Tourists of the Apocalypse (14 page)

“You can’t be serious.”

“This is going to make the Black Plague look like Woodstock,” she proclaims. “The Technology boom of the Industrial Revolution exploded the population beyond the capacity of mother nature. Fossil fuels created machines to harvest, fertilizers to grow and allowed transportation of food over great distances. That’s all over now. People are going to starve Dylan.”

“That can’t be.”

“Little known fact,” she lectures. “The average distance anything you buy at the grocery store has travelled from inception to the shelf is 1,500 miles.”

“Meaning?”

“No more trucks, trains or planes to move anything,” she argues. “Unless you live on a dairy farm, you’re not getting any milk in your morning coffee. Unless you butcher a cow today, you’re not eating a steak.”

“I’m sure the government will step in. There has to be some contingency for this.”

“What government?” she snorts. “No radios or communication of any kind. As I stated already, there are no planes, trains or cars to carry messages. Local governments will keep it together until people realize help is not coming then it’s every man for himself. Welcome to the
End-of-Days
.”

I’m trying to take this in when I realize Izzy knew this was going to happen.
Did she and her people cause this? Is that why she is so calm?
If this is the case, why would anyone commit mass genocide?

“How did you know all this?”

“That’s a long and sordid story,” she chuckles. “The real problem is what we do now.”

“You did this,” I blurt out, backing away from her into the room. “Lance and Graham did this. You’re all terrorists.”

“Hardly,” she snorts. “We are more akin to a travel agency. Hell, I’m basically a tour guide.”

I feel faint and sit down on the bed. She comes over and sits next to me, putting her head on my shoulder. I want to ask her what she means, but I can’t really deal with any more information. Randall and Derrick suddenly burst into the room. Their excitement is palpable.

“Dude, are you seeing this nonsense?” Randall blurts out. “It’s the end of the world out there.”

I nod, finding his choice of words ironic.

“Come on Bro,” he begs. “We are gonna drive over to the plane crash and see what’s up.”

“Charred corpses and tiny bottles of vodka,” Derrick exclaims in a ghoulish way.

“Your Jeep runs,” I inquire, raising an eyebrow at Izzy as if this debunks her claim.

“Yeah, it’s crazy huh. No one’s cars will start, but the Rocky’s running fine,” Derrick brags, using his pet name for his jeep.

Izzy leans into my ear and whispers. It’s very clear from her tone that she’s not interested in the macabre visuals offered by my friends. She tells me to let them go so we can start planning how to get home. Since I have no interest in a ghoulish expedition to a plane crash site, I send them off. They grab some of their stuff and bail. I stand in the doorway and watch them drive away. Rocky is the only vehicle moving.

“Why does the Jeep run and the other cars don’t?”

“Must be older,” she explains, coming up behind me and putting her arm around my waist. “What year is it?”

“No idea, but older, maybe seventies.”

“Before say seventy-five most vehicles used a mechanical distributer. After that they had electronic ignitions. Older vehicles will be unaffected by the pulse.”

“Lucky them.”

“You don’t want to be driving around letting everyone know your car runs,” she advises. “Over the next few days people are going to want to commandeer those vehicles. In a few weeks they will be killing over them.”

“But you have a car.” I propose, assuming this is the case given what she knows.

“Yup, but it’s parked around the corner in the employee lot.”

“What year?”

“Eighty-eight Mercury,” she reveals. “The distributers been swapped out with a mechanical one. All the electronics are gone. She won’t be a problem.”

“But we can’t drive it and risk drawing attention.”

“We’ll leave at night. We have a week till it starts getting sketchy out there. The highways will be crawling with stranded people for a few days so we can’t go now. Everyone will be standing out there trying to get a ride. We wait two days and let them walk into the towns along the highway, then see how far we can get. Honestly I don’t know if we can make it back or not.”

“If that’s true why come?”

She turns me towards her and tosses her arms around my neck. Leaning on tip toe she kisses me and smiles. It would appear my not going home may have doomed us.
Does she really care enough to risk this?
I suppose her being here answers that question by itself. As confusing as this is the thought calms me. This is a mess, but it appears my wish has been granted. We are out of the reach of Lance, free to explore whatever this is.
Why on Earth would I want to go back?

