Brian Steele - 4POCALYPSE - Four Tales of a Dark Future

My name is Sienna Doyle, and I’m the only one of my kind that I know of. I call myself a “Blinder,” and I can reduce any form of energy back to a pre-atomic state. I have every intention of destroying every T-Net tower on the planet, therefore wiping the Feeder epidemic out of existence.

So yeah, I’m going to save the world whether you like it or not.

Brian Fatah Steele, a member of the indie author co-op Dark Red Press, describes the majority of his work as “Epic Horror with lots of Explosions.” Along with multiple books, his articles and stories have appeared in various e-magazines and online journals. Steele lives in Ohio with a few cats that are probably plotting his doom. Surviving on a diet primarily of coffee and cigarettes, he occasionally dabbles in Visual Arts and Music Production. He still hopes to one day become a Super Villain.

First off, I would like to thank (and praise) my Dark Red Press cohorts, Jack, Brian and John. They have made the last nine months of my life the literary adventure I have always dreamed it would be. Bringing us all together was a team effort and every day continues to make me happier than I’ve ever been (in the writing world). You guys fucking rock!

Second, I would like to thank my lovely, irrepressible Wife, Mona, for putting up with my long days and nights behind the keyboard banging out stories, editing and working with the DRP guys. You put up with a lot more of my crap than anyone else would, I’m certain. I love you more and more every day.

Last, but definitely not least in this instance, I want to thank Robert Verde who did a truly amazing job editing White Sands for me while I was busy editing everything else for this collection. I can’t thank you enough for you harsh but fair criticisms and fan-freaking-tastic editing skills. You are the man!

With all of that in mind, and all of the other editors involved in each of the tales, I thank you all and any existing errors in this manuscript I take on myself. Peace!

The two attackers came out of nowhere. I put the first one down with a slug from my best friend, Wilma. The bullet plowed into his chest, the life chuffing out of him when he hit the ground.

The second son of a bitch had moved around behind me when I shot his companion. Before I could move back and cover him he swung a length of pipe at my head and connected. He clocked me pretty good. I saw a billion pinpoints of light explode behind my eyes, even as I twisted and pulled the trigger on Betty. I saw the back of his head spew out into the New Mexico sky just as my own noggin slammed into the pavement.

I was pissed beyond belief. If I could have cursed, I would have. Instead I mumbled some nonsense bullshit, the azure sky collapsing into blackness just like my Donald Duck night lamp had when the world was dying.

“Sweetie, this medicine is for your own good. It’ll help, I promise.” My father’s words drifted to me from the distant past. Looking back, I have no idea if that shot helped me, or if I was just one of the lucky ones. There certainly weren’t many of us. I had watched my mom die only days before. Now, I could tell my Dad was sick, too. The whole world was sick. I didn’t understand it all then, but time has a way of eliminating the clutter.

“You can’t die,” I stated. He smiled at my innocence, although, even at six years old, I was a precocious little girl. I remember that he loved that about me.

“You have to be strong for me, Rock.” He had called me Rock for as long as I could remember. He told me it was because when I was a baby, I never cried. My mom thought something was wrong with me, but the doctors had given me a clean bill of health. Dad claimed it was my way of dealing with the world, watching and learning, always strong. Like a rock. His little Rock.

I accepted the medicine, knowing it was what he thought was best. And, who was I to argue with my father? He put the needle away and brushed my hair from my face.

“You will go on. You will survive and make me proud. You hear me? You will do whatever it takes. Are we clear?” His military bearing reinforced the sharpness of his tone, but it didn’t frighten me. It only steeled my resolve to obey him. I nodded agreement.

I would have done anything to make him happy. I would have saved him if I could. But the world was dying and so was he. I wrapped my two little hands around his rough, calloused paw. I would do whatever it took. I told him so. I remember that smile he gave me. It was the gift of a father’s love, undying and unconditional.

The one thing I remember most about my dad was that he never lied to me. He never coddled me. No matter what, he told me the truth. I didn’t understand it then, but as I grew older, I came to appreciate the courage it must have taken him to be so honest. The letter, for instance, must have been a nightmare to write. Nevertheless, he did it. He shared it all and hoped that someday I would understand. Now, I think I do finally understand. Then, it was just a lot of big words about the fall of mankind. Even after his death, my dad was a fucking hero. I didn’t care how anyone else saw it.

When it finally happened and he died, I’m not sure how long I stood there, staring at his lifeless body. I was probably in shock, but I was trying to cement all of the memories of him in my mind and heart. Then, it was time to move. I had made up my mind. I went to the kitchen, gathered a jar of peanut butter and the remaining half a loaf of bread in my arms and went to my room. I packed my camouflage backpack with the food, two bottles of water and my Dad’s Swiss army knife. My mom hated how much I loved that backpack. She said it was not suitable for a little girl as pretty as me. My Dad had given it to me for my fifth birthday and I carried it everywhere.

After I had slipped on the backpack, I paused by my bed. I felt the loss of my parents. I felt it like a stone on my heart. Still, I didn’t cry. I wish I knew why. There was a great silence in the world. So much was happening. So many were gone. I was about to venture out into the newly quiet world when I heard the front door slam open.

Someone cursed in the living room. It was a man’s voice. I ducked down on the far side of my bed as I heard the footsteps coming down the hardwood hallway. The door to my room opened with a squeak. I could hear breathing, heavy and ragged, as if he had been running for some time. My Dad used to sound like that whenever he had just come in from his morning jog. For a long moment, I thought the person would just turn and leave, but then he spoke.

“Jennifer?” he sounded frightened, but I recognized his voice, now. “Rock? You here?”

I stood and looked into the eyes of my Dad’s younger brother, Derrick. He was only seventeen. He was alive. I ran around the bed, and into his solid hug.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” There wasn’t much else to say. “You okay, Uncle D?” He laughed out loud and tears rolled from his eyes. I wasn’t sure why he was crying while smiling but I accepted that it was fine. He just nodded and hugged me again, so tight I grunted. He released me and looked over my shoulder at the pack.

“You going somewhere?” he asked. I shrugged, and he shook his head at me in amazement, taking my hand. “Okay. Time to bounce, kiddo.”

I came to with the desert sun burning my face. I attempted to sit up but, instead, rolled over and puked onto the pavement. There was a pounding in my head as if some asshole was in there with a miniature jackhammer, furious to get out. I wiped my eyes, looked around. The two attackers lay dead in the street. They had come out of nowhere, it had seemed. I must be losing my edge. How the hell did they get so close? I was better than that.