by Ryan Husk
Go Ready
By Ryan Husk
All characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real people and events is purely coincidental.
Go-Ready
Copyright 2019 by Nine Dusks Entertainment LLC
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Published by Nine Dusks Entertainment, LLC
www.9dusks.com
Part I
GO-READY
I.
APOCALYPZE HOW?
A Blog by Edward Garner (Cpl.)
In five seconds, the world is going to end. Are you ready?
It doesn’t matter what you do, nothing is going to stop it. The 401k isn’t going to help you any, so forget about that. Forget about the gold you invested in, too. Worthless. Isn’t worth donkey dick when the shit hits the fan. And don’t bother calling your family or friends, you’re only wasting time; satellites aren’t equipped to deal with the flood of calls being made, and many electronics won’t work anyway. Same with the internet.
Don’t—check—Facebook!
Forget the damn dog, it’s a liability. Fuck the cat, too, unless you intend on using either one of them for sustenance (if so, bonus points for forward thinking, my friend, I’m impressed :-).
Hop in the car. I mean right now! Do it! You have to beat the highway-choking rush of people. Do not hesitate! When it happens, drop everything. Drop your food, drop the call you’re on, drop the plans you had for the trip this summer, drop this. Forget everyone. Assume that they, and everything that came before, were only a dream.
The number one thing to keep in mind is your mentality. You need to keep your head. Stay motivated. Focus on the positive here. You don’t ever have to talk to that fucktard of a boss again. Most likely, he’ll be dead, too, because you and I both know that fucker can’t survive without speech-to-text and constant access to his e-mail, so he sure as shit won’t be able to handle what comes next. If your significant other is dead, think of this as an opportunity to truly find yourself. Live single for a while. Enjoy it. Lap it up. If, however, you’re already single, think of all the people on the road who’re now lost and alone like you. One won’t find it hard to find companionship here. If you’re single and plan to stay that way, then the sky’s the limit for you. Especially if you’re a complete narcissist.
Like Sinatra said. Live every day like it’s your last, and one day you’ll be right.
My name’s Edward Garner. I’m going to survive the apocalypse. And you’re probably not.
The world is ending in T-minus five seconds. That’s my motto…
* * *
Sunlight. Prying his eyes open. He’d fallen asleep in his chair again. Looked up. The sun coming through the blinds painted bars across his desk, arms, and chest. Edward took in a deep, deep breath, head tilted back, neck popping. But there was the one at the base of his spine, which he could only pop if he slumped way low in his chair. He did so. Pop. Check. Smacked his lips. The taste of a night’s whiskey was still in his mouth. The computer had timed out, but his stirring must’ve upset the mouse, because tomorrow’s blog appeared back on the screen.
Read over it. Probably went too far with the narcissist shit. But it was the kind of overblown stuff his readers liked.
His chest hurt. So did his shoulder. Both were leftovers from the shrapnel. The docs said they’d gotten it all out, but he didn’t believe them. He needed to make a call to the VA, see if he could get an appointment.
The alarm on his phone went off. Playing the cantina music from Star Wars. He reached out, tapped the screen, halted the infernal noise.
Pushed himself away from the desk, stretched. His shoulder popped. Check. He stood, staggered a moment, found his footing, then found the bathroom and took a leak. Piss already in the bowl from the night before. Mold around the inside of the bowl. Need to get the blue toilet water cleanser thingy. One more item on the ever-growing checklist. What else? Bread…some soap…photo paper for the printer…what else, what else?
Soft, insistent scratching at the door. He opened it, and allowed Atlas inside. The big German Shepherd came in, tail wagging. “Mornin’, Atlas,” he said, and gave the beast a pet. The dog licked his master’s fingers, and went rushing over to his food bowl in the corner. His limp was more noticeable in the mornings, the result of the IED that Atlas had failed to detect before it ended both their military careers.
Atlas licked his bowl, then looked at his master incriminatingly.
“In a minute,” Edward said.
His clothes were piled on the floor, arrayed in a specific order—from left to right, his casual pants, his dress pants for work, his whatever pants. Is it Thursday or Friday? he wondered. Easy to forget sometimes. If it was casual Friday, he didn’t have to wear the dress pants. He checked his watch. Thursday. “God damn it,” he muttered, lifting from the middle pile.
Atlas came over to him, bowl in mouth.
“I said, in a minute, Atlas.”
There came a knock at the door.
Wearing pants but going shirtless, he opened the door. Standing on the other side were two well-dressed men, one black and one white, the former about twenty-five, the latter mid-thirties-ish? Edward smiled. “Mormons?” he said.
“No, sir,” said the black man, stepping forward with a copy of The Watchtower. “We’re with—”
“Witnesses then,” he said, taking the pamphlet.
“That’s right.” The black man put on a warm, welcoming smile. “We’re from the local Kingdom Hall.”
“Oh, hey, you’re the new guys just around the corner, right? Up by, uh…let’s see…”
“Windy Hill Road.”
“Windy Hill! Yeah, that’s right,” Edward said, snapping his fingers. “What you guys up to?”
“Sir, we’re out…oh, by the way, my name’s Tom.”
