Will McIntosh - Soft Apocalypse

“A lot of my attraction to her is the excitement of her being so dark and edgy and hot, I admit.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Colin said.

The sand sucked at my feet as we stood. I let them get buried until they were completely covered by the surf, then pulled them out.

“It’s nice being with someone, even if it’s not your soul mate. It sucks being single sometimes,” I said.

“There are pluses and minuses to both.”

I watched a seagull drift on the wind overhead, barely moving, like it was running in place. “What are the minuses to finding your soul mate?” I asked.

“You worry. I worry about Jeannie all the time. I probably average two nightmares a week about Jeannie dying.”

“I never thought of that,” I said.

“There are so many ways people can die now. If she died, I’d never get over it.” He shook his head emphatically. “Never. You could bury me with her.”

“Yeah.” We watched little white birds dart in and out of the surf, plucking whatever it was they ate out of the sand. “We’ve been really lucky, you know? Nothing awful’s happened to any of us.”

“Jasper?” a woman called. I turned. She was standing at a distance, uncertain. I recognized her, but I couldn’t place where I knew her. She was slim and pretty, tall, curly red hair.

“Hi,” I said. Who was she?

She came over, smiling. “I don’t know if you remember me. Phoebe. Our tribes crossed paths outside Metter four or five years ago, and we hung out one evening.”

“Of course, yes, I remember,” I said. Colin wandered off, wading into the water while Phoebe and I talked. She was here with a friend, looking for work in the beachfront restaurants. She’d had a job at Wal-Mart until it closed. Hearing that made me feel guilty, given the role I’d played in Wal-Mart’s demise. Phoebe looked great—the last time I’d seen her she’d been half-starved and probably had lice, and had still looked good. Now, she looked almost elegant.

“I tried to call you, a few months after, but the number you gave me was disconnected,” I said.

“Crystal died. My friend with the phone.” She kicked at the wet sand with her toes.

“Sorry to hear it.

Deirdre, head down, was making her way toward us. I panicked, feeling like I was being caught doing something wrong.

“So what are you up to?” Phoebe asked.

“I got a job in a convenience store.” I waved to Deirdre, as if I’d just noticed her. “Here comes my friend Deirdre.”

I introduced them, still feeling like I’d done something terribly wrong. Phoebe asked Deirdre what she was up to, which was the polite way to ask what sort of work she did, if any, given that so many people didn’t actually have jobs.

“I’m a rock star,” Deirdre replied.

Jeannie was flagging us. I used it as an opportunity to say a quick goodbye to Phoebe. I stole a glance back as we walked away. Phoebe was looking out at the ocean.

“Who was that?” Deirdre asked as we headed back to our party.

“I met her once when we were nomads,” I said. We caught up to Jeannie and Colin.

“We’re hungry. We were thinking of going to that burger stand,” Jeannie said. In fact Ange and Cortez were already on their way, winding through the maze of people. The rest of us headed after them.

“Do you realize,” I said as we caught up to Ange and Cortez, “that this will be the first time we’ve eaten in a restaurant since before our tribe days?”

Jeannie laughed. “Did you take a good look at the place when we passed it? There are no seats—you stand over the table and eat microwaved French fries.”

“Still, it’s technically a restaurant. We’re moving up in the world.”

Ange put her arm around my neck and held the bottle up. “To moving up in the world.” She took a swig, handed it to me. She was completely toasted. Good for her.

Cortez came up close behind us. “Keep your eyes open,” he said under his breath. “There are some guys who I think followed us off the beach.”

I glanced over Cortez’s shoulder. Two scruffy guys were lounging outside the rest rooms. They didn’t seem to be looking our way.

A dog ruckus erupted in the other direction: the taxi’s dogs were barking angrily and snarling. A terrified yelping cut through the rest of the commotion. We hurried over.

Three of the taxi dogs were mauling a much smaller dog—not much more than a puppy. The taxi guy was trying to control them, pulling on one harness only to have the two other dogs fill the gap. Ange raced right into the melee, screaming at the dogs to stop. She grabbed a big pit bull by both ears; it spun around and snapped at her. She jerked her hand away. I grabbed one of the loose leads and yanked a shaggy black mutt out of the pile. Cortez and Jeannie jumped in, and a second later we had them all away from the puppy.

Ange lifted the puppy gently and cradled it. “Poor little guy. Are you okay?” It was whimpering pathetically, but it didn’t look badly hurt—just some chew marks on its ears.

“I tried to stop them,” the taxi driver said. “I was feeding them and the little one tried to get at their food.”

“He’s starving,” Ange said, taking a closer look at the little black pup. She took one of the puppy’s paws and shook it. “You want some French fries? Hm?” The puppy’s ears went down and it licked her hand.

It was getting dark. We asked the taxi guy if he would mind sticking around for a while longer, and he said he would, for an extra five. Seemed fair enough.

We cut over to the next street, where the burger joint was.

My mind kept wandering back to my chance encounter with Phoebe. If I wasn’t dating Deirdre, I would have asked for her number. I’d had a great time with her that night. I was regretting that I was with Deirdre, and that made me feel like a complete flake, given how I’d dreamed of being with Deirdre just six weeks ago. I felt childish for being so fickle. I was damned lucky to be with Deirdre—a lot of guys would give their souls to be with her.

Still, that bad feeling nagged me.

“Watch it. Stay close.” Cortez had come up right behind us.

I glanced around, not sure what he was talking about. Then I spotted the two guys from outside the rest room. They were heading in our direction, laughing and goofing around. One of them had had a run-in with the flesh-eating virus—one side of his face was all but missing. As we reached them they walked up to us.

“Hey, you got a light?” the one with the mauled face said. He had a red rebel handkerchief tied around his head, and couldn’t have been more than five-six.

“Sorry, bro, none of us smoke,” Cortez said.

“How about a dollar and I can buy a lighter?”

Cortez fished in his pocket and pulled out a dollar. He held it out.

“How about twenty, so I can buy a couple of packs too?” His companion chuckled.

“Sorry, that’s all we got. We ain’t rich people,” Cortez said.

“You got more than a buck,” the lead guy said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled a knife. “Empty out your pockets.”

“Bullshit,” Deirdre said. I gave her a look, trying to shut her up, but she went on cursing as the rest of us dug into our pockets. Jeannie reached to hand over her money.

Cortez blocked her hand with his. “Put it away.”

The guy glared at Cortez. “You want to die? Is that it?”

“Back away,” Cortez said to us.

Colin and I exchanged a startled look—what the hell was Cortez getting us into? “Let’s just give them the money,” I suggested.

“Relax, everything’s copacetic,” Cortez said. “Just move back. Give me your shirt first.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I pulled off my shirt and pushed it into Cortez’s hand. He never took his eyes off the guys, who looked more eager for a fight than for the money. We backed up as Cortez wrapped my shirt around his left hand.