United States Of Apocalypse Read online

  “That’s a pretty bleak view and an unflattering representation of mankind. I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Me too, man, but you’re a cop, you’ve seen more of the seedy underbelly than most. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I trust in the establishment.”

  “Well, that’s where we differ, then. I give it another week before the D Streeters or some other assholes like them look to start controlling swaths of the city, and not for drug trade, but to take physical possession of the area, creating new townships.”

  “Shit, Mike, if I’d known just how big a conspiracy theorist, I might have thought twice about letting you into my house.”

  “Anarchy is six meals away. I figure we’re at half that number right now. Let me know what you think about my wild ideas next week.”

  Baggie hissed at Tynes and brushed up against Mike, who stiffened from the contact.

  “And what the hell did you do to my cat?”

  Mike waited until the small mountain lion moved on before he responded. “I think he’s fucking with the both of us. He hisses at you because he knows that you, for some ungodly reason, want to pet him. He sidles up to me because, like a normal human being, I want nothing to do with the caretaker of the underworld.”

  Tynes laughed. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Tynes sat on the couch, Mike on a recliner off to the side.

  “This little neighborhood militia is going to change things,” Mike started.

  “How so?”

  “How are we going to get weeks’, possibly months’, worth of food without them knowing?”

  “We’ll share it.”

  “Wait...what the fuck are you saying? Share it? I don’t think so.”

  “We’ll have to.” Tynes intoned.

  “No, we won’t. We’re the ones taking the risk, and they get the reward? No fucking way. That’s not the way this works.”

  “Then the plan’s off. My house, my rules.”

  “Too late for that. We already presented this to Pembroke. You don’t pull back from a job with him.”

  “Listen. This is my job. Your mobster buddy is just lending us some muscle. We have to live with the people on this street, and believe me, they can get pretty nasty too.”

  Mike stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m packing up and getting the hell out of here.”

  “Fine. See if Pembroke will give you your old job back.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s a pretty forgiving guy. I once watched him personally pull all of a man’s toenails out because the guy was a hundred and fifty bucks light on a payment. Does that sound like a reasonable person to you?”

  “Jesus, Mike, these are the people you associate with?”

  “Don’t forget, Tynes, you’re in with him too now. When you’re surviving on the street, you don’t always get to choose who you do business with. You’re straight with him, he returns the favor; you fuck with him, and you can expect a response ten times worse in magnitude.”

  “Do you want to keep a gun handy to shoot our neighbors, when they start asking for help?”

  “I wish you lived in a blue-collar neighborhood.” Mike was looking out the window.

  “This place too nice for your sensibilities?”

  Mike turned to look at Tynes. “Besides the cat-beast, the place is great. The problem is the people. How many of these fine, rich folks do you think served in the military or have ever got their hands dirty from menial labor? Now, I’m not saying they don’t work hard at what they do, but nobody coming here to invade is going to give a shit when someone tosses a calculator at them.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Shit, no offense, but the only reason you’re here is because of, well, you know….”

  “I get it. Half my old neighborhood was guys that had either been in prison or the service, can’t imagine anyone is going to mess with them. If we were in that neighborhood now, we wouldn’t need Pembroke.”

  “Not if they had their shit together. Unfortunately, we’ve got the lily whites of the survival world, and you want to feed them. I’m not sure why we don’t just pull up stakes and scram.”

  ***

  They had their first neighborhood meeting that very night. Forty-two people fit comfortably in Tynes’ expansive living room. Some wore camouflage clothing as they let out their inner-Rambos, most looked as if they’d dressed for a high-class social function. Mike could only scoff as he saw more flashing of diamonds and gold than at a jewelry store.

  “These idiots think this is a party or something.”

  “Play nice, Mike. These people might save our lives someday.”

  “Yeah, and I might write the next great American novel.”

  “I didn’t know you were a storyteller.”

  “Funny guy. I’m going to find a seat.”

  “Thank you all for coming. I wish it were under better circumstances and that I had more seating and hors d’oeuvres.” Tynes formally began the meeting.

  There was a small smattering of laughs.

  “What should we call this?” Dutch asked.

  Mike’s hand made a loud slapping sound as it smacked into his forehead. He looked slightly embarrassed when he realized most of the room was looking at him.

  “Sorry, I think it was a flying cockroach...continue. Should be something catchy like ‘Neighborhood Nancy’s’ or ‘Pansy Patrol.’ Yeah, something floral related would be nice.”

  “Mike! Sorry, my...um...houseguest is less than convinced at the resolve we possess here. He’s under the false assumption that we cannot defend our own.”

  “Defend our own?” Gretchen Fairbanks asked. She was in her early fifties and was wearing a long, silver gown that Mike was sure cost more than his yearly rent. “I thought we were here to discuss how we were going to hire personal guards.”

  “I’m going to get my bag.” Mike rose from his seat.

