Tourists of the Apocalypse (33 page)

“Town under attack again,” I suggest to the assembled crowd, but it’s more of a question than a statement.

Before anyone can answer, squealing tires fill the air. A chase car slides sideways as it turns onto our street, smoking the tires as it races toward us. A second chase car fails to make the turn and blows the four-way stop, plowing into the front of a house on the corner. Wood shingles explode out into the street and the roof over the entryway collapses, burying the car. The moving car skids into the cul-de-sac and spins to a stop in front of Graham’s house. We start over to help, but a third car turns so hard it winds up on two wheels, then flips over the curb and lands upside down in Dickey’s front yard.

“Dylan,” a voice screams from the car in front of Graham’s.

Izzy appears unharmed, but slowly unhooks her safety belt and crawls out. Scrambling to her feet, she hits me at a dead run and we fall over in the lawn. She squeezes me so tight I struggle to breathe. When my hands run down her sides I can feel her trembling round tummy
. There is no way she was hiding this from anyone.

“I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

“I love you too,” I answer, then have a scary thought. “Where’s Fitz?”

Izzy’s head pops up and scans around the street. In front of Dickey’s place a lone figure is climbing out of the overturned chase car. After a moment, I roll Izzy off me, get to my knees. I can see that the staggering figure is Fitz. Dickey jogs down the street and puts his shoulder under her arm to help her over to the group. After reaching our huddle, she drops off Dickey onto the lawn next to Izzy and me. They are both covered in a grey soot like substance. One of Fitz’s eyes is swelled up and she has a cut on her forehead.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Stop flirting,” Izzy shouts and rolls back on top of me showering me with kisses.

“How’d ya manage to get away?” Graham inquires, kneeling down next to Fitz.

“Just followed them out to the cars,” she coughs, a soot covered hand over her mouth. “It was weird. No one was there but us and the drivers. There are usually a half dozen guards.”

I’m hearing this, but Izzy is nestled in the front of my shirt making it hard to concentrate. From my back, I look up and see Graham shaking his head.
He thinks it was too easy
.

“Graham,” I call out, but he doesn’t look down.

The noise of the diesel engine is preceded by the soul crushing sound of the Goliath’s gun. Any random gunfire from the direction of town ceases. The only sound is the thut, thut, thut of rounds firing on the next street. We are pulled to our feet by the group, then stumble over the sidewalk to the porch steps together. Lance’s truck rounds the corner slowly and turns our way. Whatever they were shooting at must be gone as the gun grows quiet, the only sound is the whirring of the barrel before it spins to a stop.

“Anything we need to know?” Graham elbows Fitz.

“Well,” she chokes. “He knows Izzy’s carrying Dylan’s baby.”

“Anything else?” he sighs, putting an arm around Violet.

“That pretty much covers it,” she scowls, spitting soot from the corners of her mouth on the grass. “He’s super pissed off, but that’s assumed.”

The two guards from the end of the street have grabbed the sides of the big truck like garbage men and ride over to us. When the truck gets to the end of the cul-de-sac it turns slowly as if it were going to leave, but it stops in front of my house and the assembled crowd.
We could run, but where?

Two armed men in riot gear flank Lance when he steps down into the street. From the back of the truck Roberta and Jerry are roughly pushed off. They stumble, but remain upright, shuffling over to our group. I haven’t seen either of them in a while, but I was aware that they were living at the Hive.

“I’m so sorry for this,” Izzy whispers in my ear. “This is my fault.”

“Hush,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around her. “We can discuss that later.”

Pulling a very large handgun, Lance points it at Izzy. I turn my body in front of hers as she clings to my chest. She’s shaking like a leaf against me, further fueling my anger.

“Dylan, be a good sport and step away from my cheating girlfriend.”

“Stop it Lance,” Graham shouts. “Enough is enough.”

This draws a head tilt and a confused look from Lance, who turns the gun on Violet. Graham steps in front of her, holding up a hand. My immediate fear of being shot is pushed aside for the moment as I watch Lance move the gun back and forth as if he was trying to shoot Violet in the head over Graham’s shoulder.

“Lance you dick,” Fitz steps forward and yells, but freezes when the gun swings in her direction. She’s so close it almost touches her nose, causing her to stagger backwards.

