The Rage Room

by Lisa de Nikolits

  Janaelle was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Jaxen. I got the feeling Sting Ray Bob didn’t like me too much, which was confirmed by his parting words as he dropped me off.

  “Go to Jazza’s apartment,” he said, shortly. “Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred stupid and novel ideas of your own. Stick to the plan. Over and out. Got it?”

  I nodded and got out of the car. There was no wave from him as he did a U-turn and took off. I watched his car vanish into the distance. I was alone again. I had to nail it this time. And I swear, I was going to stick to the plan, but I hadn’t counted on a passenger riding shotgun with me. No one had figured that might happen, least of all the omnipotent OctoPuss or whatever the fuck her name was.

  36. JUMP THREE SHASTA RIDES SHOTGUN

  STING RAY BOB HAD DROPPED ME at St. Polycarp’s city limits. He hauled a bicycle down from the rack. “You’ll have to ride from here,” he said. “The roads are covered with debris. The cleaning robots, parking guard robots, auto-police, traffic monitors, they fell right over when the power died. Their circuitry went down, and they’re cluttering up the roads. No robots to clean up the robots! Oh the cruel irony. Anyways, this is as far as I can take you. Here’s a lock for the bike. From what I heard, people will do anything to steal a bike, so if it’s gone when you come back, so be it. It’s only been ten days since the Evolution, but the world has fallen apart. There’s no martial law, not yet, but the governments are threatening. Which is hilarious. How do they figure they’re going to whip a bunch of out-of-shape, unmotivated kids into being soldiers? Those MinetteGens haven’t even learned how to blow their own noses.” He got back into the car. “And remember, Sharps, you’ve only got twenty-four hours this time, make it snappy.” And with that, he drove off.

  I zipped up my slicker and walked the bike for a while, trying to get my bearings and thinking about what he had said. Martial law. Wasn’t Minnie rumoured to have had armies? But where was she? I’d bet my bottom dollar countries like Real Life China and Real Life Russia were armed to the gills too.

  The lake roiled and heaved to my right, a wash of oil and dark anger, with mile-high surf waves crashing onto the shore. A summer gazebo pulsated with bodies, and the echoing ugly screams and shouts sounded like a riot. I stopped to watch a stick-brandishing mob of people chase another gang across the park and my gut tightened. I tried to pick up the pace.

  The roads were packed with dead robots just like Sting Ray Bob had said. There were hundreds of them. Yellow, green, red, and blue. All twisted and wrecked, like old coat hangers, eyeballs hanging askew from bird’s nest wiring.

  I threaded through abandoned bubble cars, their doors open, seats deflated like leftover bridesmaid party balloons. Cyclists and harried humans scurried by with shopping carts and strollers filled with canned goods, bottled water, diapers, and toilet paper. The Crystal Path had died, all news and marketing implants were silent. The world that Integratron had ruled no longer existed. So long 123BlikiWin, ClothesKissezThugs, and CrystalMeBooty. No more FluffSqueaks or PrayingMantisLuckyCharms, but, thank god, at least no one would ever talk about MDoggHotBody again.

  I wondered if my car was still in the Parkette. I had forgotten to ask Sting Ray Bob. Not that I needed it now, but the money might come in handy down the line, as well as a place to sleep. I had no idea what my future held. But, looking around me, I figured the Parkette was a thing of the past. Best not to even consider it as an option.

  Coal skies clashed overhead, thick and threatening, with the temperature continuing to rise. It had hit forty-four degrees days ago, and garbage flowed around the robots and abandoned cars, carrying the foul, sour stench of sewage. Drains were backed up, and rivers of refuse and offal flowed down the streets. Bloated raccoons and squirrels, dead birds and cats, bundles of hair and bone and bloody flesh floated by, and I wished I had a bandana to wrap around my face. I had no idea there were that many illegal animals still in the city. I, like all other humans, thought they’d all been eliminated. Well, they were certainly dead now.

