Tourists of the Apocalypse (32 page)

His eyes never leave mine.
He has to know about me and Izzy, but if so, why the shell game?
T-Buck eventually drags him into a conversation. Blister passes by loading stuff from their house onto the truck. Fitz takes me by the elbow and turns me away from the street.

“You offered to move out there?” I complain under my breath.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“How is this good for me?”

“Because you’re gonna be stuck here for the time being. I volunteered to set up a trauma unit out there, but only if they let me come back here every couple days.”

“So we could pretend to be a couple?”

“Of course not,” she balks, pulling me close to whisper. “So I can keep in touch with Izzy for you
Sport
.”

This had not occurred to me. If Fitz comes and goes as she pleases I can correspond with Izzy on a regular basis. Still, it won’t be the same as seeing her.
He has to know about us.

“Do you think he knows?”

“Let’s say he suspects,” she proposes, looking over her shoulder in Lance’s direction.

“I’ll catch a ride out with Dickey.”

“I doubt that. Project Dickey has been cancelled.”

“What do you mean cancelled?”

“Lance is going to use the big truck or the chase cars to shuttle stuff. The Dickey express is closed for now.”

This is a sobering moment. I try and recall how long it’s been since Dickey became the messenger?
After all this time what’s he going to do now?
A quick look reveals he’s trying to pry the hood on his car up. T-Buck is leaving, so there won’t be anyone to fix it.

“He’s cutting us out,” I whisper into her ear. “You need to forget about me and make friends out there.”

“I thought I mentioned making two new friends yesterday,” she winks, pulling her hair up in a ponytail with a rubber band.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” I chuckle, recalling a veiled claim of a threesome.

“I never lie about sex. Stop worrying. I’ll be back in three days or so. Get the lay of the land around here and we can put our heads together when I get back.”

“And, if you don’t come back?”

“Then come out there and get me,” she whispers, peeking back to see where Lance is. “You’re my boyfriend. If they try and keep me there it’s your excuse to come visit.”

When Lance looks our way she kisses me, her arms pulling me close. We kiss so often it’s become common place for me. I suddenly realize I’m kissing her back.
And she is kissing me for real.
I scan over my memories to determine how long this has been going on. I fear it’s been quite a while. Shocked at myself for enjoying it, I pull away. She looks at me oddly as if offended, then scampers out to the truck and climbs in the cab, followed by Lance. The truck’s engine groans and then it slowly circles the turnaround and heads down the street. The two chase cars follow along like baby ducks following their mother.

I stand like a statue for some time contemplating my feelings.
How close to the line are Fitz and I?
Unable to determine, I leave the cups on the porch rail and wander over to Dickey. He’s got the hood pried up revealing an exploded upper hose and a pinched radiator support. He makes several trips into T-Bucks garage, returning with tools and hose clamps, but does no actual repair work.

“How long ya think to get her fixed?” I ask after watching him stare for several minutes.

“Oh, oh, oh who cares now. I don’t need a car to sit here and do nothing.”

“Too bad you can’t drive one of those dune buggy chase cars. You’d be perfect for that.”

“Yuh, yuh, yup,” he nods, looking off into space.

Standing there, a glowing light is visible from under Graham’s garage door.
He didn’t take everything
. Mr. Dibble is still here. The
Fail Safe
and the
Client
are still on my end. There may be hope yet.

….

Fitz comes home a few days a week as promised. I shorten any faux kisses that we share, but don’t try and explain. While pretending not to notice at first, I can sense she feels slighted by the distance between us.
Is slighted the right word?
I want to broach the subject with her, but imagine it going badly for any number of reasons and don’t.

She brings tiny scraps of paper with hearts and smiley faces on them from Izzy. Long letters having the possibility of being read by others so we stick with post-apocalyptic texting on gum wrappers. She’s miserable and I am sure she wants me to try and see her, but with all the information being filtered through Fitz the message to stay put is loud and clear.

