United States Of Apocalypse Read online

  “Keep eating like a pig and those Chubby Chaser guys will be circling,” she said to her reflection. Her eyes were getting tired and she needed to stop for gas at some point, even though she was enjoying the open road and the bad music.

  And her stomach was growling, betraying her. All that inner nagging about getting fatter and not being attractive, and now she was hungry? Darlene couldn’t win. And a bag of M&M’s and a bottle of Coke sounded like the perfect meal right now.

  So much for getting rid of these love handles, she thought.

  Darlene picked up her phone to turn on the GPS and find the nearest gas station, but there was no signal. She was in the middle of nowhere, with sand and mountains on either side. She smiled. At least with the signal gone she wouldn’t have to ignore the phone vibrating.

  She decided she’d drive as far west as she could until she saw a place to stop or she ran out of gas. What did she care right now? Maybe her destiny was to die in the foothills of California.

  Darlene imagined herself wandering the desert, sucking on cacti leaves and hunting scorpions and whatever else lived out there.

  She knew she’d last two days, three tops. She might be from the cold, remote Maine, but she was still a city girl. She still needed clean clothes and hot food. She needed a shower and some perfume every day, and she didn’t think she’d last long without music, even bad tunes like what was on the radio now, fading in and out as she drove.

  Her head dipped forward again, startling her. She pulled off to the side of the road and turned the engine off. Darlene got out and stretched. Standing outside the car, the sun was fierce. She’d be fried in ten minutes; the sweat was already rolling off her.

  My luck, Mister Right will come driving up, see the chubby sweat-ball that I am, filthy and without any makeup on, and keep on driving, she thought.

  Darlene slapped her face a few times and climbed back in her vehicle. She started driving again, picking up speed. If there was a cop out here, at least she could ask for directions to the nearest gas station before he gave her a speeding ticket.

  Three miles later, going ninety miles an hour, she finally found a radio station that came in semi-clear. But instead of music, it was talk radio, which she hated. Her dad would listen to his political programs in the morning before work, and she couldn’t stand them. So boring. It was one thing if he was listening to a local sports station; she could get the latest scoop on the Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, or Bruins, but two idiots droning on and on about the state of the economy and how awful the president was didn’t interest her.

  She kept trying to find another station, but the next one she found was also a lot of talking.

  Right about now, even a Christian music station would suffice. Just give me something with a beat, Darlene thought.

  She was just about to continue her search when she heard the words “nuclear assault.” Was this a couple of alarmist jerks? Had she found a pirate radio station, with nutjobs talking about World War III and aliens abducting the locals?

  Maybe they could entertain her for the next few miles.

  “It has been confirmed. Yellowstone National Park seems to be the epicenter of the nuclear detonation,” one of the excited men on the radio said.

  “This is over the top, guys,” Darlene said. She turned off the radio. She could see a small town in the distance as she crested a hill, plunging down into the valley below and hoping she had enough gas to get there.

  Chapter Three

  Day 1 - NYC - 8:00 am

  “Stop running, Talbot!” It was a relatively comfortable seventy-two degrees out, which was a blessing in this blistering summer in the city. Unfortunately, it was only eight in the morning, and the weathermen were calling for mid-nineties by noon. Corporal Lawrence “BT” Tynes of the New York City Police Department was sweating profusely through his uniform. “I just had this cleaned,” he hissed under his breath. When I catch the little turd, I’m taking out my dry-cleaning payment with my nightstick, he thought. Provided no one is filming. Fuck it...even if they are. He grinned.

  It was at this moment that Michael Talbot turned to gauge his pursuer, the near-maniacal look of the cop spurring him on. “No way, man. Have you ever seen the size of you? Plus, you got some googly-eyed thing going on.”

  “I know where you live, prick. You don’t stop now, I’m going to burn it down.”

  “That doesn’t seem very professional.” Mike considered himself in good shape. He had to be to run from the trouble he regularly generated. His crime was petty, but he always made it worse by running, and he’d yet to meet a cop that liked to run. He just couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t shake this one. The man was almost twice his size but moved with an ease and grace that belied his mass.

  He ran down an alleyway, fearful that at the end would be a brick wall—and the cop’s fists. The official report would say the perp had slipped and fallen, but his face would look like a truck had run over it.

  “Oh, thank God,” Mike breathed out harshly. A ten-foot chain-link fence capped the small alley. Mike timed his steps so that when he launched he would be nearly three quarters up.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” Tynes yelled.

  Yeah, okay, Mike thought. Just when I’m about to get away, I’m going to stop. Doubtful, asshole.

  His sneaker-clad foot missed threading the needle in the links. He slipped a foot down before his hands grasped tight and he pulled his legs up. Mike sprang from his spot, throwing his whole body up, his right underarm just above the pointed barbs atop the fence. In one deft move, like a gymnast on the parallel bar, he hung in a brief handstand before his momentum took him to the other side. The cop’s baton struck the top of the fence with enough force to crack the heavy bat in two. Mike dropped down and turned to look at the cop. A mask of fury was on the man’s face. His hand was on his holster.