  Walking was too slow, and I got on the bike, wobbling like a small child. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even been near a bike. I had forbidden Celeste from getting a tiny plastic bike for Bax in case he hurt himself. Now I saw how stupidly obsessive and weird I had been with my boy. I vowed to be different when I got him back. I’d have to be, judging by the condition of this world. It didn’t look like anti-bacterial wipes were high on the list of must-haves. I wondered what Celeste would make of this new dystopia. She’d probably try to head to Real Life Florida to join Mummy and Daddy, although from what I’d heard, St. Isidore was in worse shape than us in St. Hubert. In my opinion, the Eden Collective, the World Wide Warriors, Head Office, and the rest of whoever had started a war had left us to pick up the shrapnel and die trying to survive.

  I wobbled along, pedalling unsteadily through the people and the garbage. Rain poured down my face, stinging my eyes and making it hard to see. I pulled my hoodie up, and it was immediately water-logged, but at least it helped funnel the rain away from my face.

  It took hours to reach St. Drogo’s. When I finally got there, I was beyond exhausted. I slid down onto the muddy front garden of the church next to the subway station and threw the bike down next to me. The world had lost its mind. It was still raining, a solid curtain of gauze. People were zombies covered in mud, indistinguishable from one another. Most were angry, shouting. A few were bemused and didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. I wasn’t alone on the muddy ground, and I kept a wary eye on my neighbours, hugging my backpack close to my chest while I regrouped. I’d munched on a few energy bars on the way and chugged bottled water that Sting Ray Bob had given me. He’d also given me chewable energy pills, a mix of ginseng and caffeine and acetaminophen, and I’d shamelessly fuelled my tired body as it fought the elements and navigated the chaos on the roads.

  I tore the wrapper off my last energy bar, ignoring the starving, pleading eyes of the man staring at me, but I gave him half a bottle of water as I left.

  I locked the bike up against the fence, gave it a pat, and forced my way through the milling bodies into the station. What a revolting mess. I leaned against the wall for a moment and closed my eyes. The station was a nightmare of homeless people seeking refuge from the weather. The trains had stopped running, but Sting Ray Bob said that the time-travel technology would still work and that I couldn’t go any other way. But how was I going to get down the stairs? Bodies were jam-packed, six to eight on a stair, huddled over one another. The escalator was the same, stacked wall-to-wall with stinking bodies, crying babies, and vacant-eyed old people.

  I stopped pushing for a moment and took a breath, which I immediately regretted, wishing I could spit out the stench of the foul thick hot air. I told myself that one good thing about the sudden onset of premature dystopia was that I didn’t have to worry about being nailed for killing Knox. A drug murder, in light of the entire world falling apart, no longer mattered.

  I took a deep breath and tried to make my way down again, but I was blocked. People hissed and scratched at me, and one woman even drew blood. Could she give me tetanus? Nope, that was rusty metal. But one could get infected from humans if they bit you. Note to self: do not get bitten.

  I was forced to leave the station on the east side, and I struggled to the smaller gate on the west, the one under the bridge. I pushed through another solid wall of bodies, wishing I had a taser to jolt and shock them out of the way. I remembered Sting Ray Bob warning me about keeping my body hydrated to ward off the dreaded nausea, and I reached into my bag for my last bottle of electrolyte water and drank it to the last drop. I had nothing else left. No food, no water, no pills. I had to make this happen. It was now or never.

  Filled with renewed determination, desperation, and panic, I became rough and feral. As I approached the rear entrance and faced a new mountain of starved, wet, angry humans, I re
alized I had to be cruel and wily, so I went low.

  I crouched and pushed through them, forcing my way between their legs and barrelling forward with my head down, mowing them down like bowling pins. They fell, growling and cursing. I met the gaze of more than one filthy small child, standing stoically, eye-level to my bent-over form. I tried to apologize by way of a glance, but my look was met with hatred and I tried to forget what I had seen.

  It took hours to reach the electronic gates. My tongue was dry as sandpaper, stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my eyes were stinging. A rancid fog rose off the prone bodies that had sought shelter into the subway; there were dozens lying on the tracks. A train was stuck halfway in the station. It too was filled with people, and there were more clambering and jostling on the roof.

