M. Banner - Desolation

Clyde took a look at this man, who reminded him of the Ferengi on the newer Star Trek TV shows. He was short, extremely obese, although he looked a little skinnier now—no doubt from the end-of-the-world diet plan—and the skin of his neck hung like the jowls of some over-sized shar-pei. He wore a dirty white T-shirt that had a stained and sweaty lived-in look. Around his neck was draped his trademark binoculars, the straps appearing to mark his tee on and below the neckline: an indication that he wore them all the time.

There was nothing to like about Judas, but Clyde figured this little man must have something he could use.

“All right, Judas, what do you have for me that would make me want to do something for you?”

“I know where Thompson keeps his supplies, and I know Thompson is not here anymore and may never come back again, leaving the Kings on their own.” Judas revealed a Cheshire grin of greenish-brown teeth.

While listening to Judas, Clyde noticed shadows pass by the stained glass on each side of his doors, shadows of people headed east.

“Shhh, someone is outside,” Clyde whispered while shuffling around the hallway wall into his kitchen to look through the window. Judas’s footsteps were close behind.

It was the Kings, walking down the street, dressed in clean clothes, and pulling boxes on a hand trolley. Wait, was it Sunday ? Were they going to church ?

Clyde turned to the pervert, nearly touching his nose and drawing back quickly. “Judas, do you have a clean shirt?”

“And Lord, please bless those who’ve been taken before us. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

In unison with the whole congregation, Bill, Lisa, and Sally responded “amen.” They squeezed each other’s hands tightly and released.

After the service, they were among the first in line to shake Pastor John Disciple’s hand on the way out of the narthex.

"Thank you and your family so much for the wonderfully large donation of food.” Pastor John’s grip was firm, the motion vigorous.

"It was nothing, Pastor. We have much more than we need,” Lisa responded before Bill could say a word.

Bill shot her a glance that asked why did you divulge that info publicly ?

Lisa responded with her own glance that said don’t push it, this was our agreement.

The three of them left the church hand in hand. They were unified as a family, although not in agreement over the results of the action. Lisa was excited that they could give a little and maybe save a few people with the food gifts. Sally was glad to be doing something, anything, positive. Bill was sure it was like a few raindrops in the ocean. After all, what would one or two days’ worth of food mean to those recipients weeks or months after this? They would still die! However, that food might help them survive another few days, which might make the difference between life and death. Regardless, Bill had to agree it felt good going to church for the first time since Easter. That gave him a little sense of peace, something he hadn’t felt since the day before the Event.

A few people back in the line, Clyde and Judas watched and listened to what Bill and Lisa said. Clyde heard what he wanted when Lisa proclaimed “We have more than we need.” Geez, that was stupid. She’s one of those holier-than-thou people who believes in goodness in everyone. Well I have news for you, bitch. People suck! And they would just as soon kill you to take your last bread crumb when it—

He was next up to shake the pastor’s hand.

“Thank you, Pastor John,” he said with believable joy. “That was a glorious sermon.”

“You are most welcome…” Pastor John asked for his name by the inflection of his voice.

“Oh, beg pardon. It’s Clyde. Clyde Clydeston, Pastor. Pleased to meet you,” Clyde added with exuberance. “And this is Judas.”

“Likewise, brother. Thanks for coming. Please come again soon.”

As Clyde and Judas were leaving, behind them they heard Pastor John thanking another parishioner. “Thank you, brother, for the kind donation of food. That will feed a hundred people for a few days.”

Clyde grabbed Judas roughly and pulled him around so that they could both look at who was talking. “We know where the Kings are. They’re not going anywhere. But, everyone here’s got food. Follow this guy, but don’t let him see you and write down his address and get back to me. I think we’re going to have plenty of food.”

Melanie’s thirst was insatiable as she pushed down again on the old pump handle, summoning another refreshing torrent of water. She drank, filled her water bottle, and then doused her head and neck, cooling her body down, slurping the last drops as the gushing flow trailed off into rivulets. She had had her fill. Not so insatiable after all, she mused.

The well pump was located in back, conveniently visible from the driveway of the farmhouse she had been approaching for the last hour. When she spied the pump, she had paid no mind to the state of the house, or to whether it was occupied or not. She regarded it now.

Before their escape module had crashed, she could see that all of North and South America were dark. This was no doubt the result of the giant solar storm that took out the ISS’s systems. She was pretty sure that anarchy reigned in the cities, but unsure if its ugliness had yet taken root in the more rural western states, where she was. Being one to not take chances, she approached the house with care, hoping that her caution was overdone, and she would find Ma and Pa Kettle having their Sunday dinner. Speaking of which, she was hungry.

She painstakingly peeked in each of the back windows, following the wrap-around porch, finding no one moving about. However, there were several signs of occupancy, and one in particular that caused her concern. Her vision and focus, previously lost in a haze of dehydration, were now sharp and hyper aware as she approached the back door. Its small window, about chest height to her, was broken. She peeked through the jagged opening, looking into the home’s kitchen. A light breeze blew through the opening, brushing the single curtain aside, and then letting it fall back into place. Each breeze revealed more of what she was looking at: lots of dishes and discarded food strewn around the kitchen; a wood-burning stove—it was on , its heat visible—and resting on top, an old camp-fire coffeepot with steam gushing from its spout; and a man .

Melanie hurriedly looked to her left and then right and then back through the breach again, attempting to will the curtain aside once more so that she could see. A man with crazy hair dressed in overalls walked out of a large pantry into the kitchen. He wrapped a folded towel around the coffeepot’s handle to temper the heat.

One of the porch’s old wood floor boards creaked, sounding an alarm behind her. She spun, shocked, as she was staring at the ugliest mug of a man she could ever remember seeing. Rotten breath and the words, “What do we have here?” spilled from a mouth missing several teeth. The gun he pointed at her and everything about him announced this was one bad dude.

At once, she gave a disarming smile, while in one motion she grabbed the sock cuff hanging out of her back pocket and swung it in a large arc, putting her shoulder into it. Ugly Man first smiled back, thinking she was ducking, and then his eyes widened as the sock filled with screws and nails connected with his upper cheek and his eye socket. He didn’t make a sound, as it broke bone and tore flesh, bloodying his already unpleasant features. His unaffected eye, protected by his bulbous nose, rolled back and he fell over, dead.