Walter Greatshell - Apocalypso

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s not as if you can taste it or anything. You’ve been drinking it all along.”

“Oh my God,” Ray said. “Are you serious? You turned into a Xombie and back? How?”

“I told you. It’s an experimental treatment they’re working on at Xanadu.”

“What exactly is this Xanadu?”

“It’s a private research station in Washington, DC, administered by an industrial consortium that took over the remains of the Mogul Cooperative. They’ve come up with a method of artificially inducing Agent X in very sick patients.”

“Why?”

“It’s restorative. The Maenad morphocyte is like a miracle tonic-a real-life Fountain of Youth. The problem is, it starves the body of oxygen, which causes brain damage before the benefits have time to kick in. That’s why Xombies are such maniacs. The trick is to actually speed up the rate of infection, and that’s where this stuff comes in. Don’t touch it! It’s loaded with pure poison: two time-release capsules, one containing a cocktail of potassium cyanide and Agent X, the other a dose of antibodies from immune women. They release about five minutes apart. For faster recovery, pure oxygen can be added to purge the body of Agent X. But it’s a little traumatic the first time, I gotta say.”

Ray asked, “So how many of these Immunes are there?”

“Not many. Most of them were killed off during the hysteria of the Maenad Epidemic. But the ones that do exist are priceless-Xombies won’t touch them. In fact, Maenads may actually protect them. I found three Immunes by bribing the Coast Guard to screen seaborne refugees for women of that age range. They were glad to hand them over. Chandra and I were trying to transfer them to Xanadu when Chace’s men intercepted them. As far as I was concerned, we had no choice but to try to recover them. So I entered into a partnership arrangement with Chace, assuming the role of the Prophet.

“The fish story went that I was a decorated military chaplain who specialized in benedictions for right-wing extremist groups. On the day of the Maenad Epidemic, I graduated from lay priest to Archbishop, having been granted special dispensation to receive the pallium-my new insignia of office-from a provisional papal legate rather than from the Pope in Rome. This was easy to arrange through Mogul channels, since the Vatican was in some turmoil, and there were fire sales on high office of every kind, including the Pope. All such titles were up for grabs. Only brute force mattered, and as a charter member of MoCo, I could summon quite a bit.

“I found my soul mate in Apostle Chace, whose public battles against abortion, same-sex marriage, and naked statues were legend. The postapocalyptic truce we arranged between our separate faiths was a model of cooperation that surely guaranteed us both a place at the Lord’s right hand.

“It was almost too easy,” Sandoval said. “To these guys, everything’s a sign from God; they’ve been expecting this for years.”

“Oh, they knew this was coming? Because I wish someone had told me about it.”

“Maybe they did, and you weren’t listening.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“What I mean to say is, I tried to warn you and your sister to get to the submarine plant by midnight. Why didn’t you?”

Ray was so shocked it took him a second to speak. “We got hung up in traffic half the night. Maybe you could have tried sending the car a little earlier. Like about a week.”

“I depended on you, Ray. And you let me down.”

“How did I let you down? You let us down, you asshole! It’s because of you my sister’s dead! If you knew that was gonna happen, you could have made absolutely fucking sure we were at that plant. You could have just told us the truth!”

Sandoval nodded, squinting through tears. He cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry, Ray.”

“Yeah, fuck you! Fuck you, man.”

As the morning wore on, the wind picked up, sea and sky turning slate gray. Flurries of hail spattered the deck like rice. Everyone else was still asleep, and Ray was basking in the novelty of being alone on the ocean.

He was not a tremendously experienced solo sailor, having only crewed a few pleasure cruises in his life. His father was the real seaman, a lifelong Navy officer who had ultimately estranged himself from the Navy just as he estranged himself from Ray.

Both his parents were products of the postwar era, a fair-weather family who fled from Ray and each other at the time he needed them most. He pitied them their disappointed lives and wondered what had happened to them in the madness of Agent X. Not that he cared much.

Suddenly, Ray realized he was not alone-the immune girl Deena was peering at him from the companionway. “Hey,” Ray said.

“Hey,” said Deena.

“How are you? Feeling okay?” Ray still found it hard to believe that Sandoval had not only freed all of them from the Soul Patrol’s gulag but delivered them safely to this boat. And acted as though it was nothing unusual.

The girl said, “Your friend Todd is wicked seasick. He’s in there throwing up.”

“Ech-I’m sorry. You’re okay, though?”

“I think so. I’m kind of hungry. Is there any food?”

“Yeah, it’s stowed in the compartment under the main cabin. Actually, I’m starved, too. You think you could make us some lunch?”

“Sure, why not?”

“And something hot to drink, tea or coffee.”

“Sure. Can I ask you something?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh… ”

“I’m kidding. What?”

“In those clothes you look kind of… butch.”

Ray laughed. “That’s because I’m a dude.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Hey, I was out of uniform, how were you to know? And Deena?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry about your friend Ashleigh. I tried to save her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but still… ”

She touched his arm. “Hey, man, Ashleigh had problems. After her sister died, she was never the same, so don’t take it on yourself. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

Ray broke down, and Deena comforted him. “Sorry,” he said, pulling himself together. “It’s just that I lost my sister, too. Now I really feel like an asshole.”

“Join the club,” she said. “Listen, I’m going to get us some food. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Funny. You’re very humorous.”

Deena was gone a long time. Ray wondered if the girl had blown him off, when she finally appeared with mugs of tea and hot soup, crackers spread with cheese and apple butter, sliced salami, and a selection of cookies and dried fruit.

“Wow, that’s what I call service,” Ray said. “Did you have any trouble doing all this with the boat rocking?”

“Not really.”

As they ate, Chandra and Fran appeared, drawn from their bunks by the smell of soup.

“Nice!” said Chandra, squinting in the sun. “Lemme go make some sandwiches.”

It became a picnic. Even Todd was able to take a bit of nourishment between bouts of vomiting. Sandoval remained dead asleep.

As noon rolled around, Ray went below to wake Sandoval. He was annoyed to see that a lot of the yacht’s carefully stowed food supplies had been haphazardly unpacked and were now rolling around the cabin. Cans and bottles zigzagged underfoot like small loose cannons. Worst of all, there was a powerful stench of airplane glue-a can of waterproofing sealant had spilled all over the plywood deck.

Cursing, he cleaned up the mess as best he could. As he worked, he began to feel dizzy from the fumes but was determined to muddle through. The swaying of the boat didn’t help. Having struggled as long as possible to ignore his rising nausea, he abruptly dropped everything and bolted for the fantail, puking his guts out. When he turned around, Sandoval was standing in the doorway, grinning like blue death.