A Abba's Apocalypse (25 page)

distance between us and them, while giving us a chance to catch our breaths. I don’t want to stop just yet. I want to be at least five blocks away from them, with as much random trail covering our tracks as possible.

              We again turn right at the end of this alley and chance going two blocks down this time. I keep Tiffany at my side as we move along in a duck, cover and observe maneuver. I whisper as we approach the intersection, “We’ll rest as soon as we make it to the next alley.” Tiffany has been really great keeping up and following everything I’ve done. We stop momentarily at the intersection and hide next to a utility pole. I see it’s been snapped in half with the other part dangling ten feet to our right. I don’t see anything in this direction except some small craters in the street. I look left and see movement that startles me. It takes my mind a second to distinguish that it is the shadow cast be the swinging utility pole. I grab Tiffany’s hand and move across the intersection. My heart’s still racing by the sudden scare.

              As we near Tiffany begins to steer me into the alley. I whisper to her, “No honey, we have one more block.” I see the exhaustion on her face and the drops of cold sweat streaming down her face. I reinforce her fortitude with a “thumbs up” and a quirky smile. Her pace hastens in her determination to keep up with me. She looks at me as if she wants to ask me something important. Instead of acknowledging her urgent request, I instead give her the “shhh” sign with my finger over my lips warning her to be extremely quiet. The reason is that we’re approaching the next intersection. She bites her lip and ducks with me next to a covered heap of something. I peek out past it to observe my right flank, while getting a good whiff of the pungent remains under the tarp. This section of street seems clear, so I look left. All I see are just more craters and debris. I pull Tiffany away, and try to leave the smell behind. I have a good idea what is under the tarp rotting, but I block the thought from my mind for now. Tiffany is breathing heavy again as we make to the alleyway. I immediately begin

looking for the closes cover for us to rest.

              I find a big dead bush that has a gap between it and a stack of discarded bathtubs. We scoot in between them and sit. I can barely see anything except our dark figures. I take my rucksack off and use it as a pillow for Tiffany to lean against. She continues to breathe hard and fast, so I use my controlled breathing technique to slow it down. My hand proceeds to slide into my sack and fidget for the canteen while I ask her what she was trying to tell me earlier. She is still too out of breath to talk. She leans slightly forward and unties her shoe, and then removes it while pointing to the answer to my question. I hear her responds as she dumps her shoe out. Several fairly large pebbles bounce off the asphalt as Tiffany nods her head up and down in the dark. I tell her, “What a trooper,” while feeling guilty for the pain I put her through. I decide we’ll take one more minute to rest. In the meantime, I do some calculations while Tiffany catches her breath.

              I place us around fifteen blocks away from “Project Hope.” The chill is setting in as we cool off. I am getting the shivers and think it’s unusually cold tonight. I check my watch to find it is a little after eight. The current chill at this time of day suggests the temperature is going below freezing tonight. I look at Tiffany and see the waves of body heat floating up. My leather jacket she is wearing is tough and light, but it’s not design to keep the heat in. I try not to let her know just how cold I am without my jacket. After evaluating the situation, I decide there’s no way we’ll be able to make back to “H” before hypothermia sets in. I rise up and immediately start looking for the closes place to bed for the night. I turn and tell Tiffany “It’s time to ‘move out’.”

              A fog is forming. It’s hard to see the fog in the dark, but I can feel the dark dampness floating over me. My soaked undershirt tingles with the thick moisture, and I smell the fresh bite in the air. Tiffany stands and reacts to the cold by wrapping her arms around herself. I conclude this must be a

fast moving cold front suddenly moving into town. We start walking as I pan the surroundings for LD and a place to stay. I don’t know how long it will take to find suitable cover for the rest of the night, so I keep my intentions a secret. It’s better to keep moving for now. The asphalt is slick with dew that is helping soften the crunching sound of the meteorite fragments.

              We travel two blocks before I see a possible spot. The fog is getting real thick now. Visibility is down to a half a block. I just wish it wasn’t so darn cold. This would make perfect cover to travel in. It’s also a perfect setting to come across an unexpected Demon. We stop then stoop in the alley, as I see a small dwelling through the missing fence slats. “I want you to wait here while I check on something.” Tiffany pulls her knees in and leans her head over her bent legs. She looks like a giant hairball in the dark. I set my rucksack next to Tiffany, and then cautiously step through the gap in the fence. I proceed to very quietly sneak up to the small dwelling. I silently chuckle to realize what the fog disguised as a small building. I bend down to view inside this fairly large doghouse. “What a perfect bed and breakfast,” I whisper. I return to retrieve Tiffany from out of the cold foggy darkness.

