Walter Greatshell - Apocalypso

Day after day, hour after hour, they kept waiting for help to arrive, some legitimate entity of the U.S. government, like the National Guard, or perhaps the Red Cross. The Boy Scouts of America-anything. Panic set in as it became clear that nothing was going to happen in time to save them: The Holy Avengers of Adam were starting on their block. Very soon, the lobby’s heavy security doors would be broken down, the building would be invaded, and they would be dragged outside to join the prisoners on those trucks… bound for whatever fate the HAA had in store.

“We have to get you out of here,” Apollo said at last.

“Thank God,” Brenda said. “I’m about ready to join the Xombies at this point.”

“That’s the trouble-there’s no place to go. Even if we got past those whack jobs, we’d just be running right smack into an even bigger problem. I’m sure the countryside is still crawling.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” commented Ray, dishing out scrambled eggs.

“Maybe not,” Apollo said. “Not if we can get to Sandoval’s defense plant like we were originally supposed to.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think? It’s way down in South County, and the roads will be even more impassable than they were before. Not to mention, the place has probably been overrun.”

“I doubt it. The whole plant can be closed off like a fortress in the event of emergency. These guys have specific security requirements just in case of attacks by terrorist hit squads, chemical attacks, even nuclear war. I’m beginning to think it was no accident that Sandoval wanted you there when he did.”

“What are you saying? That he had advance warning of the plague? If he knew about it, why wouldn’t he tell us? I mean, I sure as hell wouldn’t have been late!”

“Maybe he didn’t know for sure. Maybe he called in all the families just in case.”

Ray and Brenda processed this, being familiar with the eccentricities of their “Uncle Jim.” He was not their real uncle but a very wealthy older man who had taken them in when Brenda was a teenager stuck raising her baby brother because their mother had flown the coop. He gave them a place to live and a generous allowance, but beyond that, they rarely saw him, which was perhaps the biggest gift of all. He expected nothing, he asked for nothing… until the day he asked them to show up at the plant. He even sent a car.

Shit. There was a long pause as minds hardened against hope tried to process this remote possibility. Then Brenda said, “All right. Sure. Yes. Let’s go!”

The city was quiet at night-quiet and dark and bitter cold. In that deep silence, any noise would have been loud, and this was a loud noise to begin with: the rumble of an electronic garage door. Pulled by a chain drive, heavy steel slats were raised and wrapped around a rotating drum, making an almighty racket. Even before the door was all the way up, a huge black SUV blazed through and up the exit ramp.

Barreling in zigzags down the empty streets, the car met no obstacles, no opposition from living or dead. It was just too cold. Hurtling down an alley, the vehicle slowed as it approached a glowing tarpaulin at the end-a big tent blocking the way. Shadows could be seen moving inside, sentries roused by the sound of approaching vehicles.

“Guards!” Brenda yelled. “Go back, go back!”

“I’m trying!” Apollo said. “We’re blocked from behind.”

Ray and Brenda craned their necks, horrified to see a large vehicle coming up fast. It was not an ordinary truck but an armored riot vehicle stenciled with daggerlike crucifixes dripping blood. A six-wheeled Deathmobile.

“Then go forward!” Brenda cried.

“You got it.” Apollo hit the gas and plowed through the canvas wall. There was a burst of orange embers as the Escalade struck a flaming trash barrel, then a violent crash that caused the air bags to deploy. A loud alarm started going off.

“Shi-i-it,” Ray said, pushing away the air bag and feeling his nose for blood.

They had struck a concrete barricade. The force of the crash had knocked one of the blocks over and dragged it under the car for a good ten feet.

Apollo shouted, “Get out! Get out now!”

As they abandoned the car, a blaze of tracer fire erupted from the approaching vehicle, cutting through the Escalade’s armor plating as if it were sliced provolone. Windows blew out, tires exploded, and Apollo grunted as he was shot to pieces. Ray braced himself to die, but miraculously no bullet struck him. His sister, however, was hit.

“Brenda! Oh shit!” He dove to help her, propping her upright against the concrete slab as though it were a chaise. Her face was pale and her eyes very bright, but she didn’t seem to be in pain. Her injury was hidden somewhere under her clothes, just a spreading dark stain running down her side. “Can you walk? We gotta go!”

Apologetically, she said, “I don’t think I can, Ray. You have to go without me.”

“No way! You’re coming, if I have to carry you!” He tried to pick her up, but she cried out in sudden agony, shaking her head no. He hurriedly let her down, his sleeves soaked with her steaming-hot blood. He didn’t know what to do. His bare hands had touched the enormous rip in her flesh, feeling the slimy tissue hanging out, and he shuddered in terror and grief. Brenda was dying. His big sister was dying. The sister who was his only relative in the world, who had been as much a mother as a sister to him, and whom he had never imagined living without… because without her, he was totally and utterly alone.

The Deathmobile pulled up to the barricade, and several men got out. They were matter-of-fact about the destruction they had wrought, no strangers to killing. One of them had a flamethrower. “All right, kid,” he said. “Step away from the body so we can purify the area.”

“Fuck off,” Ray said.

“Yeah, yeah. Brother Matt, come get this kid, will you?”

“You got it, chief.” Brother Matt stepped over the barricade and raised his boot to kick Ray off Brenda, but before he could deliver the blow, his body jerked rigid and he made a strangled noise from the back of his throat. His eyes bulged and his tongue popped out, and all of a sudden his torso twisted apart at the waist.

Apollo rose into the light. He was a shot-up wreck, an animated blue monstrosity, but a Xombie was still a Xombie, and his big hands gleamed red, clutching pieces of Brother Matt’s severed spine.

The other men opened fire, but even before they pulled the triggers, more Xombies materialized out of thin air, literally falling upon them from windows overlooking the street. In an instant, every man was down. Their radios crackled with anxious queries.

Brenda touched Ray’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold. “Go, honey,” she said. It took her great effort to say it, and she didn’t have much left. “Please.”

Not knowing what he was doing, Ray crawled away from her. He would later realize he never kissed her good-bye, never told her he loved her, and this would torment him during the long voyage on the submarine. There was a wine store a few feet away, and he went inside. The Xombies didn’t seem to notice. Ray walked through the store and out the back door into an alley. No one saw him; no one followed. A few blocks away, he found a motor scooter lying on its side. It was a nice Vespa, just abandoned, with the keys still in it.

It started right up.

Todd pushed the hooded prisoner in front of him, trying to look brusque as he approached the sentries. The two Brethren sat in a huge riot vehicle, the Deathmobile, one at the wheel and the other manning a rooftop machine gun. The gunner trained his weapon on the approaching pair.