Kiss My Apocalips Ch. 11

This was really awkward. I could feel her body pressed against mine, even through the heavy flak vest. The ammo belt must have been exceedingly uncomfortable against her bare skin, but she was hugging me as hard as she could in an effort to entice me to stay. I held the ungainly grenade launcher in my right hand, and I tried my damndest to push her back with my left. With a strength I thought might really hurt her, I tore her off of me and sent her staggering back into the arms of her companions; then I turned and ran in the direction of the second explosion. I could see no one, man or woman, outside the tents.

Realizing that I couldn't just ignore the presence of the "sleeping" fighter, I unzipped the flap on the last tent and cautiously looked inside. And there he was, sprawled on his back on an army cot. A blonde woman in a teddy nightgown was in a chair beside him, stroking his face and hair with gentle fingertips, but she paused and looked over her shoulder at me. "Sshhh!" she spoke softly. "Don't wake him up. The doctor says he needs his sleep. He wanted to take me and leave here, but he passed out, instead. I think maybe the doctor put something in his food. Anyway, I'm going to stay with him until he wakes up."

I found that particularly ludicrous: shushing me during a grenade attack. I backed out of the tent just as another explosion rocked the afternoon quiet. I could see the smoke and debris for a moment before the fog once again obscured the area. Funny, but I hadn't been hindered by the weather all the way down the mountain. Down here, it was still pretty thick; but momentary periods of clear air seemed to be more and more frequent.

I tapped my earpiece. "The sleeping bad guy is no threat. Apparently, he was drugged to keep him from going AWOL and taking at least one of the women with him. Where's Hyphen?"

"He's in one of the vehicles closest to the tents," Sadie answered. "I've bombed two trucks parked at the intersection of the driveway and the unpaved state road. But I can't drop anymore bombs! They seem to be jammed! I'm launching one of our last drones from the bunkers, but I don't think I'll be able to reach them before they escape! If they get past those two trucks, they might get away!"

"I'm on the way!" I told her, and I started jogging along the trail away from the mountain.

"Turn right ten degrees," she told me. "You can get through those trees, can't you?"

I nodded, forgetting for a second that she couldn't see me. "Yes, I think so. Assuming I get to them in time, what am I supposed to do about it?"

"The family voted on this, Jacob!" Wanda cut in. "You remember that night we all voted, right?"

I grimaced. "Yes, but nobody voted me the executioner! If he's unarmed, I don't think I can do that!"

"Jacob," Sadie said firmly, "forget about what we said that night, and what we voted about. We all trust you. Do whatever you think you need to do. One way or the other, I support you."

"As do we all, lover," Wanda said in resignation. "She's right. Whatever happens, you've got our votes."

"Where am I, Sadie?" I asked. I was beginning to pant. I told myself that I shouldn't be that out-of-shape. Then again, the ground was far from level, and it was just as hard for me to brake myself going downhill as it was churning uphill. Also, that vest was heavy and hot.

"You're right on course! Keep going!"

I dodged another huge tree and tried not to alter my overall course. "I don't think I'm up to making a decision like this," I muttered more to myself than others.

"Hey!" Dmitri barked. "You are Jacob Jones, Hero of de Apocalypse! De whole world rooting for you!"

I groaned loudly and stumbled out onto the surface of a gravel road. Stunned, I looked left and right, unsure. "Um... Sadie...."

"Left! About a hundred feet! Our driveway is on the left! I bombed a truck sitting between two trees so no other vehicles could get past, but they're using a truck or something to move it clear. Hurry, Jacob!"

I started running as fast as I could. I was really breathing hard. Tomorrow, I swore. I would start working out again tomorrow, no matter what! I heard the sound of a diesel engine straining at some task, and as I rounded a sharp curve to the left, there it was, just as Sadie had described it.

They were both old-fashioned looking trucks, though they had fresh paint jobs and looked very serviceable. I learned later that the military folks called them the "deuce-and-a-half," because they were rated to carry two and a half tons of cargo. They had two sets of tandem dual wheels in the back and two identical large wheels up front -- ten in all. There were obviously tow-points both in front and back, and someone had linked a tow-chain between them. The one in the back was pulling the one in front out of the way; and doing it quite effectively, as well. Already, the crumpled hulk that was the problem was well clear, and there was plenty of room for the working truck to pass. Before I could get there, a huge guy in uniform had climbed out, tossed his end of the chain aside, and was climbing back into the cab.

