioactive fallout.

  A group of four people were heading towards them in the opposite lane. Two adults, a man and woman, and two children—both girls—not much younger than Michael and Amanda. The man called out to them. “They’ve got a shelter set up in the parkade under the Sandman,” the man called out. “Lots of food left and plenty of mattresses to sleep on.”

  “Why are you leaving?” Angela called back. “Where are you going?”

  The man’s face went blank. His wife answered for him. “We’re going home.”

  Angela looked back the way they’d come, towards the smoking grey city center. “Back there? You won’t find anything. Most of it’s gone.”

  The two groups stopped walking when they were side by side and faced each other with the road’s concrete barrier separating them less than thirty feet. “Not all of it,” the woman said. “She looked at her daughters and smiled reassuringly. “The girls want to see their grandparents. We’re going to get our car and make sure they’re alright.”

  “None of the cars work,” Angela replied. “I think all the onboard computers have been fried.”

  The woman gave her a look that said, you think we don’t know that already, you stupid bitch? Can’t you just play along and keep your stupid mouth shut? “Our car will work. Edward here is a whiz with that stuff.” She smiled at her daughters and they smiled back. Edward stood there and remained looking vacant. He didn’t appear like much of a whiz of anything, Angela thought.

  They know when it’s time to die, girl. They know when it’s time to give up and let go. You should do the same. Why don’t you go and crawl back into that hole you came out of?

  Because I’ve found someone to look after—two someones. I’m going to care for them and keep them safe… more than you ever did for me.

  I looked out for you more than you’ll ever know. I’m still looking out for you. There’s a way out of this, Angie… you’re just too dumb and stubborn to take it.

  Angela didn’t answer her stepfather, and she didn’t say anything else to the family of four. She waved goodbye instead and the twins followed her along the curving exit road towards the half-collapsed string of hotels to their right.

  “You think they’ll find them?” Amanda asked.

  “Find who?”

  “Their grandparents.”

  “Maybe.” They probably wouldn’t, and if they did, Angela figured the little girls would likely be disappointed.

  The first hotel had been a Hilton, Angela could tell by the massive collapsed H sitting atop the rubble blocking the front entrance. They went past it; Angela had never stayed at a Hilton in her life—she couldn’t afford it on her secretarial wage, and she had no one to travel with, and nowhere to go. The Sandman, Edward the mechanical whiz had said. Lots of food and plenty of mattresses. The three walked another quarter mile, past two more hotels until they came to the Sandman. The sign was still attached to the building, the trademark green letters looked almost a sick, dull purple against the backdrop of grey sky beyond.

  “I don’t want to go there,” Amanda said. “It looks scary.”

  “They all look scary,” her brother added, pointing back down the silent street.

  “We don’t have to stay long,” Angela said. “We’ll have a few decent meals and see how we feel about it in a couple of days, okay?” The kids didn’t answer. They could see someone standing under the front, pacing slowly back and forth with a rifle in his hands. He was wearing one of those oxygen masks, the kind with the big round reflective eye covers. It was the protective head covering people wore in those post-apocalyptic zombie movies the kids said they’d seen on television, Angela thought. “One meal and one night,” she whispered as they approached the man.

  “Hold it right there,” he called out when they were still over forty feet away. “Where are you coming from and what’s your business here?”

  Our business? Why we’re travelling sales people and we’ve driven over a thousand miles to attend a shower curtain manufacturing conference. We’re very tired and we would appreciate your quietest room with a view of the planes landing and taking off if possible.

  No need to be a smart-ass. The man’s just doing his job.

  “A family back down the road said there was a shelter set up here, that there’s food and a place to sleep.”

  The man eyed them up and down through those expressionless, flat glass eyes. “Where did the kids get those clothes? We’re they stolen?”

  Angela looked at the expensive brand-name jackets and shirts. Michael’s were a good fit, but the hoody Amanda was wearing was a few sizes too big. The bottom of it hung past her bum. There were price tags and materials stickers still attached to most of them. “We’ve been sleeping outdoors and in vehicles for the last few nights. We needed… I wanted the children to stay warm. The clothes came from a shopping center.”

  “Meaning you didn’t pay for them.”