              “I found us a place for the night girly.” I grab her cold clammy hand along with my rucksack. I observe and judge how hard this place might be to detect from the alley as we cut our way through the ubiquitous cloud around us. I whisper as we arrive at the doghouse, “Welcome to my humble abode.” I can’t tell if she is shaking her head in disbelief, or if it is due to the chill. I reach inside and turn my flashlight on to see cobwebs, dust, a cloth mat, and a metal dog bowl. I toss my sack towards the back wall and quickly wipe the webs away with my twirling arm and flashlight. “Come on in,” I whisper, “And make yourself at home.” I prop the flashlight so it faces towards the back wall, and then open my rucksack. I tell Tiffany to wait at the entrance, so she’ll block any light from

escaping. I center the smelly mat in the middle of the floor. The wet air brings back the mat’s memories of a wet dog odor. But, it will help keep us warm.

              I reach into my sack and pull out a roll of 30 gallon black plastic trash bags, courtesy of Scotty. I inform Tiffany these things have many purposes. I tear one off the roll and make a door cover to seal in the light and our body heat. With a English accent I state, “I figure the doghouse is six feet long by four feet wide, and,” I raise my hand horizontally to guess a measure, “Four feet high.” I try and keep Tiffany’s mind off the cold using my favorite secret weapon-humor. It has gotten me through many hard times. I hand her the canteen and a protein bar while opening one for myself. “Drink,” I gently command her. I want to make sure she stays hydrated. I place the protein bar in my mouth as I grab the dog bowl. While chewing, I use my other hand to grab a “Tuna” can concoction I made back at “H.” “This, young lady, is our heater for tonight. This is what you call homemade ‘Canned Heat’.” I light the can and set it in the dog bowl in the middle of the floor. I proceed to give her a survival class, while I rip off another trash bag. “The can contains rolled up corrugated cardboard and melted coloring crayons and a dab of vegetable oil. Melted paraffin works best, but candle wax is hard to find now a days. This little baby will burn about four hours, heating this fine establishment in no time.” Tiffany seems amused at my repugnant but eloquent English humor.

              The light from the “Canned Heat” allows me to save the battery life in my flashlight. I tear three holes in the bag, and then quietly shake it open. I watch her nibble the remaining portion of her protein bar as I tell her, “Excuse me madam while I dress for the occasion.” I slip my new plastic jacket over my head and on my body. I fumble my invisible tie while asking her, “Is this tie suitable with my suit?” She almost chokes laughing. I hand her a bag and tell her to put it on under her jacket. I inform her it will keep moisture out and more of her body heat in. I unroll two more sheets and rip

them from the roll. “Here is my precious Egyptian cotton sheet.” I tear another two sheets off the roll and tell her, “And, this is your copious plush blanket.” I lay it over her legs and slide it up till it covers her chest, while shaking it slightly. “Yes my lady. If you wouldn’t mine; please hold this.” After she grabs it, I spread my sheet of plastic over me and proceed to brace myself up against the opposing wall. In just a few minutes we are warm as toast.

              “On a more serious note,” I state. I cautiously and compassionately advance in asking her certain questions, but I am curious to know how she survived the last month alone. “I’d like to know more about how you got inside that hole.” Tiffany starts explaining where she left off. It seems Tiffany and doctor dad were abundantly prepared for the end of the world in their basement. By her description though, it was more like a house underground. She tells me there were loud explosion one day, followed by their place being torn apart. I figure I know what caused it. I remember the jets shooting missiles that day. Tiffany cries as she explains how she survived, but daddy didn’t.

              I’m not able to figure out if this bombing was intentional, or if they were just random casualties of the New California Air Guard assault on Irreverent. I am able to figure out the basement was not designed to be a bomb shelter. I learn that she eventually was able to crawl up and out of the rubble she called home. The first thing she saw was the entire neighborhood flattened. She had no place to go so she just hung around surviving on the little food and water she rummaged out of the debris. I reason, she must have been living that way for over a month. I guess she was foraging when she slide down a pile of debris into the hole. It seems this caused the pile to loosen and avalanche the surrounding rubble over her, sealing her in. She believes she was trapped in her cold dark confinement two days before I found her.