“What cha thinking about?” she whispers, still hanging from my neck.

“Just taking it in,” I admit, kissing her on the forehead. “What are we going to do for two days?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” she answers rhetorically, letting go of me and walking back to the bed.

I watch as she pulls her hoodie over her head and drops it to the floor, revealing no shirt, just her black lace bra. When I don’t move in her direction immediately she unbuttons her jeans and starts wiggling out of them. Further explanation is unnecessary and I peel off my shirt and start over to the bed.

“You gonna shut the door,” she muses, kicking her jeans in my direction.

“Yeah,” I utter, feeling stupid, but stop to slam the door, turn the deadbolt and put on the chain just in case my friends return.

When I look back she’s already climbed on the bed and rolled over onto her back. Raising her arms over her head, she stretches. The sight of this makes me weak in the knees.
Two days might not be long enough
.

…

That evening we are dragged from the bed by the intoxicating scent of hamburgers cooking on a grill outside. With the power down, the coffee shop fired up some charcoal grills and is making the best of it. We dress and wander out to find a moderate line of young people waiting for burgers. Joining the line, we see a sign indicating burgers are four dollars. For an additional dollar you can add a bag of chips. Warm beers are being offered for two dollars and seem to be selling quite well. It’s a cash only business, but before I can rifle my pockets Izzy pulls out a money clip with bills an inch thick. Peeling off two twenties, she slips them in my hand and winks.

“Money is going to be worthless inside a week,” she warns me. “Once people realize the powers not coming back on other things will gain value.”

“Like what?”

“Bullets and cigarettes,” she smirks, but then pauses, staring at my face. “You think I’m kidding?”

“I wish the answer to that question was yes.”

When we get to the front of the line, Izzy orders four burgers with chips and eight beers. The guy taking the money explains in great detail that it’s one per person. A whispered exchange occurs then Izzy peels off two more twenties and tells him to keep the change. This appeases him and we take the food to go in paper bags. There’s several picnic tables on the beach behind our room, but the three closest are taken. Izzy pulls out her wad once again and pays a hundred bucks for the two young couples at the closest table to sit elsewhere. I’m flabbergasted by this until she reminds me that the cash won’t be worth anything soon. We sit across from each other feasting on burgers and warm beer until sunset. When we can’t eat anymore she comes around to my side and curls up next to me. It’s the perfect end to the perfect day for me as we watch the purple and orange haze disappear over the line where the ocean meets the sky.

“Care to tell me how you know what’s happening?” I whisper, sitting behind her with my chin on her shoulder.

“Not really.”

“Why not?” I pout.

“You won’t believe me.”

“How do you know?” I balk, biting her ear.

“I just do,” she snorts, pulling her head away and slapping at me.

“You can start by defining the term
Fail Safe
?” I whisper in her ear.

She grows quiet, her body tensing up under my arms.
Is she lost in thought or trying to sort out what she can and can’t tell me?
I wait, but after five minutes my urge to press her fades away.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You won’t understand
Fail Safe
unless you know where I’m from,” she croaks out, turning her face to mine. “You should have read my letter.”

“I know.”

“You sure you want to know this now? We’re having such a nice time. I’d hate to sour the mood.”

I nod, wanting desperately to know why this is happening. Izzy stands up and paces around in the sand. I wait her out in the darkness that has followed the sunset. There are no lights to speak of. The stars provide enough light to walk by, but anything more than ten feet away is a shadow. Two small bonfires burn down the beach and candles light many of the motel windows behind us.

“Remember when I said I was a tour guide?” she quizzes me, suddenly very serious.

“Yes, as opposed to a terrorist.”

“We aren’t that,” she assures me. “Lance, Graham, T-Buck, Cain, Abel and myself all technically work for the same
Travel Agency
,” she explains, using air quotes.

“What about Mr. Dibble?”

“He’s the client,” she points at me. “The traveler so to speak.”

