A Abba's Apocalypse (26 page)

towards my embrace.

              “Honey, I am so, so, so proud of you” momma tells me. I can hear her quiet whimper vibrate off my chest as this sea constantly roars with loud pounding voices. My sister tries repeatedly to tell me something, but she is frustrated in the futility of her drowning words. I see off in the distance a peaceful island. I hold tight while jerking us in and out of the waves to this secret secluded paradise.

              We finally reach this tropical bastion surrounded by the shady underside of the bleachers. Sis yells, “I tried to say-I knew you could do it!” She abruptly wraps her present of love around my formal wool attire. This is surely a treat, and something I’m not use to from her. I want to return the appreciation, but she refuses to retire her salute long enough for me to embrace her. Mom joins the festivity finding just enough room to maneuver between us and the bleacher. I surrender in the serenity of this surreal memory. A strange sound permeates the moment. I hurry to reach under their embraces and secure them. I will never let them go, but this ruthless noise behind me tears me from them.

              I see darkness and feel my cold hands rubbing my eyes awake. I hear a voice and several footsteps coming down the alleyway. I freeze in fear within the cold dark damp quiet. I’m very careful not to make a sound. The noise stops. I hear a slow creaking sound and the rubbing of moist wood sliding on a lubricated surface. I now hear a slow crunching sound; similar to the sound of first steps on fresh packed snow. I promptly determine the dead grass is frozen outside and someone is coming through the gap in the fence. I remain still hoping we’ll go unnoticed.

              The steady stepping of the crunching sound slowly encroaches upon us. “Think, think!” I tell myself. I try and formulate a possible weapon, while I frantically joust with the decision to wake Tiffany, or not. Swiftly, I decide “no” to the latter, and my flashlight and penknife to the former idea. The sound is creeping around the doghouse as I prepare my

weapons. I methodically maneuver into position at the entrance. The sound stops on the other side of the plastic curtain. My whole body is in overdrive of its “fight or flight” nature. I elevate my shaking flashlight, preparing the first part of my plan. Hopefully, I will temporally blind it long enough to stab a vital part of it. It just stands there waiting.

              Leathery fingers move to my side of the plastic, and then slowly pull at it. I see its legs are covered with unusually fine material immediately confusing my logic. I patiently wait for that most opportune moment when the curtain reveals the face of this foe. I time turning on my flashlight. I see a dark face appear from behind the plastic.  I shine my light at it, and then I stab at it. I blind it and see it fall away from my swipe. It slams backward on the ground as I hear Tiffany jump up. I race to leap on it attempting to cut its jugular vein. I shove my light in its face and pause. I don’t see a brand on his head. I just see someone who looks as scared as me. “Who are you?” I demand! I hold my cold steel blade against his throat as I force my light further in his face. Shaking under my restraint he mutters, “I’m Irreverent Militia.”

              By this time Tiffany is standing next to me with her own weapon posed to afflict it on the intruder. She is holding a stone in the air ready to smash it down. I signal her with my hand to wait, as I offer him my hand. “My name is Joey and this is Tiffany. We’re Irreverent too.” I assist him up and silently instruct him to follow us back inside. He tells me, “By the way, I’m Doug.” We move back inside the tiny cramped cold quarters and fight to find a spot to sit. I replace the plastic door and light another heater. As the light and heat grows, I ask Doug questions while he explains why he’s here. 

              “I saw muddy footprint heading up the alley leading to the hole in the fence. I knew the tracks were fresh,” Doug informs us. I figure the moisture and all the meteorite dust gave us away. He goes on telling us how he’s part of a group going around town trying to find others to recruit. The fog seems to have provided them a good opportunity for their

purpose. There are six others with him that are currently searching some house near the intersection a half block away. He saw the footprints and thought he’d investigate.

              I tell Doug about “Project Hope.” I tell him about its purpose and mine. He informs me that he is actually from Liberty Falls. I never really thought about the name of the town before, but it is kind of ironic now. This is a town approximately fifty miles away. That is where the headquarters of their operation is located. They have only a few weapons to defend themselves, but they’ve made swords and knives. They are in contact with another Irreverent militia further north. That militia has been able to pilfer supplies and weapons by ambushing “Trinity” military affiliates. They’re stock piling the weapons until they have enough Irreverent to take on the enemy.

