Apocalypse: An Anthology Part 13

"If you're done, your highness," Jim mocked, "then maybe we can get back to the camp."

Tommy laughed as he climbed down and walked back to the campfire.

Chapter Four.

Turning over the plastic bottle, Tommy watched the last couple drops of water trickle from its rim. He caught them on his fingers and wiped the moisture across his lips. The water soothed the dry and cracked lips, but did little to help his swollen throat.

Shifting his pack as he walked, he looked inside and was met with only three other empty bottles. The berries had left a blue stain on one of the bottles, but they had long since been eaten. One and a half of the energy bars remained, but Tommy couldn't stomach their thick consistency without having something to drink.

Tommy's foot caught on a protruding tree root and he pitched forward. The lush gra.s.ses softened his landing, but the impact still knocked the wind from his lungs.

Despite having the energy to push himself back up from his p.r.o.ne position, Tommy continued to lie in the gra.s.s. He felt dry sobs threatening as he realized he very possibly might die in the middle of nowhere, falling far short of his goal of reaching the Grand Canyon.

Doubt racked Tommy as he lay face down in the gra.s.s. There hadn't been much for him in Los Angeles, but the city had continued to provide a virtually endless supply of resources. Many of the grocery stores had been looted when the news first announced the Rapture. People panicked, which hadn't surprised Tommy. They looted stores until the shelves were barren and horded food in their homes like packrats, waiting out the inevitable end of days. What Tommy had found, however, was that the same people that looted the stores disappeared themselves in due time. It was a patient game of attrition for Tommy, one that he eventually won when everyone else in the city vanished. The homes in the L.A. area were filled with disaster response supplies, and he had his pick of non-perishable food and bottled water. Though he mocked being a king on Interstate 15, he truly had lived as a king in Los Angeles.

It wasn't starvation or thirst that had driven him away from his safe haven. He chose to leave, with James at his side, because he was horribly lonely. The idea that a colony had been established in the Grand Canyon seemed nearly as far-fetched as finding another living person in the City of Angels, but he hadn't been able to shake the hope that burned within him. Someone had left the brochure for him to find, and he couldn't leave it well enough alone.

Now, laying in the gra.s.s and choking with thirst, Tommy wondered if he had made the right decision. He was trying to cover hundreds of miles on foot, with only the supplies he could carry on his back. In retrospect, it seemed insane. Even now, though, the hope that others could have survived the Rapture made him want to push forward.

If only he could get past the burning thirst.

James' shadow fell over him.

"There's something you need to see," his friend remarked.

"Later," Tommy croaked through his scratched throat.

"Trust me; you're going to want to see this."

Tommy pushed himself up and followed James through the dense underbrush, finally emerging at the top of a hill overlooking the field beyond.

Despite it being midday, the sky had darkened considerably. Rolling like a tidal wave, Tommy watched the storm clouds roll over the plain, dumping pillars of rain.

Excitedly, Tommy pulled the empty bottles from his pack and prepared to collect the drinkable rainwater.

Chapter Five.

Pressing himself further under the protective branches of the coniferous tree under which he sat, Tommy tried to get as far away from the driving rain and wind as possible. The storm pounded the area for two days, turning Tommy's initial glee at having drinking water into significant annoyance and concern.

The storm brought with it strong winds that scoured the plain beyond and slammed into the woods in which Tommy and James cowered. Tommy was quickly soaked from the large droplets, which allowed the wind to cut through to his bones.

He felt a chill run through his body, and Tommy scowled. He couldn't afford to get even a head cold in his current position. What would have been simply treated with tissues and a small box of liquid gel caplets when civilization still remained could now prove fatal, if untreated. Tommy lacked the potable water to keep himself hydrated as a sickness ran its course, nor did he have access to a neighborhood urgent care clinic.

Sliding against the trunk of the tree, he tried to huddle underneath the large canopy of branches above him. He laid down on the bed of fallen pine needles and tried to close his eyes, hoping to sleep his way through the storm battering him from above.

The next morning, Tommy awoke to bright sun dancing through the pine branches above him. He pushed himself upright, slid out from under the canopy, and stepped into the warm sun. The humidity in the air was oppressive as the hot sun baked away the moisture collected on the ground, but it also began drying the soaked clothing he wore.

Reaching up with the back of his sleeve, he wiped away the trail of mucus running from his nose. He didn't feel any telltale signs of impending sickness, despite his runny nose His throat, no longer parched, felt significantly better. He didn't notice a headache or sore muscles, aside from what he would expect from walking for miles every day and sleeping on the ground.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up," Jim said, walking up the small rise on which Tommy stood. James already looked fairly dry, as though he spent most of the morning soaking in the warm sun.