  The city had been nuked. Ninety per cent of the people living there were already dead. Why were the survivors so obsessed with stolen clothes? “We couldn’t pay for them. There was no one left to attend us, and I left my purse in the crater of what was once my office.”

  You be careful, girl. The guy’s holding a rifle and he’s wearing an end-of-the-frigging-world helmet. Keep shooting your mou
th off, and he’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders.

  Angela didn’t care. She was sick of strange men frightening her, and she was sicker of the one in her brain telling her what to do. “Are you going to let us in or not?”

  The man lowered his weapon and removed the oxygen mask. A mop of blond hair fell out and he was grinning widely. “Sorry about that.” He was young, probably not yet twenty, and his eyes were kind. “Marie’s making me ask all the people that come here these stupid questions.” He placed the mask down at his feet and left the rifle laying there as well. “Not even sure why she makes me wear that thing. It’s not like it’s going to keep the radiation from seeping in through my skin.”

  Amanda spoke up. “Maybe it’s supposed to make you look scarier, you know, to stop bad people from coming too close.”

  “I guess it could be something like that.” He held his hand out and Amanda shook it after a few hesitant moments. “I’m Cory Walker… used to run luggage back and forth from the guest rooms.”

  “I’m Angela.” She didn’t see the need to provide last names any more. “This is Amanda and Michael. How many survivors are there inside, and who’s Marie?”

  “There’s maybe sixty people down below, and Marie Hodgkin is my boss. She was the hotel manager on duty when it happened. No one’s come to relieve her since, so she’s still in charge. Real hard-ass, too, so the place is in good hands. She told me to watch for folks wearing new clothes and carrying expensive things. Last thing we need is a bunch of looters staying.”

  “We’re not looters,” Michael spoke up defensively.

  “Nah, of course you aren’t… you know what I mean. We’re not stopping families or kids, or anything like that, just keeping an eye out for gangs and stuff.”

  It had been less than a week and already people were preparing for roaming gangs. Angela shouldn’t have been all that surprised. She had already fended off a rape and attempted murder. Civilized society had broken up and vanished at approximately the same rate of speed as the bomb’s destructive wave. “We’re not a gang,” Angela said. “I took the clothes the kids are wearing because we’ve had to keep ahead of a lunatic shooting off handguns, murdering everyone in sight. If I’d had the time I would’ve taken some for myself.” She spread out her arms and showed him the filthy remains of her dress, most of which was missing from the thighs down.

  Corey could see something heavy weighing down both front pockets of Angela’s dress. “Speaking of guns…”

  She patted the bulge on her right side. “We got away from the guy, took one of his weapons.”

  “And the other one?” He pointed at her left side.

  “I found that one on my own before I met up with the kids.” She hadn’t told Amanda and Michael about her night spent on a couch with an old woman melted into the fabric of an armchair at her feet. She wasn’t going to share that information with Corey Walker either.

  “I see.” The young man held out both hands. “Well I can’t let you in any further unless you hand them both over. Marie’s orders—no weapons past the front doors.”

  She glanced at the children. Amanda wanted to go inside. So did Michael, but he didn’t want to surrender the guns any more than Angela did. “I’d feel a lot better if we could hold on to them. I promise to keep them concealed.”

  A woman spoke up from the shadows behind the young man. “And I promise I won’t let the three of you in another step if you don’t lay those guns on the ground at your feet right now.”

  Corey bent down quickly and picked his rifle up. “Uuhh, this is Marie… my boss.”

  Marie Hodgkin gave him a look that said they would be talking more about this later. “Your choice, lady. Give up the guns, or you carry on down to the next hotel.”

  Angela had already made her mind up. She didn’t look back at the twins for approval. “We can have them back when we leave?”

  “Of course, but I can’t imagine where you’d want to go. We have everything here you could possibly want. The parkade has been secured and is constantly guarded.” She shot Corey another dirty sideways glance. “The hotel has enough food and stored water to last the fifty-seven guests below for two or three months.”

  Angela’s hands slowly slipped into her pockets. The woman in front of her stared into her eyes, challenging her to try something stupid. She was small, at least six inches shorter than Angela, but her presence was commandingly large. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, and her thin lips were only a slit sitting above her pointy little chin. Her legs were spread apart slightly, and her hands were planted on her hips. The hotel uniform she was wearing—a neatly pressed black suit with white shirt—fit perfectly and could’ve have probably fit Amanda perfectly as well. Her green tie was pulled up tightly into the collar of the shirt.