              I hear several people crunching this way on the asphalt as Doug peeks out the plastic. He whispers towards them, “Over here.” I ask him if he has military experience while we wait for the others to arrive. He laughs at me, and then tells me “No.” His specialty is homemade steam and methane powered electric generators. Doug explains how he helps hiding Irreverent by creating electricity for pumping well water. He tells me he uses abandon satellite dishes covered with foil from things like empty potato chip bags. He then glues it to the dish surface. This concentrates the Sun’s heat on any hanging black metal container full of water. The dish uses reflected sunlight, which gets the pot to over 300 degrees. The intense heat forces steam out a nail size hole on top. The steam turns PVC blades installed on any direct current generator creating electricity; much like what Moses built. He also makes methane powered generators out of lawnmower engines. This type of DC generator is powered by capturing methane gas from the tops of septic tanks. He tells me he’ll show me how it’s done sometime. I tell Doug sometime I’ll show him how to put a “sleeper hold” on someone and knock him unconscious in less than ten seconds. We agree with a

hand shake while saying, “It’s a deal.”

              Doug slides over the plastic curtain to show his approaching brothers our location. I can see they are all fairly well dressed for the weather, wearing really decent clothing. I ask him what they have on. This strikes me as odd. I haven’t seen anyone with clean new clothing in a long time. Doug opens his black rain coat and shows me he’s wearing the old olive drab U.S Army fatigues. He explains they were able to gather a load of military wear from the big surplus store in his town. “And, that’s not all,” he tells us.

              We move outside and introduce ourselves as quietly as possible. One of his comrades sees me shivering and compassionately gives me the sweater he’s wearing under his jacket. I hurry and slide it over my plastic bag; a.k.a. jacket, and rub my arms with its supplied body warmth. I check the time and find that the sun will be rising in about an hour. The last two of his militia walk hurriedly towards us as I put on my rucksack. Tiffany slides the extinguished heater back in my sack then tries patting her hair down in place. One of Doug’s associates alerts us that he heard voices coming this way. They sound as if they are still about three blocks away. We all hustle down the alley while slicing the cold fog in the opposite direction those voices were reported coming from. We say our goodbyes at the intersection of the alleyway and the street, and we plan to me up later at “H.” They are traveling south, and we’re heading west.

              The fog seems even thicker here. We make it to the intersection of the streets as the fog temporarily reveals the name on street sign. I remember my grade school was just a few hundred feet down from this intersection. I take this thick fog in to consideration and decide it’s too dangerous to travel. We’re likely to fall in a crater, or come upon an LD before we even know it. Plus, I think the school might be a place to pick up some rudimentary things I’ve been wanting. I decide we’ll hide at the school till the fog lifts. We turn and head towards the school.

              I swing open the rusty wrought iron gate that’s been unlocked for many years now. I immediately feel the rush of so many good memories flow over me. Now the place looks like the decrepit mansion on the hill from “Citizen Cane.” We maneuver up the shattered concrete steps leading us inside the main corridor. I shine my light carefully towards the floor and look around. The roof is gone, for the most part, and many of the walls have caved in. I try and locate the stairwell that leads down to the place where I am hoping will have what I am looking for. I look at Tiffany and notice she is barely able to keep awake. This will also probably be a good spot for her to nap for a few more hours. I see the lower entrance exactly where I remember it, but it is mostly hidden by leaning broken book cases in the main hallway. We slide carefully behind them and attempt to descend to the lower level.

              There is just one obstacle hindering our descent. It’s nothing that will stop us though. The hand rails are missing, but all the stairs are still intact. The metal stairs have fared much better than any part of the building I’ve seen so far. Tiffany asks, “Where are we going?” I tell her, “To the ‘Janitor’s Room’.”