“Interesting, so where is he going on vacation?”

“Not where,” she shrugs, coming over to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’s more a question of when.”

“Lost me,” I shrug.

“Dylan, we brought him here from the future,” she discloses, watching me closely as she does. “It’s a time-travel vacation.”

I scoff, but she exhales and blows a puff of air, ruffling her bangs. This is a habit of hers when she’s annoyed. I have seen her do it a bunch of times around Lance, and a few around me. I put up both hands to slow her down.

“What’s to see here?” I beg, unsure I believe her last statement, but positive more information is necessary.

“Look around,” she remarks, waving a hand down the beach. “This is mankind’s undoing. You are bearing witness to the demise of enlightenment and the beginning of the next Dark Ages.”

“And Mr. Dibble paid to come see this?”

“The futures no picnic Dylan,” she reveals, rolling her eyes. “But yes, it’s a popular choice. There isn’t much to see any closer to my time. This is by far the shortest trip we offer.”

“And the longest?” I needle her. “Is there one where I get a ride a T-Rex?”

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “The atmosphere was completely wrong for humans a hundred million years ago. If we sent people back to the Jurassic Period they’d get light headed and pass out.”

This is completely unbelievable, but the narrative is interesting.
Why is she telling me this?
If they were terrorists wouldn’t there be a less convoluted cover story to tell?

“So, he comes back here and watches a few planes crash? So what, he sees some people resort to eating dog food, then pops back home?”

“Oh, you can’t go back,” she insists, wagging a finger at me. “It’s a one-way trip.”

“Why would anyone come to the end of the world if they couldn’t go back?” I groan. “That would be like beaming onto the Titanic a few hours before it sank.”

She widens her eyes and waits for it to come to me. My mind winds slowly around my Titanic analogy and then it hits me. They have been here for years, a decade even. They came in plenty of time to prepare.
If you knew the Titanic was sinking, you could bring a raft.

“They built a big fort in the wasteland of West Texas to hide in,” I mutter. “You built an Ark?”

“Whoa there Noah,” she smirks. “I claimed to be a tour guide, not the second coming.”

“Are you planning on starting a
New World Order
with Mr. Dibble as your supreme ruler?”

“Not hardly, but we are prepared to ride it out. At least we would be if you and I were actually there instead of here.”

So much has happened in the last few days that I’m less shocked by this information than you might think. I may even believe her. She’s watching me with wide eyes, probably trying to gauge my willingness to take her word on this tall tale. I find her so utterly perfect that I don’t really care what the circumstance is that brings her to me.
I just want to hold onto her.

“So in reality you are younger than me,” I joke, trying to break the tense mood. “You’re not even a twinkle in your mother’s eye yet.”

“Funny, my mother’s not even a twinkle.”

“Meaning I am the older man,” I announce in a deep voice.

“Ah, yeah, you’re Rip Van Winkle.”

“How much older?” I inquire, causing a stern face to return briefly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Hold on,” I announce, hopping up. “You’re from the future and it’s the end of the world, but you can’t tell me how far ahead you’re from?”

“Nosey,” she smirks. “Five centuries, give or take.”

This is a huge number. In my mind I was thinking a hundred years. If she is to be believed, the woman I love is a time-travelling tour guide.
How do I feel about that?
She suddenly takes my hand and drags me along in the sand. We trudge up to the motel, and then move along the backside until we reach what she referred to as the employee parking lot. Third from the end of the first aisle is a battered silver Mercury. She approaches it and leans down, digging under the rear bumper.

“This isn’t like the DeLorean in
Back to the Future
is it?” I chide her. “We get in and try to hit 88 miles an hour, which in this car might be tough.”

“You can’t go back,” she groans, her hand coming back with a key. “Try and keep up will ya.”

I nod then watch her put the key in the trunk. Before turning it, she unscrews a huge gas cap from the middle of the trunk lid. I hadn’t noticed it before, but when removed I can see a round hole the size of a softball drilled there. If you didn’t remove it the trunk wouldn’t open. When it does, I slip between the parked cars to get a better look.