Three months into my banishment to the cul-de-sac, there is an incursion in town. At first, we hear random gunfire, but over an hours’ time it’s clear that a battle is taking place. I climb up on the roof of the house, but can’t see much over the tree line. The obvious guess is that a rough band of wanderers moving along the highway are trying to get into town. Lance armed the town to keep just this thing from occurring. Graham advises us all to wait and see. There are four security guys working our street and they post two men at the end of the road in case trouble comes this way.

I stroll down to Dickey’s house, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The Mustang is in the driveway, but he hasn’t moved it much since he fixed the radiator. The word
fixed
I use quite loosely. Unable to find a radiator the correct size, he cut the front five inches off the hood with a
saws-all
and installed a radiator from a truck. It sticks up three inches through the gap in the now much shorter hood. There’s a yellow ratchet strap from one front wheel well to the other holding the hood down. I have seen him driving it, but steam puffs from a rubber hose hanging off the exposed cap, leaving me wondering how far the car would actually go.

Leaning down to peek in, I can see the keys aren’t in the ignition. Truthfully, I can’t drive a stick anyway so it’s a moot point. This close to the end of the street, I can hear sporadic gunfire so I lean on the car and watch the nervous looking security guys. Graham comes shuffling down the street eating an apple and joins me. He claims he can drive a stick, but advises me to sit this one out. We lean on rear bumper and watch the sun go down. By the time darkness takes over our tiny street all’s quiet from the direction of town.

….

When I come down the stairs in the morning, Fitz is sitting with my mother drinking coffee. Peeking out the front window I don’t see the big truck, only two of the small chase cars that look like dune buggies. Apparently they arrived at sunrise and have to return to the Hive by nightfall. It’s been over seven months since the lights went out and things are getting rough out there. Fitz caught a ride when she discovered they were bringing out something for Mr. Dibble, but she warns that Lance might just pull him out if it gets too dangerous.
This would seem to be bad for us.

When my mother pushes aside the front curtains and comments that Graham and Violet are up, Fitz takes my hand and drags me upstairs. They will no doubt be over here soon for breakfast. Once in my room, she points for me to sit down and I take a seat on the bed.

“We got good news and bad news,” she sighs.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been honoring me again.”

“Yes, but,” she mutters and pauses, looking conflicted. “You want the good or the bad?”

“Good.”

“You’re going be a father,” she reveals, her excitement clearly forced.

“I’m what?”

“Izzy’s pregnant,” she sighs, wincing. “Technically that’s also the bad news.”

“She’s can’t be. They’re all sterile after coming through the time whatever.”

“Right, well, just like condoms and birth control pills, the only way to be 100% sure is not to have sex.”

“Hold on,” I argue. “She said her eggs would be fried?”

“I know,” she nods, patting my shoulder. “And I’m here telling you she’s pregnant. Trust me. I’m a medical professional.”

I pause and try to think of something to say. Part of me is horrified at this turn of events, but another part of me is bursting at the seams. I was under the impression she could never carry my child, but if that’s not the case, then this is good news. A cloud passes over my consciousness as I recall she was also sleeping with Lance. Before I can verbalize this, Fitz speaks. Apparently she was waiting for this to dawn on me.

“It’s yours.”

“How can you be sure?”

“They both went through the cosmic tunnel of birth control,” she points out. “The odds against her being pregnant are a million to one. The odds against her getting pregnant from a guy who came through with her are impossible.”

“How far along is she?”

“Seven months,” she hedges, waffling a hand in front of her, “Maybe more. She’s starting to show. We won’t be able to hide it for much longer.”

“How are you hiding it at all?” I shrug, thinking she sleeps in his bed.

“We set him up last week. Sargent Slaughter had a few too many and I dragged him in the lady’s room and let him get to first base.”

“You what?” I bark too loudly and then cover my mouth.

“Alright, maybe second base,” she groans. “Skirt up, panties on.”

“You’re missing the actual reason I’m shocked.”

“Relax, Izzy waited and then opened the door and pretended to catch us. It gave her a reason to sleep on the couch for a while. She’s playing the wronged woman.”

“But sooner or later?”