              We make it down to the bottom of the stairwell. I face the light towards where I remember the room being. I recollect it being at the end of this hall just past this litter of broken desks, and the protruding roots sticking out from the cracked walls. I try not to say anything that might scare Tiffany, but this feels like a horror movie. It looks like a crucible filled with grabbing arms reaching out trying to snatch us. I get the “he bee gee bees” walking around these things. I pray along the way the thick metal door to the “Janitor’s Room” is unlocked. I sigh in relief to find it is.

              I open the door to an orchestra of screeching violins and tell Tiffany to wait here for a minute. I proceed inside while wiping away a zillion cob webs with my spinning arm and flashlight. I carve a path down the steps, and then call

Tiffany to come in. I shine the light up to the door to watch Tiffany reluctantly descend the darken flight of metal stairs. “Yep, just as I remember it,” I tell her. “I use to come here and talk to old George the janitor. This is a combination room. There are the boilers,” I move my flashlight to show her, “And, there is George’s nap room.” I walk behind the boiler to the closet not expecting to find anything, but I see the bed old George would hide out and nap in. I think about him every now and then. He might have been a bit lackadaisical, but he was a superfluous body of wisdom. He took me under his wing teaching me a lot of wise things about life. I reach in my sack and retrieve some “Canned Heat.” I light it and place it on a small end table next to George’s old napping bed. I invite Tiffany to rest as I swipe the dust away from the bedding. I cough, but she seems too tired to care. “Sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll get you up in a little while.” After I help her get situated, I head out to find some goodies.

              I try and remember where the school supplies were kept as I journey back towards the stairs. I stop in one of the old class rooms along my way and find the first ingredient on my “wish list.”  I see the chalk that is still in the slot at the base of the chalkboard. I gather all I can find, and then place it in my hand. I see the teacher’s overturned desk and check inside it. I find three unopened boxes of the white stuff, and a “baggie” to put it in. I think, “Life is good!” I continue gathering all of it while placing it in the baggie. I seal it and then slide it into my rucksack. I stand here a moment reverently recalling my childhood memories of a sweeter time before moving back out into the dark scary hallway.

              I jostle by the debris in my attempt to make it to the far end of the dark dirty corridor. I occasionally stop in other classrooms along my way checking for items I on my “wish list.” I find more chalk and crayons, and eventually the supply room. “Ah, rock salt and filters.” The school stored bags of the salt to melt winter ice off the exterior steps. I also find “air conditioning filters.” They contain activated carbon. I fill a bag

full of the rock salt and place it in my sack. I proceed to tear open a couple filters to scrape out the black gold. I collect all of it in the other baggie, and also stash it in my rucksack. I decide this should about complete my mission.

              I return to the “Janitor’s Room” and see the first morning light as I pass the main stairwell. I check the time and see it’s just after sunrise. I begin feeling the toll from yesterday’s activity and the excitement of this past night. I clang my way down the short metal stairs while coming to the decision to catch some “shut eye” myself. I find a spot next to the old boiler, which I’ll use as my pillow for the next couple hours. My exhaustion relaxes me to sleep in this most uncomfortable position. I cross my arms and close my heavy eyes for a short nap.

              I hear laughter and someone calling me. “Joey; I’m over here.” Out of the dark comes this tall old black man who I immediately recognize. It’s old George! He’s waving to me to come and visit him in his office below. I see him smiling and giggling with anticipation as I approach him. “How are you doing my little friend?” His guiding arm wraps around my tiny shoulders, and then accompanies me down his polished steps. This place always smells so clean with its mixture of pine scent and cleaning supply perfume. I notice the buffed shine of the boilers and feel their perfect warmth radiating throughout George’s comfortable office. “So what cha learn today?” he asks me. I reluctantly reply, “I don’t know.” He immediately reminds me, “Every day is a wonderful gift from God.” I look at his starched and well pressed overalls, while I ponder his words. I always feel like more than I am, around George. He is like the father I wish I could have. Mine died last year. “You’re gonna be a scientist, or a doctor, or some fine author. You’re gonna write books and change the world one day. You just wait and see. So, don’t tell me you didn’t learn anything today.” George opens his metal lunch pail and retrieves a pair of small cakes that I can see through the cellophane wrapping. He opens the pack as I stare in wonder