  Small in stature, but huge in presence. Angela heard Michael groan as she handed the guns to Corey. Marie took Angela by the elbow. “Smart decision.” They went into the hotel lobby and walked through the spacious area. There was a second Armageddon-oxygen-mask-wearing guard stationed behind the front desk. He waved at them with the tip of his rifle. There was a third guard at the back entrance, and a fourth standing at the vehicle ramp leading down into the underground parking lot.

  Marie’s little black shoes clicked along the pavement and her voice echoed off the walls. “The hotel was almost at full capacity when the bomb hit… over two-hundred guests.” Angela noted the word guests for a second time. She had referred to the survivors as guests, as if they were still checking in and out on a regular basis. Marie Hodgkin either took her position very seriously, or she was suffering from the biggest case of denial Angela had ever seen. “Three quarters of them up and left. They jumped in their cars and drove away, leaving most of their belongings in the rooms above. Not sure where the hell they thought they were going.”

  Michael spoke up. “They drove away? But none of the cars work anymore.”

  “Most don’t,” Marie said. They were on the first level. She pointed to a stairwell leading down. “But some of the vehicles farther down still managed to start. Corey seems to think it has something to do with all the concrete underground. Whatever electromagnetic pulse that shot out over the city was shielded by it. Not all the vehicles work, but most on the third level still turn over, even though things like onboard clocks and other computerized controls have been scrambled.”

  Get that thought out of your head and get it out right this second.

  I’ve done bad things already, Dad—I’ve taken things without paying, and I’ve murdered. I’m sure adding car theft to the list won’t send me to hell any faster.

  You don’t have a driver’s license. You can’t even drive.

  You taught me how to drive when I was fifteen, remember? And I don’t think they’re any police left to pull me over and ask for identification.

  That was thirty years ago, girl. Cars are different now. It’s not like riding a bicycle.

  Marie was still talking, unaware of the conversation going on inside Angela’s brain. “A few of those left tried leaving with their vehicles, but I commandeered the keys.” So much for that idea, Angela thought. “We have to keep things safe and quiet down here. I can’t have people tearing up the underground in cars and running the other guests over.” She wagged a hand through the air. “Don’t worry, I’m not crazy. If any of those left owning vehicles that still work want to leave, they can. Same rules apply for car keys as weapons. Check them in and check them out.”

  Yeah, sure, you’re not crazy at all.

  Angie… there’s no need to be condescending. The woman has taken you in.

  They went down more stairs and passed more guards. The ones further down weren’t wearing the frightening oxygen masks, and this made Angela feel a little better. There isn’t some post-apocalyptic chamber of horrors waiting below. It’s just people—survivors doing their best and staying as safe as possible.

  The feeling of dread returned when they arrived at
their final destination. The survivors had been herded into the deepest, darkest corner on the third subterranean level. Most were clustered around a giant concrete pillar labelled 3-C, like flies clinging to something sweet. Others were sitting on the pavement nearby, and some were curled up and trying to sleep. Angela’s mouth went dry and her heart started to hammer. They were all completely naked.

  “Stop right here,” Marie instructed. “Take off all your clothes and drop them to the ground so we can have them cleaned.”

  “You’re joking,” Angela said automatically, but knowing full well the woman was serious. People were staring up at them with mournful, embarrassed eyes. An overweight man in his sixties looked away when her eyes met his. A child sitting next to him did the same. Was she his granddaughter, or were they complete strangers to one another? It didn’t much matter either way, it was humiliating for them—for all of them—and Angela wanted no part of it.

  “I don’t joke when it comes to the safety and cleanliness of our guests. We have nothing to hide here, and I want to guarantee my staff’s safety as well. Clothes are washed once a day, no exceptions.”

  Angela saw something move in the shadows against the wall beyond the concrete pillar. More people were watching from mattresses. They were clothed, Angela was grateful to see, but they didn’t appear any less terrified. A little girl, not much younger than Amanda, crawled out from under a sheet and snuggled up to her mother. Her big eyes stared at Angela and the two children, but they settled back on Marie. She was afraid. They all were.