              Tiffany’s recollection takes a toll on her emotionally.

She tries not to cry, but I can see the flood gates opening. I

slide alongside her and toss my right arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry honey; I’ll take care of you.” I inform her we need to get some shut eye. I help her to lie down on one side of the heater, while I lie down on the other side. I pull my rucksack under my head, and then prop my hands behind it. I prepare myself to rest rather than to sleep. I want to be alert to any unusual sounds. As for Tiffany, she tucks the plastic in around herself, and then asks me, “So, what happen to the goblin?”  I quietly smile and think how she is still a child at heart. “If you promise to go to sleep, I’ll tell you.” She rolls on her side and slides her “praying hands” pillow under her head, and then attentively waits for my finale.

              I tilt my head slightly towards Tiffany and say, “Now, where was I? Was it at the snowy part or the rainy part?” I reach my left hand around and begin tapping my index finger on my chin acting like I’m trying to remember. “It was the part where the kind little girl went to cheer the sad goblin,” Tiffany emphatically states. “Shhh, you go to sleep,” I warn her. “Okay then. The kind little girl knocks and asks, ‘Won’t you please let me in nice goblin’?” I continually stare at this fine young lady as I tell the story. My heart feels her sorrow and her pain. I think how she might possibly be about the age of my daughter; if I ever had one. “The goblin grew tired of her bothersome knocking and honored her request by opening the door. The kind girl thanked her and said ‘We’re sorry for treating you so mean’. The goblin’s pitiful tears soon changed in to ones of joy and tenderness.” I watch Tiffany’s innocent eye lids tucking in her tired eye balls slowly “goodnight.” I softly speak, “The goblin hoisted the little darling to her shoulders and proudly proceed to the harvest festival. Along the way, she made a giant beautiful Harvest Moon for all to enjoy.” Tiffany looks as if she is sound asleep. I lean over and whisper, “The townsfolk welcome her with open arms and hug her. They had a wonderful time together. From then on they always remember to pay tribute to the goblin.” Real softly I whisper in her ear, “And, all the world was right.”

Oh so softly, I kiss her head and whisper, “Goodnight honey.”

              I lay here and listen to the sounds in the night. I meditate in the stillness supplicating my prayer of protection with God. There are distant sounds amidst this extraordinary quietness the fog brings. I figure the laden drenched dew is causing teetering debris to lose its battle with gravity. The occasional intermittent sounds are preceded by a symphonic concerto of subtle screeching sounds. The lurking clandestine evil mixture of the night makes me feel like I am the ghost “Eric” from “Phantom of the Opera.” I try fighting to remain alert, but the sirens of the mysterious mist sweetly serenade me to a finer time.

              I find myself floating free through this temporal tunnel in time. I stand at attention on a sunny summer’s day. I hear the General end his ceremonial speech with, “You should be proud of your achievement soldiers. Will you please help me in congratulating these top graduates?” I stand perfectly still in this darn heat wondering when I’ll be able to swipe the sweat burning my irritated eyes. Then, the applause and pride tackle me in a joyful sea of cap tossing cadets. I improvise and turn my cap in to a handkerchief before I exalt it to the sky. I feel the pats, and grasp hands slaps, as I stare off towards the distant shore. I see joyous family members ride the crest of this approaching tsunami. A multitude of outstretched chaotic arms are flung, or flinging, to rescue my fellow comrades with their hugs and kisses. I brave the wave and push through it, as I am blinded by the bright blaring sunshine sparkling off a million small brass mirrors. “Mom, Sis!” I call to them. I watch helplessly as they are caught in the undertow of the floating frenzy. I twist, turn, and struggle through the wave that’s battling to keep us apart. I raise my arms as a guiding beacon to let them know, “I’m over here!” Again, their wonderful faces bob up from the approaching surf. I hysterical hoist them a tow line by tossing my right arm, and open hand over the top of the wave. “Grab my hand momma!” I scream. Firmly secure, I tenderly pull momma and my sister