Revenge of the Apocalypse

by Benjamin Wallace

  “I will not hear him out. I will not risk what we’ve built here for some lying, piece of shit outsider.”

  “I’m not lying!” Jerry said.

  “You are. You know how I know? The Librarian isn’t real,” whined Gatsby. “Don’t you get it? He’s a symbol. Nothing more. He’s not our leader. He’s not our savior. He’s a mascot to get the people to rally to our cause.”

  “And what is your cause, Gatsby?” Jerry asked.

  “Our cause is freedom.”

  “Is it? Because I think your cause is you. That’s why you’ll never stand up to Invictus. You need him. Without him you’re nothing. Without him you’d have to be your own man instead of his antithesis and you couldn’t handle that.”

  The girl was trying not to smile. Fahrenheit was trying not to laugh.

  Gatsby didn’t notice. His focus was solely on the man insulting him. “You don’t have any idea who I am.”

  “And neither do you,” Jerry said.

  Gatsby pulled a revolver from his waistband and pointed it at Jerry’s forehead.

  “Gatsby—” Fahrenheit began.

  “Shut up, Fahrenheit.” Gatsby muttered.

  Jerry leaned into the barrel. “You’re not a resistance. You’re a fad. You’ve probably got a bunch of chants and jars full of your own urine, but you don’t have the balls to really fight.”

  Gatsby pulled back the hammer on the revolver and stared dead into the Librarian’s eyes.

  Fahrenheit lost it and began to laugh so hard he wheezed. “He knows about your strategic piss reserve, Gat.”

  Jerry stared back across the barrel of the gun. Gatsby was a coward. He’d shoot a man in the back but not while looking him in the eye.

  “Put the gun away, Gatsby,” the woman said.

  “No.”

  “Now!”

  Gatsby looked at the woman and back to Jerry. He released the hammer and lowered the pistol.

  Jerry nodded his thanks to the woman and then looked at Fahrenheit. “I’d like to leave now. Who has my hood?”

  The ride back was darker and colder than before. It even seemed a little rougher. They helped him ashore and led him inside. It wasn’t warm, but it was out of the wind and the wet.

  “You can take off the hood,” the woman said.

  She stared at him for a quiet moment, then turned to leave. She stopped at the door. “You’re right about him. About Gatsby.”

  He knew he was right. But he wasn’t happy about it. He just nodded quietly.

  “But you’re not right about us.” She opened the door and left him standing alone in the dark.

  11

  Coy didn’t have a lot of job-hunting experience. Work had never appealed to him and, if he was being honest, the idea of an interview had always made him nervous. The thought of so many questions being thrown at him at once made him uncomfortable. His palms would sweat. His heart would race. He would get confused and forget everything he knew. He just knew it. It was the same whenever he watched Jeopardy.

  Now that he had taken the initiative to meet the leader of Alasis and demand employment, he was surprisingly calm. The box under his arm gave him some of that confidence. But he was smart enough to know that it wasn’t all coming from the severed head. Severed heads didn’t have powers like that. It was because The Coyote didn’t get nervous. The Coyote didn’t worry about what people might say or what they might think of him. The Coyote didn’t worry if people thought he was stupid and wasting their time by interviewing for some job. Coy would be a wreck but not The Coyote.

  Hell, The Coyote wasn’t even claustrophobic like Coy. For example, right now he was stuffed in an elevator with five guards and he wasn’t the least bit panicky, even though with so many men in such a small space they would surely run out of air. The Coyote remained calm but Coy would have been freaking out about how if he needed to get out of there these others would be in his way. He’d try to get through but he wouldn’t be able to, and the harder he tried the more he would be pushed back, not being able to go where he wanted to, needed to, when all he wanted was to be out where the air wasn’t so thick and hot and close. The Coyote spun away from the cluster of men and stared out the back of the glass elevator at the wide, open space unfolding hundreds of feet below him. It was an amazing view with nothing to get in the way but this thin, very breakable glass. Coy swallowed hard and was thankful that The Coyote wasn’t afraid of heights like he was.