“So, you’re going to shoot everyone?” Graham inquires, Violet safely behind him.

“Well, I can’t shoot the
Fail Safe
now can I?” he remarks in a sarcastic manner, the gun still pointed at Fitz.

Dickey steps in front of Fitz, one hand held up in a pained expression. It’s a valiant gesture, although he looks terrified.
He’s just mimicking our behavior
. Lance seems to find this amusing. The anger on her face lessens as Dickey backs up into Fitz and walks her back from Lance. If I had to guess, I’d say she was touched by the gesture. Once he stops, she puts her arms around him and gives him a squeeze. Lance puts the gun back on me.

“Step aside Dylan,” he orders. “You don’t want to pay for her sins.”

“Go,” Izzy sobs, trying to push me away. “He’ll kill you.”

I manage to hold on to Izzy, but the gun goes off. A step to my right my mother is swept off her feet and blown back. She lays sprawled on the grass, her yellow apron turning reddish pink. I drop to my knees and cover her body with mine. Her head lolls to the side, spittle forming on her slack lips.

“No,” I gasp weakly.

Graham goes for Lance immediately but catches the butt of one of his watchdog’s rifle with his nose. He drops down, his hands over his face. Lance nods at the storm trooper, who steps back respectfully. Standing to one side of Graham, Lance cocks his head sideways and waits for him to come to his senses. I’m not sure where this is going.
He can’t shoot the Fail Safe can he?

“You’re a real Hero,” Graham snarls, spitting blood into the grass and pushing himself to his knees. “Is shooting helpless women the new plan?”

“No,” he shrugs, turning the gun on Izzy. “I just needed to get Dylan out of the way.”

Izzy’s eyes widen as we both realize what has transpired at the same time.
He is going to shoot Izzy.
Her hands come up defensively, but the gun fires. Scrambling on all fours I catch her before she crumples to the ground. A crimson trail trickles down her forehead and along the bridge of her nose from a small round hole in her forehead. Her eyes are dark; the pupils expanding out until all remaining color is lost. I hold her across my lap, running a hand through her hair. My other hand comes to rest on her belly, reminding me of what Lance just took from me. It feels like I should do something, but with my arms wrapped around her, I don’t want to let her go.

Graham spits blood at Lance, who backs up and frowns. He glances at my mother and then at me, shaking his head. With shaky balance Graham gets to his feet, pushing his hair off his face by raking his hand over his forehead. One of the storm troopers starts to step in-between them, but Lance puts up a hand. The two stare at one another, then Graham takes a half step back.

“Just do it already,” he shouts, holding his arms out to the side. “Send me back so I can tell them what you’ve done.”

“They aren’t paying my family anything,” he points out. “You do that and they’ll stop paying Izzy’s parents.”

“After what just went down, I think she’d be okay with me going back, then heading upstairs to strangle you.”

“It’s against the rules to shoot the
Fail Safe
,” Lance recites smugly.

“Chicken,” Graham frowns and then lunges at him.

The gun explodes again, stopping Graham’s forward motion. There’s a pause, then Lance fires a second time, tipping Graham over onto his back. He falls in slow motion with his arms over his chest. Blood bubbles up under his right hand.

“No, no, no,” Violet screams, then comes completely unglued, running between Lance and Graham’s body waving her arms.

Lance tracks her and practically puts the barrel on her head before Dickey pushes her away. She trips and lands under him. As Lance tracks them both with his gun Dickey stays between Violet and any incoming fire. Violet screams and thrashes her arms, but cannot escape from under Dickey’s protective cover.

“Oh look,” Lance remarks making eye contact with me. “You can shoot the
Fail Safe
.”

Fitz approaches me from behind and tries to help me with Izzy. I hold tight to her corpse, refusing to let anyone take her. We struggle for a moment until I realize I can’t hear anyone over my sobs.

“Give her to me,” Fitz shouts.

Izzy’s body is pulled from my grasping hands and I fall over onto my back. Her blood covers me so completely that I can taste the bitter metallic flavor on my tongue. My mind focuses on a tiny fragment of her skull stuck to the front of my shirt. I don’t know how much time passes, but at some point I hear Lance talking. His minions have retreated to the truck, leaving him a few steps away. He’s talking and motioning with his gun, but it’s like I’m in a haze of shock.

