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

“What’s my real name?” I asked. His eyes narrowed at the question.

“Hell, I don’t know. You never told me. It never came up. I only know you by Rock. I do know your last name is Watson, though. Derrick did say that much. Where is he, anyway?”

“Who?”

“Derrick. Your uncle.” Kel looked at me as if I were crazy. I wasn’t too pleased with his expression.

“I’m asking the questions. Where are you from?”

“Arizona. We covered this already. What’s wrong with you?”

“I got hit on the head. Random scavengers. Assholes fucked up my memory.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I’ve run into a few of those, too.”

“Then why are you still alive?” I asked, the irritation at the situation leaking into my tone. Kel couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me and he sure didn’t look like the warrior type. Then again, these days looks could be deceiving.

“I can take care of myself,” he replied, his tone offended.

The suppressor on the .45 muffled the noise of the shot as the bullet ripped into the molding just beside Kel’s ear. He was down on the floor, hands over his head before the slight blue breath of smoke cleared from the end of my pistol. I laughed out loud. “Right,” I said, placing the weapons back into their holsters.

“What the hell was that for?” Kel asked, staring up at me with wide, frightened eyes. If I’d seen one ounce of calculation in those eyes, I would have shot him. Instead, I moved over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Just double-checking. Get up. Have a seat. Let’s chat.”

“You’re a bit of a loon, aren’t you?” he asked, moving carefully around the table to take the opposite chair.

“No. Just careful,” I said. “What’s your story, Kel?”

“My mom died during childbirth. My father, like most folks, died during the pandemic. I was nine. Pretty much been on my own ever since. After I met you and Derrick, I headed east from Phoenix, until I found your place. More or less by accident, really.”

“How so?” I asked. This place was unique in that it had a very viable and productive garden out back. Uncle D had seen to it that we would never die of hunger. “You can’t see the garden from the streets. And I doubt that we gave you our address.”

“Wow. You really don’t remember me, huh?” He appeared genuinely stunned, and somewhat miffed, by this as I nodded in the affirmative. “When I met you and Derrick the first time you were about fourteen. You guys had been exploring the Tucson area. It was tense at first because, well, let’s face it, you never know what kind of freaks you’re going to meet these days. It turned out all right, though. We hung out for a couple of days, but then Derrick was eager to get back here. All I knew was it was in the White Sands area. No details.”

“You said we met a few times?”

“Yep. We met up again a couple of years later, near Clifton. Southern end of the Apache National Forest. Derrick was a pretty good hunter. He’d bagged a nice good sized doe.” He looked at me with a smirk. “You were really coming into your own, then.”

“What do you mean by that?” He was telling a good tale, but I still couldn’t remember him clearly. Some of the things about him did ring a bell and I felt a hint of familiarity. The way he talked with his hands, waving them around, using them for emphasis or pointing out direction. There was something else about the way he talked that gave me pause, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“You’d taken to wearing dresses over leggings like you are right now. Derrick always said he hated that style. You said it gave you better range of movement, but he wasn’t buying it.”

I knew what he was talking about, now. When I became a teenager, I had developed a rudimentary sense of style, along with a sense of my femininity, and I liked the look and feel of loose fitting dresses. Of course there were downsides to being caught unawares while wearing a dress in this fucked up world, so I usually wore thick leggings and combat boots, as well. What can I say? It was a look.

“The last time we met was about two years ago. You painted an even more striking figure. You were wearing those custom holsters Derrick had made for you.” He indicated the leather belt that held Wilma and Betty, my two Sig Sauers. “You and he had also taken up the whole swordplay thing. That was just before you and Derrick disappeared.” He shrugged at my questioning expression. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in almost two years. Where the hell did you guys go? And, where’s Derrick?”

I felt that damned stone in my gut again. Now that I had most of my memory back, I could see it all replay in my mind as if it were yesterday. I held my breath as I felt the pain and tried to distance myself from that tightness of chest, that itching in my eyes.

“Holy shit,” Kel said, staring at me.

“What?” I remarked with an edge that could have cut glass.

“You’re crying.”

“What?” My vision blurred, proving his statement true. It felt strange. I was almost 20 years old and I had never once shed a tear until now. I wasn’t certain what to do. Kel moved to the sink, retrieved a small cloth and handed it to me.

“Wipe your nose,” he said, nodding at me. I could only comply. “Rock,” he asked gently; “Derrick’s gone, isn’t he?”

“They killed him. They almost killed me. I’m not sure why they left me there. They didn’t even try and rape me.”

“They, who?”

“Bandits. Two guys. And a girl. Ambushed us in Las Cruces.”

“When?”

“I’m not really sure. Maybe a year ago. That was when I lost my memory. I was muzzy for weeks as my head healed.”

Those bastards had left me for dead. I damned near was. Once I regained consciousness, I had to find replacement medical supplies to stitch up a nasty gash just above my left ear. My hair still doesn’t grow properly there. It’s one of the reasons I always wear a cap of some sort. I dabbed at my eyes and refocused on Kel.

“The fucked-up thing is, I was attacked again yesterday. I took them both out, but not before getting another nasty bonk on the head. Now I have it all back.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Almost,” I added.

“So, now what?” he asked. At first I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. I knew what my next steps would be. Whether or not I wanted this knucklehead involved, well, that was another matter.

“You said you can take care of yourself,” I commented. He nodded. “Time to show me.”

I left the table and walked over to the shelving unit that held glasses, cups and serving dishes. On the far left side of the top shelf, I grabbed the second cup back and twisted it clockwise. The hidden latch released and the shelving unit moved free of the wall. It took only the slightest push to ease it from the wall and expose the hidden door behind it.

“Holy shit!” Kel said, standing. “I’ve been all over this house and I never had a clue that was even there. You guys are some sneaky bastards.”

“It was my Dad and Derrick. They knew what might happen, living this close to the missile range. They were nothing if not prepared.” I twirled the large dial on the door, which resembled a humongous safe, metal and unforgiving. A few more spins and I heard the familiar click. Twisting the thick handle, I pulled the door open, revealing the stairs beyond.

“What is this?” Kel asked. “Some sort of safe room?”

“Bomb shelter, you moron.” Again, I wondered how the guy had lasted this long on his own. I turned back to him. “How was it that you found this place? You still haven’t told me that.”

“To be perfectly honest, it was a total accident.” He looked away and scratched at his neck. If I had to guess, I’d say he was embarrassed.