  “You, sit right there!” Tynes pointed a finger the size of a small tree branch at him. “Mrs. Fairbanks,” he started much more smoothly. “We are all we have; we have to assume that the military is not coming. Not anytime soon anyway.”

  “I know this, Lawrence.”

  “She said Lawrence,” Mike snickered.

  “Don’t make me kill you with all these witnesses around.”

  Mike quickly and wisely kept quiet.

  “What about a security agency?”

  “The problem, Mrs. Fairbanks, is that everyone is in the same predicament we are. No one is going to look out for others when they are looking out for themselves; even our National Guard has been no guarantee of safety. The way we protect ourselves is to do something most aren’t doing. We need to stick together.”

  “Strength in numbers,” Dutch said.

  “Exactly.” Tynes looked happy—he’d made headway.

  Mike stood. “Great, great, we’ve established we’re all friends. Now, to the meat of it. Who has guns?”

  There was a fair amount of gasps and scoffing at the sheer nonsense of owning a firearm. Mike was happy to note that was only about half of the visitors. Some had personal weapons but his new best friend, Handely Barton, had what he considered a small arsenal.

  “We’re going to get along fabulously,” Mike said, putting his arm around Handely’s shoulders, much to the man’s chagrin.

  “Don’t worry, he grows on you like a fungus,” Tynes told Handely.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I-70

  Herbert parked the pickup truck on a side road barely visible unless you knew it was there. He’d shut the headlights off a mile back, using his knowledge of the area and the moonlight to guide him.

  “We walk from here. The only people who know about this dirt road are the locals, so we need to be careful. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing right now,” Herbert said.

  John had been quiet, as usual, but now he looked from Herbert to Darlene and tapped his rifle wit
h his fingers. “I don’t plan on chatting with anyone else who has a gun. Just so you both know. I will shoot first and ask questions later, especially if we’re confronted.”

  Herbert put up his hand. “There’s no need for that, John. We’re just going to sneak around and see what’s going on. Try to find the Boyette daughter, if possible. See if the town is even still there. But a firefight with people I know and grew up with is not going to happen. Why don’t you stay with the truck?”

  John snorted. “I don’t think so. I’m not going to start shooting people. I’m still pissed at what happened to my wife, but I’m not insane. Of course, if, by some twist of fate, I see the bastards who took my wife, all bets are off. I will shoot them until I run out of rounds. Now lead the way so we can get home and watch the house.”

  Darlene thought it was a bad idea to take John with them, but he’d insisted and Herbert had relented. They had no idea what they’d find, and Herbert thought it wise to stick together. The goal was to be in and out within an hour or two while Pheebz watched the house.

  The walk down the trail and through the woods took too long, and Darlene knew they’d already wasted too much time.

  Herbert stopped and ducked down near a tree.

  Just down from the hill they were standing on was the town, running six square blocks before petering out to a few scattered homes. Darlene saw a trailer park straddle the main street.

  There were lights on in a few buildings, but not many. No one walked on the street and no cars were moving. It was eerily quiet, and Darlene had a bad feeling about it.

  “Where do you think the Boyette woman will be?” Darlene asked.

  “She lives above the shoe store, if I remember correctly,” Herbert said. “I think I can get us there through a couple of alleys and keep off of Main Street.”

  “Lead the way,” John said, clutching his rifle. Darlene didn’t like the look in his eyes. John was looking for a fight.

  Darlene expected to see either burning buildings or men with guns on the rooftops, but it just looked like a normal night in a small town. A nice place to live, all things considered.

  As they moved into the town, Darlene noted none of the shops seemed looted. There was no broken glass or garbage piled on the streets. Nothing was out of place, as if the city merely slept another quiet night.

  “We got company,” Herbert said while flattening himself against a shop door. Darlene and John did the same.

  A car was coming slowly down the street.

  Herbert walked past Darlene and John. “Follow me into the alley.”

  They did, trying to keep up with Herbert, who disappeared behind a dumpster.

  Herbert sighed when they all squatted down. He peeked over the top before getting back down. “I don’t know who it is, but it can’t be good. Anyone cruising Broad Street this slow is looking for trouble.”

  Darlene got between the wall and the dumpster and watched the road. John went to the opposite end of the dumpster, everyone still in hiding.

  She could see the headlight beam as it moved down the street, getting closer to where they were. There was nothing else between the alley and their spot but the trash container, and it reeked.

  Something shuffled behind them, and all three turned, rifles aimed.

  A lone man stood with arms raised and a broken smile on his lips. “Don’t shoot. Please.”

  “Get down. Now,” Herbert hissed.

  The man dropped and crawled on his knees, keeping his hands where they could see them. It was obvious from his dress and smell he was homeless. “If they see us they’ll shoot.”

  “Who is it?” Darlene asked, but the man didn’t say a word, curling up next to her on the filthy ground.