I got to the intersection of the two gravel roadways just as the operating vehicle started moving. The engine was revved pretty high, but the thing was just in first gear and only going a few miles per hour. I put a hand to my left side, nursing a catch in the muscles there; but I tried valiantly to ignore it. I stood up as steadily as I could, my feet square, facing the oncoming motorized monster, and I raised my stubby little weapon and aimed it at the occupants in the cab. The man in the passenger seat was relatively young, and didn't really fit the type of person you think about when you hear the word "doctor." He was probably forty, balding, overweight, and pasty-complexioned. The man in the driver's seat, for some reason, made me think of an older version of myself. A big guy. A really big guy, who some outside observer would, at first, consider to be a man of all brawn and little brains; until you looked at his eyes. And suddenly, those eyes went wide with recognition and concern. It was obvious: he had suddenly realized what kind of weapon I was holding.

And I thought: I've been here before. I was in this exact same set of circumstances back on that flower farm when good old Stan, the dumb-as-dirt low-level hoodlum was bearing down on me in the car. Since this whole thing had begun, that's the one thing - the one action - I would take back and do differently if I could; the only deed I had regretted. I didn't want to relive that moment. I couldn't.

I lowered the barrel of the little grenade launcher until I was holding it level, and I pulled the trigger. There was no hollow firing noise this time; there was only a bang. A BIG bang. The little weapon kicked like a proverbial mule, momentarily numbing my right shoulder and sending a tingling electric-like shock all the way down to my right fingertips. The "buckshot" projectiles hit the truck square in the front of the grillwork between the headlights. The large, single-piece hood blew upward from the front and wound up resting on the windshield, obscuring my view of the occupants inside. A hazy mist seemed to enshroud the entire engine compartment, and with a sound like a "whmoop!" the whole front end of the truck was engulfed in flame. As I watched, the driver's door opened.

I reached up and touched my earpiece again. "Dmitri, tell me about a guy in your unit that's built like me."

"Antony Moretti," he answered at once. "Strong. Smart. Decent. You use dat 'word of honor' crap wit him, it will definitely mean something."

I kept the same posture: feet apart, facing the truck; and I broke the breech of the grenade launcher, plucked out the spent shell casing, and tossed it nonchalantly to my right. Then I plucked another buckshot round from my bandoleer and plugged it into the chamber, never taking my eyes off the man getting out of the vehicle. He came clear of the truck, but he only glanced at me for a second; then, he slung his assault weapon over his neck and shoulder and began walking forward toward me. I readied myself for a second shot, but he turned before he got to me and went around the front of the truck toward the other side, passing only four or five feet in front of me. He wrenched open the passenger-side door, reached up and pulled the other man out of the cab, none-too-carefully. The fat guy hit the ground hard on his stomach and right side, and he groaned loudly and coughed.

Still ignoring me, the immense man walked back toward the rear end of the big truck. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I was the one holding the grenade launcher, after all. He most certainly didn't seem to care about the fire burning in the engine compartment. It was starting to get hot, and I stepped back away from it a few paces. Finally, the man came out from behind the back of the truck. He had retrieved a full-looking backpack, and he had strapped the assault weapon to the back of it somehow. It looked professional, but sort of ungainly.

Hell, if he could treat me like I wasn't really a threat, I supposed I could do the same. "Mr. Moretti, I'd like a word, if you don't mind," I told him.

Well, THAT got his attention. Now, he studied me openly. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said levelly, and he walked over to a fallen tree and sat down.

"You don't seem too intimidated by a man with a grenade launcher," I groused.

"You had us, man. You could have ended us both, and you chose not to. You're clearly not after ME. I'm a nobody. And I couldn't give a rat's ass about that douchebag. SO... you take him. I'll take a hike. End of story. But... you intrigue me. Who are you, friend?"

I sighed and lowered the barrel of the Mk-79 so that it was pointing toward the ground, and I meandered over and sat on the same tree, though not very close. "I'm Jacob Jones. And PLEASE don't give me any shit about heroes of the apocalypse."

He barked a laugh at that and studied me openly. "Who told you my name? One of the guys who walked away last night?"