  “Halt,” Tynes said as he pulled his revolver free, dropping the now useless baton.

  Mike laughed, though inside he felt his guts twist into knots. He put his hands up halfway and grinned nervously at the cop. “You going to shoot me for running numbers? Seems like a lot of paperwork for such a small offense.”

  “Bookmaking, resisting arrest. I’m sure by the time I think of all the charges, it’ll be worth it. Plus, between the dry cleaning and the busted stick, I’m out almost seventy-five bucks.”

  “I’ve got twenty-two on me. How about I give that to you and we call it even?”

  Tynes bowed his head. “When am I going to be able to stop chasing you, Mike? You’ve been in New York what, two, maybe three years? I’ve seen you more than my wife in that time.”

  “Hey man, that’s not my fault.”

  “Of course it’s your fault. When are you going to meet a nice woman, settle down, have some kids?”

  “A family man? Me? Are you kidding me? I’m a free spirit. I couldn’t get tied down like that. And kids? They’re just needy little germ factories. You’re freaking me out just talking about it.” As Mike was talking, he kept glancing around and backing slowly away from the angry uniformed cop..

  “Mike, I can’t just let you go.”

  “I’m not sure you have much choice, big man.”

  “Why do you always run?”

  “Are you kidding me? Have you ever taken notice of the size of you? You’re like a fucking Godzilla running through Tokyo. Well, I guess since it’s New York, you’re more like King Kong.”

  “Was that a racist remark? Was that because I’m black?”

  Mike got a perplexed look on his face. “Huh? Racist? No, man, it’s because you’re a fucking giant. Listen, I’d love to stick around, and we could work through some of your marital problems, but I have to get the hell out of here; you guys never seem to work alone.”

  “You’re forcing my hand, Mike.”

  Mike turned and started to run. He’d made it five feet when the projectile lodged into his hip. His entire body went as rigid as a board. If not for the immense pain he was
in, he would have been happy that when his thigh caught the edge of a dumpster it spun him so that he landed on his side instead of his face.

  “Fu … fu … fu … fu.” He could not finish the expletive as his body convulsed in spasms. He was afraid of snapping his spine from the rigidity.

  “I warned you.” The cop had scaled the fence and was bending over, looking at him and mercifully pulling the electrically charged leads from his body.

  “No … no … not cool,” Mike finally sputtered out.

  “Hurts like the dickens, doesn’t it? I mean, I wouldn’t know personally. I was never one of those stupid sons of bitches who volunteer to be stunned. Who does that crap? I’ve seen enough people do headers from it to know I have no desire to experience it firsthand.”

  “To … to … too bad.” Mike still felt like every muscle in his body was in a constant spasm, and the pain was not subsiding—at least not fast enough to his liking.

  Chapter Four

  Day 1 - Wyoming - 5:14 am

  Randall Chan did not bother to drag the body off the roadway. The police would be here soon enough to investigate, but in less than three hours, there would be nothing left. No body, no vehicle, no spent shell casings, and certainly not him. He and his crew would be traveling as far west as they could before the devastation was wrought. He wasn’t sure if they’d make it, but that was secondary to the success of his mission. For three years, he had lived among the Americans, pretending to embrace everything the corrupt and greedy country stood for.

  Like anywhere in the world, there were good people here, and a great many of them would die, and soon. But he felt it was for the greater good. If the giant, cancerous country could be brought to heel, the rest of the world might be saved from its particular brand of justice. He had firsthand knowledge of the brutality the Americans could inflict upon their enemies. He had lost his father when a platoon of Army soldiers had raided his village early one fall morning. After determining he was the leader of the small village, they had dragged him outside their hut, stripped him naked, and publicly shamed him before the lieutenant who led the men put a bullet in his brain. They’d accused his father of aiding and abetting a known North Korean spy; that it was true mattered little. The point was he’d been accused, tried, found guilty, and sentenced all in a matter of minutes.

  Randall understood his father had been guilty of a crime and needed to pay. That they also beat his mother to the point she could no longer function on her own was entirely another affair. She was innocent; she’d not known what her husband had done and was merely guilty by association. She’d gone from a caring, loving mother, to someone who had frequent outbursts about the spiders that crawled beneath her skin. Oftentimes, she would rip through her flesh with her fingernails until she bled profusely from the self-inflicted wounds.

  Randall was a few years older when he’d ended her suffering. He’d come home from selling some pieces of fruit he’d found, to find his sister hiding. Their mother had beaten the small girl, breaking her arm and giving her a concussion. Randall saw his mother lying on her bed. She was chewing on some poppy when Randall thrust a pillow onto her face. That she did not resist proved to Randall that her life meant nothing to her; she knew what she’d done had been irrevocably bad.

  Chapter Five

  Day One I-70

  There was a working gas station but not much else. Not even a street light, just two sides of the road and a few stores. To Darlene, it felt like she’d walked onto the set of a Western, and she expected to see the fronts of the buildings hiding faux rooms within.

