Apocalypso

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAY AND BRENDA

When Agent X hit, Ray Despineau and his big sister, Brenda, were on the road.

It was midnight, New Year’s Eve, and Brenda had a splitting headache. They had been trapped in traffic for more than nine hours, all routes south inexplicably blocked by police and armed troops. Through sheer gall, their driver had managed to bully his way to an off-ramp, but the situation was no better on the streets below. They should have been at the plant by nightfall; Uncle Jim would not be pleased.

“Happy fucking New Year,” muttered their burly limo driver, Apollo, knowing the axe would fall heaviest on him. He was desperate for a toilet break but was punishing himself with the discomfort. His passengers had overcome their own aversion to peeing in plastic cups from the minibar and dumping it out the windows.

“It’s okay, Apollo,” Brenda said. “It’s not your fault. There was no way of knowing the roads would be blocked off like this.”

“I knew we shoulda had a police escort, a big official motorcade. But the bastards wouldn’t give it to us, and now I see why: They were all pulling fucking traffic duty. God-damn flagmen. This is bullshit.”

Suddenly, everything went crazy: a lunatic orchestra of car horns, sirens, alarms, people screaming and yelling- and gunfire. The amount of racket was astounding even for midnight on New Year’s Eve. But very quickly, Ray, Brenda, and Apollo knew something else was going on.

Car crashes! Ray could hear a ridiculous smashing and screeching of tires up on I-95, just a never-ending pileup, hundreds of cars in a row-crash, boom, bash! Their own car was underneath the highway, near the I-195 interchange, so this was all happening right over their heads. Glass rained down, and Ray could see fires up there and hear bloodcurdling screams… and then people started falling! Just jumping over the highway barrier and slamming into the street below like sacks of potatoes.

Drivers started pouring out of their cars, wondering what the hell was going on. Cops screamed at them to get back inside their vehicles. Others just went crazy, hitting the gas and crashing into the traffic around them, like mad bumper cars. As Ray watched, an ambulance swerved into the opposing lane, busted through the line of cars, flew off the road, and hit a freeway pylon-kabam!

All this was bad enough, but what freaked him out the most was when everybody started fighting all of a sudden. Wherever he looked, there were these weird struggles going on: people trying to either kill or kiss one another-it was hard to tell which. But in either case, they were going at it like crazed wildcats, men and women both.

Some of them-a lot of them-looked oddly blue. Blue women ran in from all over, jumping out of cars, tearing their clothes off, and running naked down the road. They all had the same freaky black eyes, shark eyes, and they just swept in from out of nowhere like sharks joining a great big feeding frenzy. Only instead of eating you, they… kissed you. Kissed you and killed you and sucked the living breath right out of your body. Then you came back as one of them.

Ray saw it happening more and more, everywhere he looked. Clothes were shredded; blood was shed, blood both red and black. But one after another, the normal folk were taken down, even the toughest-looking dudes turning into two-legged blue sharks, adding their fevered lust to the frenzy. Crazy was winning, the night overthrown by eye-popping, blue-in-the-face, hysterical lunacy.

The horrible spectacle was not lost on Apollo. He said, “Belt yourselves in and hold tight.”

“What are you doing?” Brenda asked.

“Getting us the fuck out of here.” He shifted into reverse and stomped on the gas.

The limo was a customized 4x4 Escalade, armor-plated and with bulletproof windows and tires that wouldn’t go flat even with big holes in them. Apollo drove it like a bat out of Hell even in normal circumstances-he was a retired Secret Service agent, picking up extra change providing personal security for Sandoval’s “family”-so all at once, they were plowing clear of the mess, making a U-turn, and flying around car wrecks and fight scenes like a star quarterback running for a touchdown. The northbound lane was much less congested, but now they were going in the wrong direction, heading back into the city. A number of other cars were right behind them, piggybacking on the SUV’s momentum.

“Stop!” Brenda shouted. “Where are we going?”

“Sorry, Miss Despineau, but I’m taking you two back home, if we can even make it. It’s the safest place right now. I’m sure Mr. Sandoval would agree.”

Just ahead, Ray could see the lights and big, reassuring office towers of downtown Providence. All that still looked so normal he started to let himself collapse, flipping out from the horrible things he had just witnessed… until they started getting closer. Then he could see the smoke and hear the noise, even with the windows rolled up.

Oh God… oh no, please…

Downtown Providence was a living Hell. All the unfortunate people who had come downtown to join the First Night celebration were discovering it was their Last Night, or in most cases their Last Minute. They were everywhere, running or being chased, and wherever Ray looked, the blue freaks were gaining.

Right away it was obvious that the limo was not getting anywhere near their high-rise condo complex because the main intersection was jammed with all kinds of police and emergency vehicles. But there weren’t too many cops around-just lots of Ex-cops. People kept jumping on the car and beating on the windows, and Apollo kept having to swerve around or speed up and hit the brakes to throw them off. It was making Ray nauseous. Apollo also ran over a few folks, which really pushed Ray over the edge because he couldn’t even run over a squirrel without feeling bad about it.

So Ray was screaming, “Stop! Stop!” and Brenda was babbling, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and everybody all around them was going nuts, but Apollo… Apollo was a damn rock. He knew exactly where he was going and soon found a little alleyway straight into the city.

The streets were surprisingly empty inside, which was maybe not so surprising since it was a holiday and all the offices were closed, but now Apollo could really hit it, and before Ray knew what was happening, they were shooting down a ramp into Sandoval’s underground parking garage. The big steel gate came down like a medieval portcullis.