“Tom? Nice to meet you. Edward.”
“Nice to meet you, Edward. This is Jake, he works with the youth groups down at the Kingdom Hall.”
“Jake,” Edward said, shaking the white man’s hand.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Jake and I are going around talking to some of the locals, letting them know we’re here, getting to know the community and seeing if we might spread the word,” Tom said. “We were wondering if you might have a few minutes to talk. We’d be happy to answer any of your questions that you might have.”
“Questions?”
“We understand that, uh, as Jehovah’s Witnesses, some people are not always aware of what it is we’re all about.”
Edward raised his eyebrows. “Ah.”
Behind him, he heard growling. He turned and found Atlas standing near a window. He put his front two paws on the windowsill, and used his nose to push the curtain to one side. Elsewhere in the neighborhood, Edward could hear dogs barking. Maybe that’s what had Atlas’s attention.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the two men standing on his doorstep.
“Do you have time to chat?” asked Jake.
Edward scratched his bare chest. “Honestly, fellas, not right now. I gotta get dressed, get to work, you know.”
“Well, you keep that pamphlet. It’s got both our numbers and email addresses if you have any questions.”
Edward nodded. “Thanks. You guys have a good one.” He stepped back inside.
Before he shut the door, he saw Tom point up to the darkening sky, and ask, “What the hell is that?”
Edward paid it no mind. He snapped his fingers, summoning Atlas into the kitchen, where other food bowl was. “C’mon, boy, let’s get you some breakfast. Gotta keep strong. End o’ the world’s in T-minus five seconds.” He tossed the pamphlet into the trash and gave it no more thought
.
* * *
Thirty-two miles away, in his two-story suburban home, Gordon Devereux stared uncomprehendingly at a note. It hadn’t quite sunk in. He couldn’t see it in his mind. He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t imagine anything fantastic anymore. Twenty-one years of marriage could do that to you.
He was aware of other things. The kitchen window was open. He stood up from the table, walked over to it, and shut it. Then he looked at the note again. Is it April Fool’s Day or something? No. And even if it was, this wasn’t like her. Molly didn’t have this kind of sense of humor. Hers was the kind of stuff Jane Austen had written, not anything so cruelly enigmatic as this. He looked at the refrigerator where he’d gotten it. Back down at the note. Back at the fridge. Back at the note. Tried to comprehend.
Gordon,
That’s all. Gordon. Just his name. No Dear in front of it. What kind of start was that for any kind of letter?
Gordon,
I don’t love you. I don’t know that I ever did. I wanted kids, but you didn’t. I had hoped to wear you down, but I didn’t. I’ll never have kids now.
I am not going to ask for anything. I don’t want anything from you. If you want to speak with me, you can do so through my lawyer. His information is on the back of this note. It isn’t you, it’s me. I don’t know if that matters to you, but there it is. I’m sorry I wasted both of our lives. Goodbye.
Looked away from the note, back down at it. “Molly?” he hollered.
His voice echoed throughout the house, across the hardwood floors, the green marble kitchen countertop, and the cabinets built to look old-timey, just the way she wanted.
“Molly?” His voice cracked. Looked back at the note. No “sincerely, Molly” written anywhere. “Molly?” He went into the study, her room, where she always sat and read and reread her Cosmo magazines and Dean Koontz novels, the stacks still high around the Fjords chair, the soft chair, her chair. Her throne, he’d always called it. “Molly?”
Gordon looked back at the note, written on bright pink sticky-note paper, stuck to the refrigerator with no more care than a reminder to buy more eggs. “Molly?” Moving through the living room now, in search of something. Not here. On some level—on every level, he supposed—he knew she was gone. Maybe not permanently gone, but gone.
Gordon moved back into the bedroom, even though he’d woken up alone and knew she wasn’t there, either. He stepped into the bathroom. “Molly!” he shouted. It was starting to become real now. Very real. Too real. “Molly!” Anger building. No…no this isn’t happening.
He turned, and jumped. For a moment he’d seen movement out the corner of his eye, but it was only his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Very large, just for her. For a moment he looked at himself, felt supremely stupid, saw the lines on his face, the sagging jowls, the crow’s feet around his eyes, the receding hairline.
Of course, she left. Look what she had to look at every day.
That bit of self-hate came out of nowhere, and hurt tremendously. His stomach groaned. An eel was eating away at his insides, and wasn’t satisfied, so it swam deeper.
“Molly?” He’d gone back to questioning again, his voice soft and pathetic to his own ears. No longer angry, he just wanted to summon her, like coaxing a frightened kitten out from underneath the bed. “Molly girl?”
Gordon stood in the bathroom, then somehow dematerialized and rematerialized in the bedroom. He did this at least a dozen more times, searching, searching, searching. Ultimately, he found himself in the living room, sitting down, pondering the note. “What’re you trying to tell me?” he said. “I…I don’t…I don’t get it. What is this? What could she mean by…?” He ran a hand over his slick head. He was perspiring. Armpits stained. “Wanted kids? We talked about this…she said she was okay with…and a lawyer? What does she…?”
Before long, the tears came.
Fear.
The eel ate more of his intestines, sank deeper, took up nesting.
