Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

Doug tipped her chin up and brushed her lips with his. “That sounds fine. I’ll have to drink coffee or tea, though. Or maybe as many as two drinks, depending on how early it is before going to work. Can I bring some takeout?” He let his hand drop away from her chin.

“If you like Chinese or Pizza, you can; otherwise I’ll make some sandwiches.”

“Chinese it is.” He pulled the door open, suddenly feeling bashful and unsure of himself, thinking this was like dating as a teenager all over again.

“Doug.”

He turned to face June again, and felt a blush begin creeping over his face.

June gazed at him from the depths of her lovely brown eyes, using them to hold him in place as effectively as gluing his feet to the floor would have done. “It’s like beginning to date all over again, isn’t it?” she said.

“I think you’re a mind reader. I…” He was suddenly lost for words.

June smiled pensively, then stepped closer, inviting him to embrace her. Her body felt small and soft and comfortable against his own, making him not want to leave.

June pulled her lips from his after a long moment. “Go get some sleep. We can talk about it later.”

She didn’t have to mention what she meant, and he was grateful for her presence of mind in putting it off until they were both rested. When it happened, he wanted the experience to be good for both of them.

As he pulled away from the apartment parking lot he noticed that the dumpsters were full and bags were beginning to pile up around them. After thinking about it for a few minutes while driving back to the security building, he realized what was happening. Blacks and Mexicans handled almost all of the garbage details and they were either falling ill or quitting to be with family members who were sick. Or simply walking off and going home to nurse their boiling rage. He knew that if the Harcourt virus wasn’t brought under control soon, white America was going to begin to realize just how much they had come to depend upon unskilled labor for the tasks no one else wanted to do. Soon though, thoughts of his time with June pushed those deliberations aside. It was much nicer to visualize her and remember the pleasurable sensation of their embraces and kisses and fantasize about what might follow.

On the way back to his own place, Doug noticed how many sign were going up proclaiming that The End Times were at hand, or that the Rapture was coming soon. Most of them urged unbelievers to accept Jesus so that they wouldn’t be left out. He hoped those types of people wouldn’t begin causing problems.

The country had more than it could take care of already.

Mary Hedgrade’s business in Washington was finished. For all that the briefing of the president had accomplished, she thought she could just as well have done it on a conference call and saved the time wasted flying to Washington and back. She knew that it was probably President Marshall’s penchant for secrecy that made him demand her physical presence. Her thoughts about the meeting caused her mind to drift so much that she didn’t notice when the limousine began slowing, nor how traffic was stacking up at an unreasonable rate for this time of day. When she did finally bring her attention back to the present, she glanced irritably at her watch, thinking there must be an accident somewhere ahead of them, and hoped it didn’t lead to missing her flight back to Atlanta. A few minutes later traffic came to a complete stop and she began to hear the warbling of sirens.

After ten minutes with no movement, she tapped the plexiglass divider between her and the driver’s compartment to get the man’s attention. He had a cell phone to his ear and was listening avidly. When the tapping didn’t work, she glanced down and saw the button that activated the intercom. She pressed it and said “What’s happening? I’m going to miss my flight!”

The driver answered in such a thick accent that she could barely understand one word out of three, but the gist of it seemed to be something about a mob and rioting. She thought she heard a reference to tear gas but wasn’t sure. The driver put the phone to his ear again, then held it away from him as if in surprise.

He ended the call and turned on his radio.

“Can’t you find an alternate route?” Mary asked then realized as soon as she had uttered the statement how foolish it was. There was no way to move; the taxi was hemmed in from all sides.

“No,” the driver said brusquely. Nevertheless he began turning this way and that in his seat as though scanning for some way to escape the traffic tie up. He said something else that Mary didn’t understand.

He sounded vaguely like a Russian scientist she had talked to some months ago through an interpreter.

His appearance matched that of some Russians, at least, with his pale skin and just a hint of an epicanthic fold to his eyes. His face had a deer in the headlights stare, a frightened look like that she had seen on the patients in Nigeria arriving at the hospital for treatment.

Mary couldn’t hear the radio; at first she thought it must not be working, then she saw the little wireless earpiece he must be using. He began staring at the radio console as if it were talking directly to him.

Mary began to feel the first stirrings of fright. “What’s going on? What do you hear?” she demanded to know.

The driver didn’t answer, even though he turned and stared at her as though she were an alien preparing to climb through the divider to get at him. Abruptly, he came to a decision. He opened his door and began weaving his way hurriedly through the close-packed vehicles. As soon as he made it to the sidewalk, he began running back the way they had come and was quickly lost from sight.

Mary didn’t know what to do. Apparently he had heard something very scary from his phone or the radio. Others must have too, for more vehicles were emptying. Mary leaned forward and saw that he had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even shut the motor off. The keys were still dangling in the ignition. She gathered her purse and briefcase and opened the rear door, drawing an irritated glance from the woman in a Mercedes next to the limousine when her door banged into it. Mary tried to open the driver’s door and found it locked. It refused to budge. She swore when she found there was no way to get inside, short of breaking the window—and she had nothing to use for that purpose. She looked around, hoping for some help, but even the others who had stepped out of their vehicles ignored her. She didn’t even try to get a feed to her PDA, knowing the batteries had been exhausted during her meetings with the government officials. The back compartment of the limousine hadn’t had connections for recharging it.

The people getting out of their cars all seemed to be looking ahead. Some had already decided to abandon them and were walking around indecisively once they reached the sidewalks. She quickly saw why. Not too far in the distance a billow of smoke was rising from behind the conglomeration of one and two story buildings of a small shopping center. As she stared at it, a flicker of flame appeared at the base of the smoke. The sirens were still wailing but not sounding much closer and no emergency vehicles were in sight. She thought she could hear shouting voices mixed with the warbling of the sirens but couldn’t be sure—until a few minutes later.

It was screams rather than shouts she identified, screams of terror, and they were coming closer. She stood, vacillating for a moment, then decided to follow her driver’s example. She threaded her way through the stalled traffic to the sidewalk and began walking. Others were doing the same, but many of them weren’t walking; they were running. Mary began to wish she had worn sensible shoes rather than the three inch heels on her feet. Moments later she quit worrying about her shoes. A crazed mob of blacks burst from a side street, plainly intent on violence toward any white person they saw. Mary kicked off her shoes and began running for her life. She made it two blocks before she plowed headlong into another gang emerging from the shattered doors of a liquor store they had been looting. Cries of ferocious triumph and elated epithets came from the looters as they surrounded her. Hands grabbed at her clothing and ripped her purse away. Other hands yanked at her hair and grubbed at her breasts.