  She got out of the car, and an old man wearing a baseball cap and sporting a long, graying beard greeted her. Darlene wanted to say “Howdy, Sheriff,” but decided against it. No use in pissing off the locals, even if she was only passing through, and he might be the only one living in this oasis.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “Need some gas?”

  “Yes, sir.” Darlene looked past him to the small gas station building. “Any chance you have snacks and a bathroom?”

  “We got both, but they’re not in the same room.” He grinned. “You understand.”

  Darlene laughed. “I think I need to take care of food and a bathroom break first, then work on filling the car up.”

  “I can do it while you’re busy.”

  Darlene shook her head. She didn’t know if he was just being polite or creepy, and she didn’t want to find out. “I’m in no rush.”

  “You might not be in a rush to drive away, but the way you’re doing the Pee Pee Dance, I’d say you’re in a rush to do something. Key is on the counter.”

  Darlene blushed. “Thanks.” She found the key and went into the bathroom, glad she’d found the gas station before she’d pissed her pants.

  She went to the sink to wash her hands and throw some water on her face; she was appalled at the reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t slept in days—and then no longer than a few hours at a time—and she looked it.

  She needed to change her clothes, too. There was only so much perfume a girl could spray to mask the smell. Her thong had been riding up her ass for miles, and she was sure she was chafed.

  What are you doing to yourself? she asked her reflection. She was running away not only from her dad’s death and chilly Maine, but also from her basic needs and responsibilities. She needed a real meal. Candy bars and soda weren’t going to be enough.

  She made a promise to her twin in the mirror that she’d find a normal restaurant, not fast food, and have some decent food, then find a motel to sleep for a dozen hours or more, shower with real soap, and relax. Maybe find one with a pool and buy a good book to read. Really, what was the rush? She had quite few things on her list, but a snack and a full tank of gas were first.

  When she went back into the gas station, the man was behind the counter, his feet propped up with a People Magazine in his lap.

  “Thanks,” Darlene said, dropping the key on the counter. She grabbed three candy bars and a cold Coke.

  “I didn’t pump your gas, ma’am,” the guy said as he flicked through his magazine. Either he was a speed-reader or he was just looking at the pictures.

  “Where am I?” Darlene asked, putting her food and drink down on the counter. She looked around for something to read besides magazines.

  “You’re a few miles from Chico, California,” he said with a smile. “Smack in the direct middle of nowhere. This here one-stop is our own little secret. Off the main highways, far enough away so the rest of the world doesn’t know we exist. Population of one hundred twenty.”

  “What’s the name of this quaint little town?”

  He shook his head. “Only the locals know the real name. I’m a fourth-generation member of the community. Settlers heading out west in the beginning of the country, on their way to gold in San Francisco, got tired of traveling. A caravan settled in this area and never looked back.”

  “Very nice. Any chance you have a restaurant or a hotel in town?” Darlene asked.

  She could try to keep driving but her body was exhausted. Maybe a quiet little spot like this would be the perfect place to hide, too.

  “By restaurant, do you mean a place to buy a sit-down meal?”

  “Yes,” Darlene said, unsure if he’d ever heard of a restaurant, much less knew of one.

  “And by hotel you mean pay for a room to sleep in?”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s generally what it means.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Not really. Me and the missus have an extra room. Hasn’t been used in a couple months, but my wife could air it out for you. Put down some fresh linens. She’s making pot roast for dinner and invited a few folks over. I’m sure we have room for one more chair.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Darlene said. “How far did you say Chico was?”

  He looked disappointed. “Not too far at all. I don’t mean to be pushy, ma’am. We just don’t get many strangers coming through, and our goal is for them not t
o leave as a stranger. I don’t mean that in a creepy way, either.” He smiled. “And you’re not the only newcomer in town this week. A couple stopped and had dinner with us a few days ago. They went out to San Francisco, got bored, and came back. They were looking for a quiet place to relax and enjoy the great outdoors. No smog and noise pollution here.”

  Darlene felt her eyelids closing and she fought it. “Thank you, but I think I’ll keep going.”

  “No problem.” He opened up his magazine again. “I’ll turn the gas pump on for you.”

  Darlene went outside into the heat and filled her car with gas, wiping the sweat and dirt from her face. While she was doing it, she ate the candy bars before they fully melted and drank half the soda in one pull.

  She looked around the immediate area and sighed. It was gorgeous. It was hot but not crazy humid, and there was no snow in sight. She was sure it didn’t rain too often, either. And it was truly in the middle of nowhere.

  The gas station attendant had mentioned a “couple” in town. They went to San Francisco and were bored. Darlene thought she might also get bored there. There was no reason for her to drive there, anyway. One spot was as good as the next, especially when there was no real destination in mind. As long as it wasn’t Maine or surrounded by well-meaning but annoying family, she would be fine.

  She didn’t know if it was the gas fumes or her lack of sleep or both, but she got light-headed for a moment and leaned against the car.

  When she shook it off, she saw the man standing in the doorway of the gas station looking worried.

  Darlene smiled and gave him a quick wave. “I’m fine.”

  “Sun get to you?”