  “Is it much farther to the top?” Coy asked.

  He received only a single grunt in response.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  An eternity—or twenty seconds—later, the doors opened and Coy fought the urge to push his way through. The guards took their time getting out of the car and then commanded him to exit.

  He repositioned the box under his arm. It was comforting to have something to hold. They had taken his guns and his knife. They had even taken the keys to the Coy-O-Te. But he had refused to hand over the box.

  Another half dozen guards lined the hallway. Dressed in shining armor, they stood at attention, unmoving except for their eyes. All had turned to him.

  The Coyote studied the men who studied him. The armor may have looked scary, but The Coyote knew it would slow them down if it came to a real fight. The helmets would limit their visibility and impair their hearing. And the capes were the dumbest part of all. How did they not trip on those things?

  They led him into a round room where he saw more men and more capes and what could only be described as a throne. In the throne sat Invictus, draped in a massive golden cape and armor polished so finely that Coy could see The Coyote in it. The man did not look up until one of the guards announced, “This is the man, Great Lord Invictus.”

  The Great Lord rose from his seat. The golden cape fell into place behind him and made him seem twice as large as he was. He crossed the room and studied Coy from behind the visor of his polished helmet. Only the man’s eyes were visible. The rest of his face was covered by a skeletal mouth and nose. This was the man that ruled the world. Coy had every reason to be afraid. But for some reason, he wasn’t. It was probably the cape.

  The man said nothing for at least a minute as he sized up Coy.

  And Coy knew how it looked. He wasn’t big. He didn’t look tough. But he was covered in the blood of a dozen men and he hoped that would go some way toward impressing the leader of Alasis. Though he had never had to impress someone in a cape before and he wondered if the rules were different.

  “This man killed a dozen men?” Invictus asked.

  “Yes, Great Lord Invictus,” the soldier said. “And the bouncer. And he’s the biggest son of a bitch you’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Great Lord Invictus. They called him the Doorway. Because he was the size of a doorway.”

  “Then why wasn’t he working for me?” Invictus asked.

  The soldier swallowed hard and tried to talk his way past the question. “This man also claims to have killed Mr. Christopher.”

  “That’s a bold claim,” Invictus said. “What proof do you have?”

  The Coyote smiled and tipped Mr. Christopher’s hat.

  Invictus laughed. It was a horrific sound through the metal skull. He pulled the hat off Coy’s head and flung it out the open window. “You’re going to need more than a stupid hat. You could have gotten that anywhere.”

  The Coyote smiled, stepped forward and opened the lid of the box.

  Invictus’s eyes grew bigger as he recognized the head of what was once his most feared bounty hunter. He didn’t look so scary now. Creepy, Coy thought, what with his tongue hanging out and his eyes all rolled back, but hardly scary.

  “I couldn’t have gotten this just anywhere,” The Coyote said.

  Invictus laughed and pointed at the box. He addressed the soldier that had led Coy into the room. “Now, this is the kind of violence that gets my attention.”

  “I thought it might,” The Coyote sa
id.

  “I am the Great Lord Invictus,” he bellowed. “And who are you that brings me the head of my own man?”

  “Mr. Invictus, I—”

  “Great Lord,” he corrected.

  “Mr. Lord, I—“

  “Great Lord Invictus.” He added some rage to his voice for impact. “Do you want someone to write it down for you?”

  “No. I–“

  “Would that even help?”

  “Great Lord Invictus…”

  His eyes looked pleased and he nodded. “Go on.”

  “They call me The Coyote.”

  “The Coyote? That’s lame.” Invictus turned to his men and laughed. “Did you call him that?”

  “No sir,” the soldier said. “It’s the first time we’ve heard it.”

  “And what do you think?” asked Invictus.

  “It’s lame,” said the soldier.

  “That’s what I thought,” Invictus agreed with a laugh. “What do you want, Coyote?”

  “The Coyote,” Coy said. Why couldn’t people get that right?