“You said you loved her,” I whine, rolling over onto all fours. “How could you kill her if you loved her?”

“That’s simple Dylan. She didn’t love me back.”

“And if you can’t have her no one else can?” I snarl, gaining my feet.

“Exactly.”

“Don’t you want to kill the guy she did care about?” I snap and start toward him.

“Actually no,” he explains the gun held at arm’s length.

“Why not?”

“I’d prefer you had to live with it awhile,” he remarks, backing up and putting a foot on the sideboard of the truck. “If I have to, then why not you.”

“I’ll come after you,” I warn, pointing a finger in his direction. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me.”

“No one’s hiding Dylan. I look forward to seeing you again, but look around,” he shrugs, waving his hand around the cul-de-sac, then pointing towards town. “Things are getting a bit dicey in town. I’m not sure how safe it’s going to be for you all here.”

“Without your protection,” Fitz barks as she kneels next to Izzy’s body. “Without King Lance.”

He steps off the truck, clearly not a fan of Fitz. I recall seeing her whipping up the crowds around the pool tables while she was beating him. Then there’s the plan where she dragged him into a compromising position and embarrassed him in front Izzy. These events must have left a bad taste in his mouth. He levels the gun at her, the corners of his mouth quivering into a smile.

“If you want to shoot someone else,” I bark, stepping in front of Fitz. “Let it be me.”

He pauses, but then shakes his head as if disappointed, before returning to the truck.

“If you think about it Dylan,” he lectures me. “Upon further review, this is completely your fault.”

“How do you figure?” I huff, watching the truck start to roll away down the street.

“You knew she was with me,” he rolls his eyes and tilts his head. “And you went after her anyway. You might just as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

“We were in love,” I try and shout, but wind up wheezing instead.

The truck pulls away, the huge gun hanging over the back. The chase car driven earlier by Izzy now follows behind piloted by one of the security men. Behind me, Violet wails. Dickey lets her up and she crawls over to Graham and lies across his body sobbing. Roberta tries to comfort her, but she’s had another psychotic break.
Two such events in a very short period of time
. Jerry stands meekly by, a victim himself, but of shock. I turn away, unable to look at Izzy’s body. I wipe my eyes with the forearm of my shirt and get blood on my face. Stumbling backwards into the street, I wind up bumping into Dickey.

“Du, du, Dude.”

“Sorry, does your Mustang run well enough to go after them?” I croak halfheartedly.

“Suh, suh, sure, but you’d get cut to ribbons by that big gun.”

“That’s too bad because I’d really like to kill that bastard.”

“Yuh, yuh, you serious?” he stutters, tapping the end of his nose with an index finger.

I am, but unsure why he’s asking. With Dickey it can be hard to see where the conversation is going.
He’s the polar opposite of Graham in this regard
. I nod and hold out my hands.

“Oh, oh, okay then,” he slaps me on the shoulder. “Fah, fah, follow me.”

…

Whether I’m taking Dickey at his word or just desperate to get away from the scene of my mother’s and Izzy’s grisly murders is unclear. I really want a drink, but instead, find myself trailing behind Dickey. We walk across the cul-de-sac and pass between Lance and Graham’s houses. The back yard butts up to the retention pond. Hanging a right, we hike along the edge of the pond into the backyard of the houses on the next block. We keep going until we reach the garage I followed him to on one previous occasion. He opens the side door and disappears inside momentarily. This was the garage with the guns and boxes. He pops back out with a set of keys.

“What are we doing?” I demand, suddenly overcome with the urge to hold Izzy’s broken body in my arms.

He waves a hand to follow him and strikes off across the street, moving farther away from my house. He walks right up to a big house and starts trying keys on the garage door. The house is familiar, but I can’t place who used to live here. The yard, which used to sport intricate landscaping is overgrown. This subtle reminder of the world we now inhabit chills me.

There’s a T-handle with a keyhole you have to turn to open manually. With no power past our street you can’t get most electric garage doors open. The keys turn and he tries to pull the door up, but it’s too heavy. He looks at me, but I’m staring at vegetation growing over the edges of the sidewalk.