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

It was a quiet drive on Interstate 70, heading southwest toward White Sands. We had loaded the trunk of the Ford with everything from bottles of water to a few hand grenades. Kel was smart enough not to ask about my choice of supplies. He seemed willing to help me, to just go along for the ride.

My attention was focused on the road, even though there were very few wrecks there were numerous natural obstacles, places where soil had drifted across the pavement. No washouts, which was lucky, but wherever a culvert under the road had been blocked by debris, the result was usually a fan of dirt and rocks across the tarmac. I drove cautiously to avoid the worst of the debris, the tires on the Ford were probably older than I was, and I didn’t trust the spare either.

Every once in a while I would catch Kel staring at me. He played it off, but I felt that he was looking for something in particular. What it was though, I had no idea. I really wished I could remember him, from before. I wondered to myself why I didn’t. If he wasn’t lying, and it didn’t seem like he was, then there must be a damned good reason why I had blotted him from my memory.

“So, what’s the plan?” Kel asked, noticing that I was slowing down to turn off the highway. A few small buildings sat alongside the road and the sign read Trap Club Road.

“Time to see if you really can take care of yourself,” I replied. We drove along the narrow road, through an expanse of desert shrubs, down into a large area of lower elevation that used to be an old shooting range. Kel dry washed his face and took a deep breath.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, I’m not taking you into a situation where my life might end up in your hands only to find out you’ve never even fired a gun before.”

“But…“he began. I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

“Let’s knock this out and then get back to business, ‘kay?”

“Fine,” he replied.

“This doesn’t have a silencer,” Kel said a few seconds later, as he grasped the Beretta, pointing it in a general downrange direction.

“No one’s sneaking up on us here. Shut up and shoot.”

I’d already placed a hand-drawn target on one of the posts about twenty-five meters downrange. I had drawn a large smiley face as the head, placing a smaller bull’s-eye right between the cartoonish eyes.

He slowly took aim and fired one shot. I frowned. There was a hole in what would be the arm of the smiley-faced target. I was not getting a good feeling about this guy’s ability to watch my back. He lowered the pistol, shook out his shoulders, rolled his head about on his neck. Without warning, Kel jerked the pistol up toward the target, squeezed off five rounds in rapid succession and holstered his pistol in one smooth movement.

I stood there staring at the target, not quite grasping what had happened. I shook my head and double-checked the target. I admit I kind of lost it. I stepped forward, grasping Kel by the back of the neck, guiding him toward the target. As we got closer, I cleared my throat.

“What. The fuck. Was that?” I said.

“What?” he asked. Feigned innocence fell over him like a blanket over a newborn.

“That!” I stated, pointing at the five holes in a neat circle, all within the quarter-sized bull’s-eye I had drawn.

“I told you I could take care of myself.”

“You son of a bitch.” I stepped back a few feet, drawing both .45s in a smooth, fluid movement. They were pointed unwaveringly at Kel’s forehead. He raised his hands, making no attempt at the gun in his holster.

“You need some serious work in the whole ‘people skills’ department,” he said, a slight grin etching his face.

“Spill it. Spill it now, or I shoot you where you stand.”

“Calm down, Rock. I’m not your enemy.”

“Who the hell are you, then?” My hands were steady and unwavering. If Kel even flinched the wrong way, he’d be dead by the time he hit the ground.

“Honestly? I’m just some rich kid who was left to his own devices, with no one to rein him in for the last 13 years. My father was a real estate developer in Phoenix. He owned a quarter of the city by the time the pandemic hit. Like I said, my mom died when I was born, so when he was taken by the super flu, not much changed for me. I was still alone. I still had all my toys. But I had his, too.”

“What are you saying? That you just never had to worry for anything? That you taught yourself how to shoot like that? I’m not buying it.”

“I started martial arts classes when I was six. Then it was fencing. Then it was skeet shooting. Each class was just one more way for dear old Dad to keep me out of his hair. I had all the time in the world before the end of the world to do as I pleased. Afterwards…” He shrugged his shoulders, a fleeting mask of sadness appearing and then fading from his expression. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Now, that’s a helluva question to ask. How many have you killed?”

“Seven.”

“Shit. Not bad.” He smiled a wide smile and, with hands raised, began counting his fingers. “Eight,” he said. “I win.”

“Seriously?” I was beginning to think he might be completely insane.

“No. Not seriously. Jeeze!” He lowered his hands and crossed his arms, carefully not getting close to the gun. “Yeah, I’ve had to defend myself a few times. But, I’ve only had to kill two other people. Even though I tried to avoid it. Some assholes just won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” I said, wondering whether I should just drop this guy right here and now.

“It’s no game. I have not really lied to you. I may have stretched the truth a bit, but I’ve had little else in the realm of entertainment until you showed up.”

“At my own home.”

“Well, yeah. There is that.”

“This doesn’t improve my trust issues with you. You know that, right?”

“Rock. Listen. Who else you got? Bandits? Not much for parlay, those.”

“Even your speech has changed. Why the hell should I trust you now?”

“Fine. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Anything. Go ahead.”

I stared at him for a long moment, weighing whether or not I should just kill him, if only for safety’s sake. I was about to dive into a very dangerous situation in White Sands. If I were wise, I thought, I wouldn’t include a wild card like Kel in the mix. Still, there was something that drew me to him. It irked me to no end. I was walking a fine line, here. On the one hand, he could be exactly who he said he was. On the other hand, he could be some psycho playing a potentially fatal game.

“Siblings?” I asked.

“Nope. Only child.” He cocked his head and added, “You couldn’t tell?” I ignored him.

“So,” I said, needing to know the next answer more than anything else, “what was your plan? Just tag along with me until you got bored? Or, got me killed?”

“The former outcome would be much worse than the latter.”

“You are insane,” I said.

“No,” he replied, glancing down at his feet. His voice took on a sober, hesitant tone as he said, “Just lonely.”

It was the honesty in his voice that tipped the balance. I eased my pistols back in their holsters, observing him for several long moments, attempting to discern his motivations. In this dead world, loneliness was indeed a killer of souls. I admitted to myself that I had felt the same on more than a few occasions, since Uncle D got killed.

My thoughts were in turmoil. On the one hand I wanted to just get rid of him and the uncertainty he represented, and on the other hand, I had the very human need to have someone to talk to. Getting into White Sands was going to be hairy, at best. But, could I trust Kel? I decided to just ask.