Will McIntosh - Soft Apocalypse

Five or six people were relaxing on the wide white steps of the courthouse, their heads propped on their packs, a water bottle passing among them. They were young, and reminded me of our tribe back in the early days of the depression.

Music bleated in the distance. It was familiar. It grew louder, and

I recognized it as a classic rock tune by the Young Mozarts: “Carry My Heart Around with You.” The song was a little too saccharine for my taste, but under the circumstances it gave me a warm feeling as I watched the sun reflect off the shards of broken glass in the upper window of the Dragon Fire Tae Kwon Do studio. The music got louder. Ange stood, and I followed suit, peering down the street in the direction of the sound.

There was a placard bobbing up out of the bamboo, the person carrying it hidden. The banner read “Free Meal! Ask me how!”

“What the hell?” I said. Ange pulled open the screen door and called to the others to come out. They flooded onto the porch. I pointed to the sign.

“What the hell is that?” Colin asked. “It must be the fed army, looking for recruits.”

The kids in front of the courthouse were standing and staring at the sign. One of them shouted and waved; the sign changed directions, heading toward them. Two people approached on the steps—a man and a woman. The man laid the placard down. The kids formed a semi-circle around the couple.

Hungry as we were, we weren’t stupid. We watched the people for a few minutes.

“What do you think the catch is?” Sophia asked.

“I say we find out,” Cortez said.

“What, just waltz into an obvious trap?” Jean Paul said.

Cortez shrugged. “There are only two of them. I’m gonna check it out, you guys can stay here.”

“They’re probably armed,” Jean Paul said, “and have two dozen friends nearby.”

Cortez pulled a pistol out of his pants pocket. “I’m armed, too.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said, mostly because Jean Paul was against the idea. We climbed down the porch steps and slid between the waxy bamboo.

“That guy really has a stick up his ass,” Cortez said.

I chuckled. “He doesn’t seem to grasp that he’s not in an office building surrounded by private security any more.”

We stopped fifty feet shy of the steps, hoping to catch some of the conversation before deciding whether to proceed, but it’s difficult to move through bamboo without announcing your approach.

“Sounds like we’ve got more visitors,” The woman said. “Hello in there!” she called.

Cortez called a greeting in return; we pushed the last few yards and broke onto the white marble steps. The crowd was welcoming, especially the couple with the sign. They told us and the six kids (who I could now see were actually quite young, mostly in their mid-teens) how to get to the empty Bi-Lo where their tribe was camped, that their tribe would indeed provide us with a meal, no strings attached. Cortez and I probed them with questions. We didn’t want to seem ungracious, but we were still skeptical, despite how well-intentioned and harmless the couple seemed.

They explained that their tribe was looking to grow, to create a larger community and carve out a new town where they could all be safe and live a civilized life. It sounded nice, but my bullshit meter was in the red.

“What do you think?” I asked Cortez as the teens set off toward the Bi-Lo.

“Let’s play along for a while,” he said.

We could smell pork barbecue before the Bi-Lo was even in sight. The place was doing a fairly brisk business, considering there probably weren’t a hundred people within twenty miles of here. A man with kind eyes greeted us at the door. He didn’t have to introduce himself.

“Hello, Rumor,” I said.

He no longer looked like a Jumpy-Jump—he was dressed in a pair of tattered blue jeans and a green t-shirt—but as he hugged me like a long lost brother and cried that I was the man who had let him see the light, the singsong accent was the same.

“Come, come, you look hungry,” he said. “Let me prepare you a plate.” He guided us toward white plastic chairs with a gentle hand on my shoulder blade.

Cortez and I each accepted a paper plate of pork with a side of corn.

“Enjoy your food,” Rumor insisted. “When you’re feeling good and plenty we can catch up, and chat a little about what we have to offer you.”

“What you have to offer us?” Cortez said, eyeing the food warily.

Rumor waved at the plate. “There are no tricks here. My trickster days are long behind me. Eat, then we’ll talk.”

Cortez and I looked at each other. I shrugged.

“Can we get our friends?” Cortez asked Rumor.

Rumor assured him that by all means he should fetch our friends. Cortez went to get them while I ate.

I willed myself to eat slowly, to savor the wonderfully juicy meat, despite the urgent cries from my stomach that I eat faster.

The concrete floor of the Bi-Lo was scattered with tents and sleeping bags. Here and there people sat conversing in white plastic chairs, always in twos, one person holding a Styrofoam plate and mostly listening.

“How have you been doing?” Rumor asked, handing me a paper cup of sweet iced tea. He swung a chair around and sat so our knees almost touched.

“I’m not dead, so, better than most I guess.”

“Are you happy, though, Jasper?” Rumor asked. It surprised me that he remembered my name. Of course, I had been the one who’d let him see the light.

“No. I’m hungry and scared, and people are dying all around me. Of course I’m not happy.”

“I once offered you happiness,” Rumor said.

I didn’t get what he was saying, then I remembered. “Ah, the vial of blood.” I paused in my eating, eyed the food on my fork.

“Exactly, the vial.” Rumor pushed his palm toward my plate.“Eat. I can see you tensing, like a deer who’s just heard a branch crack. I gave you my word, there are no unexpected seasonings in the food.”

I ate. It was too late anyway. But I couldn’t help distrusting this guy. I’m not sure I could ever forgive someone for doing what he did. That he was regretful for killing Ange’s dog now, after I infected him with Doctor Happy, did not seem to merit absolution. I’ve never been a huge believer in giving people a pass for hurting other people just because they’re sorry about it later, and when that regret is virus-induced, I’m even less inclined.

“So that’s what this is all about? You’re recruiting people to the virus?”

Rumor laughed merrily. “Yes, of course!”

“But it’s not in the food?”

“We don’t trick people. We invite them here and offer them an opportunity to join our tribe. If we were going to introduce you to the virus by force, wouldn’t it be easier to surprise you with a needle as you walked in the door?”

That was true. “If you want to spread the virus, why don’t you just do that?”

“Is that how you would do it?” Rumor asked.

“No.”

He shrugged. “That answers your question. We respect people’s rights, as long as they respect others’ rights.”

I didn’t say anything. If they were so damned ethical, why hadn’t the people with the sign told us they were infected with Doctor Happy right up front? And then there was Deirdre. Sebastian hadn’t given her any choice.

Outside, Cortez appeared, trailed by the others. I waved them in. Baby Joel was sleeping in Colin’s arms, still looking too small to be real.

Rumor went straight to Ange and hugged her fiercely; he was so much bigger than her that she almost disappeared inside the one-way hug. “Little Peanut! So good to see you again.”

Rumor led everyone to the food table. I followed and shamelessly fixed myself seconds. As we settled into chairs, Rumor came and stood in front of our little group. “Can I give you my patter? Then if you decide not to join us, you can all fly away with food in your bellies.”