  Invictus laughed. “Correct me again and I’ll have you thrown out the window.”

  It wasn’t that difficult. Lots of things had a first name of The. The Eagles. The The. Coy got lost in this train of thought, searching for a third example, and forgot to even blink.

  Invictus didn’t seem to appreciate this stoic response. The man grunted and turned to his men. “Maybe I should have them throw you out anyway. You killed my man. You brought his head to me in a box. That’s not typically a behavior that gets rewarded.”

  Invictus was an imposing figure. He looked a lot like a cross between Skeletor and a robot. But he wasn’t afraid. Coy would have been. But The Coyote only felt rage. Coy wondered if that was the secret to never being afraid. To just hate everything so damn much that there wasn’t room for fear or doubt. In all his wondering, Coy lost track of the conversation. He wasn’t even sure what Invictus had said. The best he could do was just stare intently until the man spoke again and try to catch up as best he could.

  “What do you think of that?”

  Coy wasn’t sure what “that” was exactly, but Invictus had waved toward the window when he said it. Except there was no window. And they were pretty high up. It seemed dangerous. “I think you should close that window. Someone could fall.”

  The guards tensed up when he said this. He wasn’t sure why. It was a fairly obvious problem. Birds could get in. Maybe even bugs. He didn’t know how high bugs could fly though. Their wings weren’t so big, so maybe bugs weren’t a problem. But most probably birds. Maybe Invictus could fly! Maybe that’s why he wore a cape and he needed the window open to get into the building. No. That was stupid. It was probably a launching pad.

  Invictus finally broke the silence with a laugh. Though it didn’t sound like he found anything particularly funny. Willie used to do that. He had called it sarcasm.

  Invictus turned and walked back to his throne. He spun quickly and sent his cape into the air. He sat quickly and the fabric settled around him. It was a hell of a way to sit down.

  “Tell me what you want, Coyote.”

  This was it. Coy would have choked and chickened out. Coy would have muttered “nothing” and made up some excuse to leave the room. He would have probably said he had to go to the bathroom. But The Coyote took a bold step forward and declared his desire. “I want a job.”

  “A job,” Invictus said with a nod. “Did you have any particular role in mind?”

  Coy pointed to the soldier standing next to the Great Lord. “Well, what’s that guy do?”

  Invictus laughed. It was genuine this time. “That takes a lot of guts.”

  “So?” The Coyote said. “I’ve got as much guts as that guy.”

  “This man is my Praetor. He is my administrator. My Confidant. And his position is for life. He will be my Praetor until he dies in my service or until I push him out the window.”

  “You two sound pretty serious.”

  This made the Praetor reach for his gun.

  “Calm down, Predator,” The Coyote said. “I don’t want your job. I don’t have any confindanting in me. Besides, I don’t think I could wear a cape all day. I want Christoph’s old job.”

  Invictus went silent. His eye twitched. Invictus was ‘musing things,’ as Willie used to say. The Coyote took a deep breath. The thought of Coy’s old friend tightened the knot in his stomach and enflamed the rage.

  Invictus finally spoke. “You really killed him? You didn’t just find his body and cut his head off?”

  “I did.”

  He wasn’t convinced. “How did you kill him?”

  “Slowly,” The Coyote said with a smile.

  At first Invictus and the guards laughed. But The Coyote made it very clear with his gaze that he wasn’t kidding.

  Invictus stifled the laughs. “Now, why would you do that?”

  “Because,” The Coyote said as he took two steps toward the throne. “He made me eat Willie.”

  The entire throne room burst into laughter. There were a few comments from the guards to one another about how they owed one another for a bet they had made. But The Coyote didn’t let the good times get far.

  “They cut him up into strips and told me he was bacon!” He shouted. “But it wasn’t bacon. It was Willie.”

  The laughter stopped and Invictus gave him an inquisitive look. “You met the Skinners.”

  That feeling in his stomach flared up like gasoline on a campfire. “I did.”

  “Did you kill them, too?” Invictus asked.