“Awesome,” Ray moaned.

At least they were safe for the moment. Riverdale Residences was a high-security building for a very exclusive clientele. Nobody could get in or out without an electronic passkey, and each unit had its own private floor and key code. No solicitors.

Brenda threw her BlackBerry down, and cried, “It’s dead! Everything’s dead! I can’t stay here! Darryl is probably freaking out-I have to go get him!” Darryl was Brenda’s miniature schnauzer. She had dropped him at the kennel earlier that morning.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare go anywhere,” Ray said.

“I have to! I have to get Darryl!”

“Everybody calm down,” Apollo commanded. “Let’s don’t get ahead of ourselves.”

Modulating his voice, Ray said, “Brenda, Darryl would want you to be safe, wouldn’t he? It doesn’t do him any good to have you rush out there and get yourself killed.”

“It’s staying here in this zoo that’s going to get us all killed! We need to get out of here!”

Apollo said, “No, this is the safest place to be until help arrives. This building is like a bank vault, and we have everything we need for now. Whatever’s happening out there will probably take care of itself by morning. We just have to sit tight.”

They sat… and listened.

All night long, they heard sounds of war: glass breaking, shooting, screams, car alarms, explosions. They smelled gun smoke, burnt rubber, burning gasoline, and burning flesh. TV and radio provided only loose scraps of bad news, worse news, and finally no news. All they had to do was look out the window to see the world coming apart at the seams: towers of smoke and raging fires all over the city.

“Oh my God,” Brenda said, shutting the curtains against the horror. “Oh my God, there’s no chance. There’s just no chance. What are we going to do?”

“Whatever we have to,” said Apollo. “For now, all we can do is wait.”

“Wait for what? For those things to crawl in here and get us in our sleep?”

“No. They can’t get in here. This building is hermetically sealed. It’s allergy-proof, hurricane-proof, and crime-proof. It’s designed for paranoid corporate hotshots like your uncle. Trust me, the security is total. I helped set it up.”

By dawn, things went quiet. Except for an occasional spasm of violence, the odd scream or shooting, there was very little that broke the peace for the next few days. But there was no escape either-blue people were everywhere.

“We have to get out of here,” Brenda wearily persisted.

Ray wasn’t ready to quit. After the initial shock had passed, he found a deep reserve of stone-cold determination. He hadn’t survived this long just to give in to the blues.

Apollo said, “There’s food for another week, maybe two if we ration it out. That’s enough time for this whole thing to blow over. There must be people in charge who are working on this problem. We just have to give them time to do it.”

“Don’t count on it,” Brenda said.

They tried contacting other people in the building, buzzing all the units from the lobby, but either there was no one home or no one wanted company. It was a very select membership, Moguls Only: politicians, religious leaders, business magnates, all of them living incognito, privacy being one of the building’s premium selling points. Odd that they would have all left town at once. But it was just as well: Ray had nothing to offer them but tea and sympathy-and the tea was running low.

The cavalry finally arrived.

It started with a promising sound: the tinkling of an ice-cream truck. How wonderful it was to hear such familiar, friendly music-it sounded like summer. Looking down from the balcony, they watched as the truck passed directly below, towing a trailer full of caged women.

“What the hell is that?” Apollo asked.

From what Ray could see, the women were clearly not Xombies. If it was true that the plague mainly struck women, as the Emergency Broadcast had implied, then why were these not infected? Perhaps they were being kept in the cage for their own safety… although it certainly didn’t look like that. It looked more like some kind of twisted freak show with Xombies as the prime audience.

As the truck reached the far end of the street, it released the trailer and sped away. Brenda and Apollo argued about what to do, but there was really nothing to be done because the Xombies were there, swarming over the cage like maggots. Screaming, Brenda covered her ears and fled from the window, and Apollo dragged Ray away as well, so they all missed the brilliant explosion that followed.

There was nothing left to console them. It was all too obvious what was going on and what that meant for the future of the human race. No women, no babies, in which case this really was the end of everything.

When the fires died down, the loudspeakers started up:

“THIS IS A MESSAGE TO ALL LOYAL AMERICANS: YOU ARE CALLED UPON TO JOIN IN THE FIGHT AGAINST EVIL. JOIN OUR VICTORIOUS CAMPAIGN, AND HELP BANISH THE SCOURGE OF AGENT X. HAVE NO FEAR-THE HELLIONS ARE ON THE RUN. COME FORTH AND STAND WITH US. WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS, AND WE BRING GOOD NEWS. THE WORST IS OVER. SHARE OUR FOOD, MEDICINE, FELLOWSHIP, AND SAFE REFUGE. COME FORTH, COME FORTH, ALL YE FAITHFUL. THE HOLY AVENGERS OF ADAM WANT YOU.”

“What the hell’s the Avengers of Adam?” asked Brenda.

“Sounds like a comic book,” said Ray.

The crusaders were systematically searching the city and arresting any survivors. What was remarkable was the sudden absence of Xombies; the city was temporarily free of ghouls. And there were surprisingly many human holdouts, quick-thinking folks who had hidden in attics, basements, and bomb shelters-mostly men, but also a few women. With brusque efficiency, the soldiers bagged their captives and drove them away, sealing off each building as it was cleared. There was not much resistance. Brenda had no interest in joining those refugees, and Ray and Apollo were in full agreement with her.

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.