  It was a pickup truck, with four men standing in the back holding rifles. There were two men inside the cab, and the driver moved a side spotlight up and down as he drove. When he shined it into the alley, everyone ducked.

  Darlene held her breath when she heard the driver hit the brakes with a squeal.

  “I gotta piss,” someone said. The light had moved, so Darlene peeked out to see a man walking down the alley toward them.

  Darlene put up a finger, but shook her head when John went to stand. She motioned for him to get down and relax. They were outmanned and outgunned. A firefight in this alley would be the death of them. She glanced back and didn’t even know how far the alley went. If it was a dead end, they’d be trapped.

  The light shone down the alley again, and they heard the man approaching.

  “Get that off me, man, unless you want to be embarrassed by how big it is,” the man yelled. “I think I had too many beers.”

  He stopped on the other side of the dumpster, and Darlene heard a thunk where she assumed he put his rifle on the metal lid. She kept staring at John, hoping he would stay still.

  Herbert had a hand on John’s shoulder, too. He looked even more worried than Darlene that John would do something stupid.

  The homeless guy was still curled up with his hands over his head.

  Darlene looked at John and Herbert and smiled when they heard the sound: The man was pissing against the dumpster. He was right; he’d had way too much beer tonight.

  John actually relaxed and didn’t look like he was going to jump up and start firing, but Darlene could see Herbert was taking no chances, keeping his hand on his shoulder.

  It felt like the man would never finish, and Darlene rocked back and forth on her legs slowly so she didn’t cramp. When she heard him zip his fly, she was relieved. Maybe now they could keep moving and stop wasting time.

  The man went back to the truck, and they drove away.

  Everyone stood and stretched. Herbert led them deeper into the alley once they roused the stranger from the fetal position.

  “Who are you?” Darlene asked.

  “I’m Thomas, but you can call me Tee.”

  Herbert shushed them as they got to the next block, the road empty. There were a few storefronts and homes, but no lights were on at all.

  They waited, listening for the pickup truck. It wasn’t a big town, and Darlene knew if they were caught in the middle of the street, they’d be dead.

  Finally, Herbert moved and the rest followed. Another alley across the street led to another road, and Herbert went right across to a shoe store without stopping.

  He tried the doors and didn’t look surprised that they were locked. The door to the left was for the apartment upstairs.

  “Now what?” John asked. “We can’t knock. We’ll wake up the neighborhood.”

  “If we bust in, Terri might be waiting with a shotgun, too,” Darlene said.

  “We can’t stay on the street. It isn’t safe,” Tee said.

  “We need to do something,” Herbert said. He looked both ways down the street before lifting his foot. The kick sounded like a shotgun blast in the silence, but the door swung open.

  Darlene pulled her phone from a pocket and turned it on, giving them light. She handed it to Herbert.

  There were stairs leading up. Herbert automatically put his fingers near the light switch but pulled back. If they turned it on, there was no telling who would see it. They were sure to draw enough attention by kicking the door in.

  “I’ll lead,” John said.

  Herbert shook his head. “I will. I know Terri.”

  Darlene was glad, because she thought John might go in shooting. “I’ll hang back and make sure no one comes to investigate.”

  She stood just inside the doorway, glancing back and forth. Across the street was a cafe, a bookstore and a bakery. It looked like a street out of the 1950s.

  So far, the pickup truck hadn’t circled back around, and there was no other noise.

  Darlene’s eyes adjusted to the darkness since the only streetlights were on either end of the road and too far to make much difference. She saw definite movement in a window above the bakery. Someone was watching her.

  Before she could turn back and alert the others, Te
e came halfway down the steps. “Herbert wants you. Right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Day 25 - Manhattan

  The first test came that night. Tynes had gone to bed early, as he often did, depression weighing on him heavily. Mike was on the couch reading a book. He had perused Tynes’ vast library and found something from John Christopher called The White Mountains. He was in the midst of devouring the science fiction fare when he heard the rumble of engines, many of them in fact. Tynes was downstairs less than ten seconds later, meeting Mike at the window. The house was dark as Mike had wisely put out the lantern he’d been using.

  “Military?” Tynes asked.

  “You ever seen the Army roll in on motorcycles?”

  “Just hoping, I guess.”

  Mike moved quickly away from the window.

  “Shit,” Tynes said as he did the same. “D Streeters.”

  “They’re going to tear this neighborhood down.” Mike went back to the window, peeling a corner of the curtain back when he was sure there was no backlight to illuminate him. “Oh no—what is that stupid fucker doing?”

  “What’s going on?” Tynes checked his pistol.

  “Dumb fuck is going out to confront them.”

  “Dutch?”

  “See? Even you think that of him.”

  “Unlike you, I keep some things to myself.”

  “Makes sense.” Mike looked up at Tynes

  “Is he armed?”

  “Nothing except his big mouth from what I can tell. Can you hand me the rifle, please?” Mike asked.