The paper crumpled on the floor. His head in his hands, weeping. Must’ve been sitting there an hour or more. Stood up, hit his shin on the living room table because he wasn’t paying attention. Bit out a curse. He stood in the kitchen with his hands on the countertop. All thoughts of his job were gone now. Being laid off in two weeks anyway. The eel.
Gordon went to look for the note again, figured it was pointless. Went into the bedroom, looked under the bed, pulled out a black case, flipped it open, pulled out the Glock 17. A gift from his father-in-law. “For protection,” he had said. “Always be prepared. Boy Scout motto. You ever a Scout, Gordy?”
Gordon reached down, lifted the pistol, put it in his mouth. This! This will make her sorry!
He was too preoccupied with pulling the trigger to notice the serious dimming outside, and how the sun seemed to disappear from existence. And he was too smart to pull the trigger. He pulled the gun from his mouth, and sat there sobbing.
End of the world in T-minus nineteen minutes.
* * *
Text message from Jesse: LOL. U believe this bitch?
Janet snickered, had to lower her head, pretend to clear her throat. Beside her, Shala gave her a quizzical look. Janet looked up to make sure Mrs. Pellegrini wasn’t looking, then held the phone over so Shae could see. Shae snickered, too. Janet reeled her phone back in before Mrs. Pellegrini could turn around from the board, where she was still tacking on homework. She texted back: U know u luv it. Get to see her ass. Send.
Across the room, Jesse lifted his notebook, peeked down at where he kept his phone hidden, and smirked. He looked over at Janet, jabbed a finger in his mouth and stuck his tongue out. She snorted. Text message from Shae next to her: When u gonna stop flirting with that boy & suck his dick already?
Janet made a face at her, texted back: We’re not all sluts like u. Send.
Text from Shae: No but u wanna be slurp slurp slurp
A shake of Janet’s head, a nod of Shala’s. More shaking and more nodding until both of them started to giggle. From the front of the class, “Janet, Shala, something you two want to share?”
“No, ma’am,” Janet said.
“No, ma’am,” Shae echoed.
“No talking. Finish your work.”
They said nothing, just gazed down at their books like perfect little angels. Janet glanced sidelong at Shae, who glanced back. Knowing smiles, a promise to get back at one another later. A text from Jesse: I like ur hair today. Pink highlights in black hair. HOT!!!
Janet smiled, and looked up at him. Jesse was glancing over his shoulder, smiling. He looked back down at his notepad, pretending to take notes but actually scribbling like always, probably drawing the anime characters he liked so much, the ones from Trigun, Akira, and Cowboy Bebop. Janet didn’t know a thing about anime, but was determined to learn. She looked it up often enough on her iPhone to get the details, and pretended to know what Jesse was talking about when he went on about it. She was trying to get into art, told everybody she wanted to be an animator because that’s what he wanted to do. Janet didn’t actually care about the rest of her life, she just wanted Jesse in it. That would be enough. That would be perfect.
Janet texted back: Thanks : P
From Jesse: I wont to run my fingers thru it
Texted back: I want u to 2 ;-)
Jesse: tmorrow nite?
Heart pounding, about to leap out of her chest. Janet looked over at him. Jesse was looking back at her. He smiled. She nodded. That was that. Janet and Jesse. J&J. She liked it.
End of the world in T-minus twelve minutes.
* * *
“All right, Atlas. Be a good boy today. No more jumping on the furniture.”
Edward turned the cushions over and put large pillows in the seats, to deter his domestic partner from hopping up on the furniture while he was gone.
Atlas barked at something out the window as Edward headed for the bathroom. He paused. His hand was outstretched, just inches away from the doorknob. His hand had s
tarted trembling again. He made a fist, and closed his eyes. Behind him, Atlas was still barking at something out the window. Each time his old friend barked, Edward thought he heard someone screaming from the cave. Others who had been killed after his and Atlas’s failure to locate the bomb hidden beneath the mattress on the floor. After breathing deeply for ten seconds, he unclenched his fist and regained control.
He looked to his left, where a mirror hung tilted. “Ed…you’re scaring me, pal,” he said to himself. “You okay?” He leaned in at his image. “Talk to me, pal. It’s just us here.”
No response.
Checked his watch. Already late to work. Fuck it, the world’s ending in a few minutes anyways. They’ll be fine for another few minutes without me. That’s how he lived his life now. From minute to minute, waiting for the end. Like Sinatra said.
He went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of frozen sausage biscuits, tossed them in the microwave. While he waited for them to warm up, Edward checked the stack of mail he’d tossed onto the table the night before. Shuffled through it until he came to the Dreaded One. Hospital bill. Opened it up. Ouch.
In three minutes he was out the door, his belly full, meeting a bright Thursday morning head on. The local bus was just snoring past. A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sun. He glanced up, and was momentarily stunned. It was the strangest-looking cloud he’d ever seen, pitch-black, like an ink spill. It slithered like a tentacle across the sky, blocking the sun for only a second. He tried to get his phone out in time, certain that he was seeing some bizarre weather phenomenon, and wanted to capture it on camera. But it had slithered across the sky and gone before he could get his phone ready.
