Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

Exhaust blew down the street, choking and putrid. She wouldn’t miss it when it was gone.

Raina waited until there were too many cars for any of them to move, then darted across the six lanes of PCH to the gray building on the other side. The parking lot smelled like sun-warmed pee, but that meant she was right where she wanted to be.

She snuck up the back stairs and poked her head around the corner. Her mom was behind the front desk talking about cats to a rich lady. Raina waited for her mom to disappear into the filing racks behind the desk, then scooted across the lobby to the door to the back.

There, men were hosing down small dogs in countertop tubs. The dogs didn’t look happy, but their baths would be done soon and then they’d be fine. But the ones in the cages would still be locked up with their sadness. Raina went to them, closing the door behind her. It smelled like dog fur and kibbles. The big dogs were in big kennels on the ground, while the small ones were shut up in two rows of cages stacked on top of each other. Half of them were barking at her. Others wiggled at the front of their cages, asking to be let out.

They had names clipped to their cages: Betsy. Mango. Chief. But those names were stupid, so Raina gave them names to suit them: Bellow, Snaps, Wasp. She let them lick her hand. A woman in scrubs entered and gazed at Raina but said nothing.

The door opened again. Her mom stopped in her tracks. “Raina?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Because I hate it,” Raina said.

“You still have to go.”

“No, I don’t. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Her mom pressed her lips tight. “How did you get here?”

“At recess, the other girls were making fun of me. So I left. I walked here.”

“Raina, that’s like five miles! You can’t walk that far on your own.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody knew where you were. You could have been hurt. You’re too young to be running around on your own.”

“I’m ten years old,” Raina said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh really? Then maybe it’s time for you to start buying your own food. And clothes. And games.” Her mom sighed. “I can’t take you home right now. Your dad’s at work, too. So I guess you get to stay here until I’m done.”

That was fine with Raina. She sat in the room with the dogs, scratching their ears and asking them questions. She knew their owners would be back for them soon, but there in their cages, they acted like the kids whose parents were late picking them up from school. Some sat still like the saddest things, while others paced like their stomachs hurt.

After a few hours, her mom came into the back to get her. As they headed for the front doors, Marisa walked in, dressed in her scrubs. She stopped, swung her mouth into the crook of her elbow, and coughed hard, shoulders jumping.

“That sounds terrible,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you call in?”

Marisa shook her head, voice strained. “Lydia told me if I don’t make it in and I’m not dying, I’m fired.”

“So next week, instead of one sick person up front, she’ll have three.”

“I tried. You know how she is.”

“A load of shit from above?” Her mom spun toward Raina. “You didn’t hear that.”

They didn’t talk much on the ride to their home in Gardena. Raina’s dad was still at work, so her mom started preparing chicken thighs for dinner. Raina cut the peppers and onions.

Her dad got home. They ate. After, her mom pulled her dad to their room and shut the door. A few minutes later, he came to Raina’s room and knocked on the door frame.

“Hey, killer.” He walked in and sat on the bed. “Hear you want to be a ten-year-old dropout.”

She looked him in the eye. “School’s stupid. It doesn’t teach you what you need.”

“But you need it if you want a job. Or to go to college.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“No one does. I go to work every day, and every day, someone tells me what to do. Same goes for your mom. That’s life.”

“Why do people put up with that?”

He laughed, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “Most of us don’t got a choice. Bills to pay. Mouths to feed. But you know what? If you don’t want that to be you, you better do good in school. Or else you’ll have someone telling you what to do until the day you retire.”

Raina watched a singing contest on TV with her parents, then went to bed. She could hear the cars outside. She thought about walking away, following PCH until there was no city around her at all. Until the only voice she had to listen to was the wind in the grass.

Her mother’s coughing woke Raina the next morning. It was a Wednesday and Raina got ready for the bus as usual. At school, the other children sat quietly as the teachers taught them things about the division of numbers and books of made-up stories. At recess, the kids split into packs, seeking out those who didn’t have groups and teasing them. They coughed as they ran, eyes watering.

On Friday, both her parents called in sick. Even though they were staying home, they still made Raina go to school. As the bus groaned down the street, Raina hid behind the neighbor’s agaves until it was gone. As the diesel fumes faded, she smiled.

She walked west, all the way to the ocean, where the houses were made of glass and light. People sat in the sand or beneath restaurant umbrellas. They didn’t have to be at school or work, but when Raina asked one woman why, the woman gave her a funny look.

When afternoon came, she walked to the school, waited for the final bell to go off, and got on the bus home. She’d been on her own all day and nothing had happened. Her mom would be mad at her for leaving school again if she found out, but Raina didn’t care. Her mom had to learn that she was wrong.

Back home, both her parents were in bed. Their breathing was heavy and sounded like something wet dragging itself up the shore. Raina looked in on them, but they were asleep. She was hungry after the day of walking, and she went to the fridge to warm up last night’s rice and beans. Sirens whined outside, but there were always sirens.

Her parents stayed in bed the next day, too. Raina brought them water and broth. They were pale and the room smelled wrong. The Kleenex in the trash beside the bed were spotted with blood.

That evening, her parents argued. Blankets rustled. Drawers scraped. Her dad walked out. He was dressed, but his brown face was waxy. Sweat dewed his temples.

“Get your shoes.” His voice was thick. “We’re going to the hospital. Can’t leave you alone.”

On the drive, the only sound was their wet coughing.

Cars jammed the hospital parking lot. Sirens spun. Lights painted the crowds red and blue. There were tents in the lot like they were selling the cars parked there. Her dad had to park three blocks away. Hundreds of people stood back from the front doors, where uniformed men in bug-like masks held long guns. People shouted and pressed forward. The men lifted their guns and yelled, and the crowds fell back.

“Martin.” Her mom grabbed her dad’s arm. “They’ll never let us in there.”

“They have to. We’re sick.”

“Look around. Everyone’s sick. And if we stay, Raina will be, too.”

He blinked, skin pulled tight over his face. “Come on.”

As they walked away, a gun went off. Men and women screamed. The three of them ran to the car and drove home.