  A mere ten days had passed, and it had already come to this. I couldn’t tell which people were dead and which were alive. Tiny mice scurried across the bodies and either people had gotten used to them or they were dead.

  I closed in on the electronic gates and reached my arm forward. Dear god, I couldn’t wait to get out of this world and back into the past. I didn’t care what anyone said. This world was so much worse than anything we’d previously encountered. But perhaps the Warriors wouldn’t see it that way. Perhaps they still believed that this would help the planet detoxify, regenerate, and heal. Maybe they were right in the long run, but for now, it was a terrible place to be.

  I stretched my arm towards the gate. Only my wrist had to be within range, not my whole body. And as I leaned forward, I saw a girl reach up and throw her arms around me. It was Shasta, and her timing was such that when I landed back in my living room, she was right there with me.

  37. SHASTA’S FIRST LANDING; SHARPS’S THIRD

  EARTH TO SHARPS. I WAS FACE DOWN on the carpet. Rough carpet. Sandpaper fibres scratched my face. Drooling. I was drooling. My vision was blurry and my head felt hungover. My head was thick, dense, heavy. I sat up. What happened? My head was killing me. Oh shit. I was in my living room and there was Shasta. Right, she had jumped with me. Stupid girl. We shot through the gates the minute they opened, before I could shake her off. We just made it. The glass doors snapped tight, lobster jaws clenching tight, slamming shut.

  I motioned to Shasta, who looked stunned, wide-eyed. “Get under the sofa,” I hissed at her, and she did, rolling quickly and flattening herself among the dust bunnies that shamed me. I thought I had vacuumed there only days earlier.

  And then I heard Celeste’s voice. “Sharps, sweetie, honey, what are you doing on the floor?”

  “I fainted,” I lied, and I pushed myself into a sitting position.

  “Oh, sweetie, you are so stressed out. Please, honeybun, don’t worry so much. Daddy’s got your back. I’ve got your back. Listen, I was going to take the kiddies to Silly Bunnies for pancakes and milkshakes. I know you think it’s junk food, but they need a treat, right? Especially our boy after what happened last night.”

  “What happened last night?” I croaked. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t. I looked at her, dazed.

  “Sharps,” she whispered, “you hit me. You struck me across the face and Bax saw it. You don’t remember.”

  “Oh, Cee.” I tried to stand, but I couldn’t. “I must have blacked out. To be honest, I can’t remember anything, not even what day it is. What day is it? I hit you? Why did I hit you? I would never hit you.”

  “Well, you did, honey.” And there was ice and finality in her tone now. “And our boy saw it. Which is why I wanted to get him a treat.”

  “But wait, um, I was thinking…” I wanted to say that I needed her to leave and the kids to stay so I could take them away from her and Jazza, but I knew that nothing I said would make any sense whatsoever. Besides, I was supposed to go to Jazza’s. But now Shasta had thrown a great old giant monkey wrench into the works.

  “What time will you be back?” I asked instead.

  “Mid-morning, I guess. We’ll go to Kiddie Mart too and buy some toys. I sent Flo home. Listen sweetie, like I said, I know you’re under a lot of stress.” She smirked. “I saw the texts from Ava. She sounds really mad.”

  “You read the messages on my comm?”

  “You read mine,” she reminded me. “And I needed to know why you were in such a state, more than usual. I had every right. My family’s health and safety are at risk here. I will do whatever a mother needs to do to keep my children safe. Now I’m taking the kiddies and we’re going to Silly Bunnies because god knows we all need a bit of happiness. You’d better get it together if you’re going to face Ava, I’ll tell you that much for nothing. You look so much thinner, like you lost weight overnight. It’s weird. You don’t look good. Big shadows under your eyes, too. Maybe you should make a doctor’s appointment and get yourself checked out. You’re not in a good way, Sharps.”

  And with that she left, taking Sophie and Baxter, neither of whom even gave me a backward glance. I stayed on the floor until I heard the car start up.