I saw no reason for subterfuge with this guy. "No. It was a former compatriot of yours named Dmitri."

"Rostovich is here?" He seemed truly shaken by the news. "And Juanita Sanchez? Is... Is she okay?"

"Yes. As is one of the two Sallys. The other one is injured, but alive."

He nodded in silence, then he just sat there for a full minute. Finally, he turned to face me. "Is that comm device in your ear active? If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you turn it off for just a minute."

I was surprised by his tone of voice. I wasn't transmitting, but I reached up and tapped it on; then said: "I'm going offline for a minute."

"Wait! What's happening, Jacob!?" Sadie yelled. But I tapped it off again, then took it out of my ear and put it in my pocket.

The man nodded. "Juanita. Is she happy? After getting a good look at you, you seem like you're pretty sharp. Is she REALLY doing okay?"

And the whole situation suddenly became clear to me. I paused significantly while I considered how I was going to answer him. "Look, Mr. Moretti...."

"Tony."

"Tony. You seem like a pretty stand-up kind of guy. I could try to lie or sugar-coat it, but that just doesn't seem appropriate somehow."

"She's happy," he said with a sigh and a frown.

"She's in love. Like you. She genuinely loves the guy. No shit. That's the bitter truth of it."

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "We were an item about a year ago. She moved on. I didn't. I was hoping that being in the same unit might rekindle something. But then she met Rostovich." Standing, he stuck out his right hand toward me. "Thanks, Jacob. You may not be a hero, but you're an alright dude."

I stood and shook hands with him. "Where you going to go?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore. Without her, I really don't give a shit. I've never been on the west coast. Maybe I'll head south a ways and pick me up one of those California girls."

"What about ME?!" the fat man sitting on the ground lamented. "You've got a job to do! I've already paid you in women!"

"Don't need your ass, or your job or your women," he said, slinging his pack onto his back and adjusting the straps. "And if you'd been up-front with us about going up against Rostovich and Sanchez, you wouldn't have had a fuckin' army to begin with. Go to hell, Doc! And take your apocalypse with you!"

He started walking downhill on the unpaved state roadway and waved back over his shoulder. "See you around, Jacob."

"Nice meeting you, Tony."

I turned and looked over the scene of the Final Battle of Hazy Mountain, such as it was. The fire that had engulfed the engine of the truck had died out, but was still the source of a thin stream of dark black smoke. A sunbeam suddenly washed across the area, and I wondered what that would have signified if this had been some sort of novel or something. A new beginning maybe? No, that would be too trite. Rather than guessing about inanities, I gave my attention to the fat man sitting on the ground. He was rubbing a spot just above his right hip and scrutinizing me as if I was a bug in a collection. I dug out the earpiece from my pocket and activated it.

"I've got our prisoner," I told everyone. "We're going to start back to the farm."

"What happened to our other bad guy?" Sadie said, too loudly. It struck me that her voice quavered, like she had been crying.

"As it turned out, he wasn't such a bad guy, after all," I told her gently. "Everything wound up okay. I'm sorry I shut you out for a minute, Sadie. I didn't mean to upset you. I love you."

There was a long period of silence that stretched into an even longer period. Just as I was starting to think that maybe something was wrong with my transmitter, she said: "I love you, too. And Wanda's right. You ARE a big oaf!"

"We're starting back down the mountain," Juanita's voice announced. "We should be there in ten minutes."

"Take your time," I told them. "It turned out to be a nice day for a walk. I think we'll hike back."

"All de way up de mountain?" Dmitri asked.

"Sure. I've been telling myself I really need to start exercising again."

I walked over until I was towering over Hyphen. "On your feet, dude."

"Don't call me 'dude,' you insignificant...."

I hit him on the head with the side of the gun's barrel.

"OW!" He scrambled to his feet and backed away from me, one hand rubbing his head and the other massaging the spot above his hip. "Why did you hit me? Only a moron would...."

I took one step forward and hit him again exactly the same way.

He turned and ran from me, fortuitously in the direction of their old camp. I grinned and jogged after him, catching up to him before he entered the encampment. When he turned to look behind him, he physically jumped in fright to find that I was within striking distance.

"Don't hit me! Why are you hitting me?"

I gave him my best glare. It probably wasn't much. I obviously needed to practice my glaring. "You were not addressing me with proper respect," I told him quietly.