“Sooner, rather than later, he’s going to know what’s been going on,” she tosses up her hands. “I think you need to consider making a break for it.”

“Even if I wanted to, how would Izzy get away from the Hive?”

“Hold on,” she argues, holding her hands up. “I wasn’t suggesting you and Izzy run. I was saying that you should run.”

“I’m not going without her. Besides, he’d kill her.”

“He wouldn’t be happy that much is true. But if you weren’t around, then he could just pretend it’s his. The great big ego maniac would love it.”

“But it’s not his.”

“Now who’s an ego maniac?” she remarks. “For the record, Izzy doesn’t want you to run either. Neither of you are thinking straight.”

“She loves me and I love her.”

“Newsflash,” she wags her finger in my face. “It’s the things we love the most that destroy us.”

There is a tap on the door putting an end to our discussion. The door opens just a bit and Violet’s smiling face appears. We all go down to the dining room and have breakfast. The topic of my pregnant girlfriend is not discussed until Violet and my mother go to the kitchen to clean up. Fitz tells Graham the story and we sit for some time in silence. I’m looking at Graham who doesn’t look surprised.
Why isn’t he more upset?
In an odd way Graham suddenly drops the subject and asks about what happened in town.

Fitz reports that a band of
Road Pirates
pushed in off the highway and took over part of the town. They set a lot of fires and grabbed up some of the women. When she passed by town, they were at a standstill.
Pirates
on the north side, Townies on the south. The highway entrance is now
Pirate
territory so she and her escorts had to come off an exit earlier and pilot a single lane road to get here. When asked if the discourse will spread to us, she is convinced it won’t. She doesn’t think Lance will let it while Mr. Dibble is still here. The two drivers who brought Fitz tap on the front door and interrupt. They’re looking for some food before going back, so we clear out and let them have the room.

We reconvene in the street and try to come up with a plan. Since we can’t get into the Hive to break Izzy out, Graham asks Fitz if she might sneak Izzy out on the next visit. This plan has a lot of upside for us, but would be dangerous for the girls. After several minutes of grumbling, Fitz admits that it’s possible. I tease her about letting Lance get to second base during her last sneaky plan, but she suggests second base might not get Izzy out the door. When I try and take back what I said, she slaps me on the shoulder and admits that
post-apocalyptic-whore
was always in the cards.

This is a funny comment, but when she told me Lance touched her I experienced a flash of anger.
Was I sad she had to do that for me or was I jealous?
The longer I ruminate on this, the worse my mood.
Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to know the answers.
The conversation plows on regarding the jail break, drawing me off this issue.

There are no good suggestions of where to go once Izzy gets here, but when Fitz has to take leave of us Graham promises to sort something out. We assume three days, as has been the schedule prior to today, but Fitz warns us to be prepared for anything. Graham and I watch from the porch as the two chase cars disappear down the street.

“Think she can actually get Izzy out the door?” he asks.

“She’s resourceful. If she does, where can we go?”

“Where can you go?” he corrects me. “I’m staying right here.”

“Lance will know you helped us. He’ll kill you.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I can’t run.”

“Is this a
Fail Safe
thing?”

“Sorta,” he shrugs. “Let’s work on finding you a place to hide.”

Band-Aids won’t fix bullet holes…

A week passes before any cars come back from the Hive and Fitz isn’t with them. The drivers tell me that she’s busy at the new Trauma Center, but it rings hollow. Clearly she’s run into trouble on her end. Graham and I confer, but decide to wait. After four more days of nothing, he agrees that we need to take action. A plan is formed in which we relieve the drivers of their cars at gunpoint the next time they arrive. We stall for ideas after that, being as we can’t just drive into the Hive and ask if Izzy and Fitz can come out and play. It winds up being a moot point when morning coffee is interrupted by gunfire.

There are several deep booming explosions from the direction of town. We all file outside and witness a grey smoke cloud just over the tops of the trees. Even my mother comes out, wiping her hands on her apron. Dickey appears from behind what used to be Lance’s house and joins us.