  “Shasta!” I squeaked. I had tried to yell but my voice squeaked out instead, and I cleared my throat.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” My volume increased incrementally.

  She crawled out from under the sofa, patches of dust stuck to her cheek and forehead. “I’m sorry. I wanted to time travel. I wasn’t totally erased. I remembered the drive to St. Adrian’s, the forest, the shower, the soup, everything. And then I saw you at the bar and you said you’d been hanging out at St. Drogo’s station, and I knew that meant you had to travel from there. I’ve been camped out here for ten days. At least I think it’s been ten days; it’s very hard to keep track. I knew you wouldn’t be able to access the front entrance so I took a gamble and stayed in the back at the closest gate. I nearly died in there. I was peeing in a can but then it overflowed, and everybody was just peeing and shitting and I didn’t want to lose my spot and so I stayed, and I stole food and other people’s water. Even from babies and old people. But I knew you would come and you did, and now we’re here. But Sharps, here’s the thing: I know your wife. I know her!”

  I stared at her. I was worn out and trembling. My hands were fluttering like an old drunk’s. “Shasta, can you see what you did? Do you know that you could have killed me? Both of us? My brain’s already bleeding from coming over. My white blood cell count is off the radar. There’s an artery roping around the growths in my head. And going back, the nausea was so bad, I nearly died. I’m not joking. And you just hitched a ride like Bob’s your uncle without even asking me what the consequences might be.”

  “Because you would have said I couldn’t come. And I needed to come, now more than ever.”

  I couldn’t listen to her. I had to think. “Not now. Listen. You stink. You really stink. You heard Celeste. They’ll be gone a while. Go and take a shower. Borrow some of Celeste’s clothes.”

  “I wouldn’t wear that bitch’s clothes if hell froze over,” she snarled. I was taken aback, but I couldn’t get into it, whatever was bothering her. My head was going to explode, and my skin was burning and itching at the same time. I had to calm my body down.

  “Then take mine, whatever. Or go down to the basement. I think Nanny Flo left a bunch of her stuff down there.”

  Shasta growled and clenched her fists. “No! Not hers either!”

  “I don’t care what you do or don’t do,” I shouted at her, and my voice was back, good and strong. “Go and get clean and give me some space, okay? I’m dying here, and I don’t mean metaphorically. Physically. You nearly killed me. I have to get some protein and electrolytes into my body. And I guess I should call work and tell them I’m not coming in. But first, I’m going to caffeinate and rehydrate.”

  Shasta looked sulky, but she went upstairs and I heard the shower running.

  I opened the fridge and cupboards and mixed myself a power protein smoothie. My hands were shaking so much that it was hard
to get the powder into the blender. I wanted to grab some ibuprofen from the cabinet in the upstairs washroom, but I didn’t want to weirdly walk in on Shasta. I rummaged around the kitchen and found a bottle of muscle relaxants behind a bottle of vodka, which made sense, and I swallowed four pills with my smoothie. Come on, body, I need you to regroup. We have to finish this. I found some extra-strength old-school aspirin, and I chewed a couple.

  I flashed a message to Ava.

  Am sick, will be in later if I can, sorry.

  So fire my ass, if you like, bitch.

  She fired back.

  Sure you’re sick. Delaying this won’t change anything.

  I didn’t bother to reply. I heard the doorbell ring, and I turned to it. Celeste wouldn’t ring the doorbell. I went over and pulled the door open.

  It was Jazza. And he had no idea why, but I started laughing. I laughed my ass off. “Hey buddy,” I said, full of the joys of life and bonhomie. “Look who’s here! Come on in! Do you want a smoothie? I make a mean protein bevvie, trust me.”

  Jazza looked completely nonplussed. “Uh, no,” he said. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “Sick, buddy, sick to my soul. I am the very darkness impersonated. Wait, is that the darkness incarcerated? Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares? Come on in. Let’s have a party.”

  He was so startled he did what I told him and went over to the sofa. He sat down, his mouth hanging open.