"Respect? Why would I respect you? You're only an overgrown child!" He tried to duck, but the move came too late. "OW! Stop! Please stop hitting me!"

"Age and intelligence quotients hold no bearing on the nature of respect when it comes to the relationship between prisoners and their guards," I told him quietly. I pointed toward the driveway leading up the mountain. "That way. Walk."

He took a few tentative steps in that direction. "Prisoner? What gives you the right to.... OW! Alright! Alright! I respect you!" Something in his tone of voice made me question the sincerity of that last utterance. He picked up his pace.

"You ordered your little mercenary army to kill me and all my friends. You lost. I won. Do you truly not understand the distinction between the victorious and the defeated, or the rights one holds over the other? Or perhaps, instead of studying the association between the prisoner and the jailer, you would care to examine the relationship between the executioner and the condemned."

His eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw it: terror. And this wasn't just the fear of pain; he was suddenly cognizant of the fact that his life was in serious jeopardy. "I only wanted the chance to talk to Doctor Greenflow."

I barked a laugh at that. "And out of all the various forms of communication, you chose 'assault and annihilate?' Somehow that just doesn't ring true. Pick up the pace, will you? I don't want to miss dinner."

"Where are you taking me? You can't possibly mean for us to WALK up this mountain!"

"Earlier today, you sent six of YOUR men walking up this mountain!"

"But they were military men! That's what they're trained to do!"

"Well, here's your chance to put in a little training time. And just think of the sense of accomplishment! Why, I'm practically giddy at the concept!"

He bit back a retort and marched on.

Two vehicles came close to wiping us out. The first one was the SUV that Dmitri and his warriors had arrived in, and he slammed on the brakes just as soon as he saw us; but it was still a very near thing. Close behind him, however, was the minivan that we picked up on the way to our town council meeting in Acton the day we rescued Sadie. Wanda was driving, and she, too, hit the brakes hard when she saw that her leader had stopped in the middle of the road. The two cars actually tapped bumpers, but catastrophe was otherwise averted.

Wanda jumped out of the van and threw herself into my arms, kissing me passionately. Hyphen glared at us. He had clearly put quite a bit of practice into glaring. He certainly had it down pat. After smooching to her heart's content, Wanda did a little glaring herself. "THIS little piss-ant is the Evil Doctor Hyphen?!" she gushed. "I have GOT to share this with the other girls! Stand right there, lover." She pointed, and like an idiot, I complied. By the time I figured out what she meant to do, she had pulled out her phone and taken the picture. (There weren't enough people left in our whole world to lend numbers to what the internet had once called "viral," but that picture would come pretty close, proportionately. I would one day find myself very bemused to find it in one of my kid's middle-school online history texts.)

Dmitri and Wanda continued to the camp and picked up the entire population that was left down there. When we saw them again as they were making their drive back up, Hyphen begged me to allow him to ride the rest of the way with them; but there clearly wasn't enough room, even if I had consented.

Hyphen did not suffer well. Three times, he started to bemoan the unfairness and bad luck that had led to this abysmal state of affairs; but he always stopped himself, fearing retaliation. By now, I had stopped abusing the pitiful man, just as I continued to find no need to restrain him in any way. I don't believe the thought of either escape or confronting me physically ever crossed his mind. However, the pathetic creature simply refused to shut up. I came to the conclusion that he couldn't survive without hearing the sound of his own voice. More than once, I simply tuned out the blather.

After more than an hour, we finally came in sight of the clearing and the fence surrounding the farm and lodge. Even then, he wouldn't be silenced. Why, oh why, hadn't it worked? He'd done everything right! He never expected military professionals to either oppose him or defect from his ranks! How could he have foreseen this completely unanticipated outcome?

"Okay, look, doc," I told him seriously. "You might have had the smarts to come up with a quantum engineering principle or two, but you obviously lack the cognitive ability to understand basic administrative skills. If you don't give your people the same recognition and respect that you yourself demand, then they'll rebel, or quit, or get even. Just like you would do. You were so caught up with punishing Sadie that you completely lost sight of what mattered. Not only doesn't she give a shit about you now, she never took any interest to begin with. She has always considered you beneath her; in intellect, in ability, and in basic human quality. It's not that she doesn't respect you; she just doesn't care about you."