  “No.” That thought enraged him even more but instead of the anger growing hotter it turned cold and stopped altogether. Now he felt nothing. “I didn’t get the chance. That Library guy killed them. He denied me the revenge I deserve. But I’ll get it. I’ll get my revenge.”

  “That’s why you’re here?” Invictus asked. “Revenge?”

  The Coyote nodded. He looked around the room at the army of guards and finally let his gaze return to the man on the throne. “I aim to kill the man that started all of this. The man that, if not for him, Willie wouldn’t have been made into bacon.”

  Invictus remained silent for a moment. He was musing again. Maybe even mulling. But he came to a decision quickly. “You’re a special kind of idiot, Coyote. The kind of idiot I find useful. You want Mr. Christopher’s old job? You’ve got it.”

  “Good.” It was Coy’s first real job. He should have felt proud of himself for acing the interview, but all he felt was one step closer to getting his revenge.

  “Before you start, however, do you even know what Mr. Christopher did for me?”

  Coy shook his head. “Not the particulars.”

  “He made problems go away. And the Librarian is a problem. But I have other problems, too. Much closer to home.” He pointed out the window.

  Coy followed the gesture to the missing glass. “I don’t do windows.”

  “Not the window, you moron. The city. My city. Everything you see is mine. And I take care of what’s mine. I take care of all those people down there. I keep them safe from the horrors of the wasteland. I feed them. I keep the lights on for them so they feel safe in the night.

  “But there are some down there that are ungrateful. They want to overthrow me and cast me out. They want to seize power for themselves.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them to leave? That’s what I’d do.”

  Invictus stood and shouted, “Because I don’t know who they are, you dolt! They hide from me. They hide their identities. They meet in secret.”

  “Okay. You don’t need to holler. You made it sound like you knew who they were.”

  “I don’t, but you’re going to find out.”

  The Coyote laughed. “If you don’t know who they are how will I? I just got here.”

  “You’re going to find them. You’re going to tear the city apart until you find them or I’ll have you killed.”

  Coy wanted to run.
The Coyote made him stay.

  “But you’re going to like this,” Invictus said with a much calmer tone as he sat back down. “They call themselves the Bookkeepers. And the Librarian is their hero. His traitorous actions against Alasis have inspired them. They treat him like he is their savior and it’s become a really big problem for me.

  “I want you to find them and bring them to me. If you do this, I will give you an army to hunt down the Librarian and you will finally have your revenge.”

  12

  Charlie’s Arm was busted in a dozen places. The jukebox was broken, the pool table was out of order and the staff was doing its best to clean up the blood with a mop and bucket. But the beer was still cold, so Jerry drank.

  He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t care enough to ask. But in passing he had gathered most of the story. A stranger had come in and the locals didn’t have enough sense to leave him alone. He’d ended up pulling a giant knife and cutting everyone up while screaming something about bacon. It wasn’t exactly typical, but it wasn’t that unusual.

  Now more than ever, the world was full of crazy people. Jerry often wondered if it was the new world that had driven them all mad or if it took a fair amount of crazy to survive after the apocalypse. Maybe he was crazy himself.

  Chewy dropped her snout in his lap and he scratched the dog’s head. He wanted to say something to her but realized that might be an admission of how crazy he was. He set another beer on the floor for the dog. She’d been locked up in the Day’s Inn for most of the day and deserved it.

  He took a drink from his own glass and figured the odds of him being crazy were pretty good. A sane person wouldn’t have done the things he had done. A sane man would have kept his head down instead of wandering around the perilous wasteland, getting embroiled in other people’s messes. Maybe it had been the right thing to do, but it certainly wasn’t the smart thing. Smart didn’t get involved. Smart didn’t get Erica killed. But being smart meant he never would have met her in the first place. If he’d never met her, she most likely would have died on the way to New Hope. But she wouldn’t have died on the side of the road in Missouri. He shook his head. His thinking was getting circular. Or maybe he was just drunk. There was only one way to be sure. He ordered another drink. This was quickly followed by, “Make it two.”