Daphne Lamb: The Girl's Guide to the Apocalypse

“I thought you were dating that guy with the hat,” Robert said. “Came every day with a salad.”

“That’s the cafeteria delivery guy,” I said, trying to ignore the alarmed look on Bruce’s face. “I don’t know his name.”

“But he came to see you every day.”

“To deliver my food,” I said. “At lunch.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. Bruce seemed confused.

“Can we just say that this is Bruce, my boyfriend, and move on while you put on your bracelet?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Waste of time if you ask me.”

“What about me?” Bruce asked.

The girl behind the table stared at my now lost tube of lip gloss, which I was immediately regretting losing.

“I’m using the bathroom,” I said. “Enough is enough.”

“Attention visitors,” screamed a woman with a bullhorn, standing on empty crates. They too were clad in a hazmat suit and headdress, giving them an eerie sense of authority.

At the sight of her, everyone shut up and stared in awe.

“If you have been classified into a group, please find your color group’s bus outside, ready to take you to your new destination,” she said. “So don’t even try to use the bathroom.”

Before I could hit the door of the bathroom, two guards approached. One gave me a stern shaking of the head.

“God, another bus?” Robert asked. “Those seats were not made for those who haven’t had a spinal adjustment in a while.”

“There’s a business idea,” I said.

“Oh my God,” He snapped his fingers. “You may just have something there. When all of this is over, we make friends with a chiropractor. Put together for me some projected numbers and a possible prototype when we get back to the office.”

“Good plan.”

“Seriously,” he said. “Write that down.”

I opened the palm of my hand and fake wrote it in the air. “How do you spell chiropractor?”

His face was super serious. “I don’t know why you’re making jokes. That’s a great idea, and you’re just not getting it.”

I grimaced slightly but smiled. “My mistake.”

“Really not the kind of team spirit we pride at Mitchellwide Insurance.”

One of the hazmatted figures approached us.

“Do you have a color group?” he asked.

I nodded. “We’re in the green group.”

“Stay here,” he said. “We’re letting yellows go first and in the buses headed toward that spa that’s been turned into quarantine.”

“Come on!” Bruce said. “Are you kidding me?”

Robert snapped his fingers. “We’ve got to get better buses,” he said. “I don’t think my joints can take it.”

We watched yellows get on the bus, then a group of greens before us. Then we were allowed onto one with what looked like the windows shot out of it and a weird smell inside.

“I take it back,” Robert said. “The other bus was better. There better be a seat in the back for me.”

I looked around, wondering why Robert and I were the only ones standing around. Steve walked slowly with five other people, all clamoring for his attention, one of which being Bruce.

“I’m doing a play right now,” he said, practically jumping up and down for his attention. “It’s called Honky and really tackles the issue of racism in America. You would have really liked it.”

Steve didn’t seem to be paying attention, just unraveling strings of what was left of his sweater.

“Bruce?” I asked.

Maybe he heard me, I don’t know. I just watched him try to follow Steve onto the bus and then get steered away from it and toward the bus I stood in front of. Steve’s bus pulled away, and Bruce threw his hands up.

“I was originally a yellow!” he shouted. “Doesn’t that count?”

Defeated, he wandered back to our area. He seemed sheepish about it, but I smiled, anyway.

“They put us over here,” I said, playing dumb. “Probably pretty confusing when all the buses are the same color.”

He gave the worst fake laugh I had ever heard. “Right,” he said. “I get it. I switched to green, but thought I was yellow. It’s a joke on me.”

“Not really,” I said. “It’s a made-up system. None of this will matter tomorrow.”

“Of course you did.”

Debra came out walking in tiny steps, purse clutched close to her body. “Jessica!” she yelled. “Is Robert on that bus?”

“Tell her I’m in a meeting!” I heard Robert call out.

“Of course he is,” I said to her. “You know Robert. Has to get the best seat he can find. Also it’s Verdell.”

“Well, I’ll fix that,” she said.

BEHIND HER, MORE PEOPLEheaded toward us and the parked buses in waves. A loud alarm rang, and I immediately covered my ears. Bruce just calmly looked up at the sky as rain started to fall. It hit the ground with a hissing sound, followed by steam.

“What is that?” he asked as a drop hit his arm. “Ouch!”

“I think it’s time to go!” I shouted. I grabbed his hand and tried to lead him toward the bus before he jerked away like a manic Golden Retriever, running after the yellow group again.

A guard soon returned Bruce back to the bus. “This guy belong to you?” he asked.

Bruce looked surly and on the verge of an outburst.

“In a matter of speaking,” I said. “Yes.”

The guard let go of him and shook a finger in Bruce’s face.

“Why do we have any rules at all?” Bruce snapped. “Just because you’re wearing a yellow suit doesn’t mean you can treat us like children.”

“Get on the bus or you won’t get a grilled cheese at the quarantine.”

Bruce turned around and quickly boarded the bus.

“We’re getting grilled cheese?” I asked. “What if I’m lactose intolerant?”

He shrugged and turned away to join the other group of buses.

It was a bumpy ride, and we sat in one of the middle rows. Bruce mostly stared outside, not so much to take in the urban decay going on around us, but probably daydreaming about lunches and moonlight walks on the beach with Steve the actor. Deep down I understood. I wouldn’t have minded sitting next to him either. Good Lord, he was hot in that movie where he played a cowboy with no shirt.

When I came back to reality, I heard rain drops and sizzling as it hit the roof of the bus.

“What is that from?” someone shouted. “Are we going to be all right?”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see a middle aged Hispanic woman. She smiled.

“Yes?”

She shoved a folded piece of paper at me. “Can you pass that to the man in the blue shirt up there?”

I took the paper and gestured to the man up ahead. “Him?”

“It’s my husband,” she said. “I can’t get his attention otherwise.”

I smiled and nodded. I leaned forward and tapped the man on the shoulder. He turned around.

“Your wife,” I said.

“Who?” He seemed confused.

“Your wife?” I handed him the note. He unfolded it, then promptly rolled his eyes and turned back around. I turned and mouthed the word “sorry” to the woman. She waved me away.

At that moment, before I could say a word there was an explosion from outside that rocked us out of our seats and we collided with one another. Screams went up. Terror was at an all-time high as there was the crunch of metal and human bodies. I was huddled in a fetal position too paralyzed to move, even if I really wanted to, but at this point in time, I wanted to disappear into those bus floorboards. I tried to take several deep breaths as opposed to hyperventilating, which was my natural response. When I squeezed my eyes shut I imagined my parents. Mom, petite and full of worry, Dad shaking a finger, saying, “I told you so…”