"I found something worthwhile, while you were sleeping," he continued.

He pointed over his shoulder and Tommy followed the gesture to the road beyond. Hanging over the road, drooping slightly from disrepair, a large green billboard marked mileage to the vehicles driving beneath. Despite the white and red spray paint that covered much of the sign, Tommy could see the words on top of the sign and understood Jim's excitement.

It read: Las Vegas 10.

Chapter Six.

The walk toward Las Vegas left the pair in much better moods than they had seen in the nearly month and a half of walking. They had considered taking Interstate 40 when first examining their route, and then cutting up state highways to the Grand Canyon. That route, however, added additional mileage that Tommy was now glad he didn't have to walk. Beyond just the mileage, the chance to return to Las Vegas made this layover on the trip worthwhile.

Tommy led the way up the small, rolling hills that surrounded Las Vegas. The hills were taller than he ever remembered during his many drives back and forth from Los Angeles. It amazed him how much his perception had changed when driving at nearly eighty miles per hour, compared to now where he had to walk up and down the same steep hills. Hills that would have pa.s.sed by in mere seconds now took ten to twenty minutes to climb.

Moreover, he never noticed the severe slope of the interstates until forced to walk them. The roads were built to allow quick drainage during thunderstorms. That left them slanted at such a significant angle that walking on the road for too long left one hip, or the other, aching from the added pressure. He and Jim took to walking the median whenever possible, since the gra.s.sy center was flatter, though it held its own challenges since the taller weeds concealed hidden obstacles, such as discarded luggage or rocks. In an exceptionally dense part of the median, they had come across a ruined motorcycle, consumed nearly completely by choking vines and weeds.

Tommy smiled broadly while climbing over the hill. Motioning behind him, he encouraged Jim to catch up and admire the view. As James climbed to the top of the hill, they stood side-by-side and looked down at the lake beyond.

The road on which they stood sloped downward before disappearing beneath the dark water. Looking out over the lake, Tommy could see the faded red and blue dome of the Paris balloon, the jutting rusted spear tip of the Eiffel Tower, and the broken upper floors of a number of taller hotels. In the distance, at the end of a road Tommy knew all too well, rose the impressively tall disk of the Stratosphere.

"What is this?" James asked in disbelief.

Tommy turned, still smiling. "Don't you recognize fabulous Las Vegas?"

"What happened here?" James asked as he the skirted the edge of the lake. The glossy water lapped the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.eline, slowly eroding the hill into a genuine beach.

"The Hoover Dam happened," Tommy replied. He found a new confidence now that he was back in an area he knew intimately.

"The dam was a well-oiled machine, keeping an insane amount of water at bay. But people oiled that machine. When we all disappeared, no one was there to troubleshoot issues when they arose. There's no telling what exactly happened, whether it was unreleased pressure or a pump seized up. All I know is that the dam broke and flooded everything beyond it, Vegas included. It was on the news, just before all the reporters disappeared too."

"It's incredible," Jim said, in awe.

"You should have seen it before it was a lake; the lights, the gambling, the women."

Tommy's smile faded slightly as he realized all that was gone. It was hard to see Los Angeles become nothing more than a ghost town, but at least the landmarks he knew so well still existed. Las Vegas now sat at the bottom of a lake of soiled water, only accessible to scuba divers. The thrill and excitement he craved whenever he visited Vegas would never exist again, at least not the way it had before.

Jim struck Tommy's shoulder and pointed further down the beach. Tommy turned away from the lake and looked. At first, he saw nothing remarkable beyond the shrubbery that grew down near the sh.o.r.eline. The more he scrutinized, however, the more he realized the shrubs themselves seemed out of place. The pair walked forward and pulled away the bushes that had been hand placed. Behind the bushes, there was a rowboat, complete with oars.

Chapter Seven.

They sat in silence as Tommy rowed them out into the middle of the lake. The oily water lapped softly against the side of the boat and the quiet was cut only by the gentle splash of the oars entering the water and the creaking of the weathered wood. They looked around as they went further into the lake. Most of Vegas was hidden from view, concealed beneath the murky waters. The monuments that protruded from the dark waters stood like silent guardians that were marking a time long past; an ancient civilization that sank beneath the waves like the myth of Atlantis.

"So what does the boat mean?" Jim finally asked, still looking at the pa.s.sing floors of a shattered hotel. "Does this mean they're real?"

Tommy shrugged. "It doesn't mean anything, I guess."

James turned sharply toward Tommy. "Yes it does, and you know it. You're trying to play coy, but I know you better than that. This boat is in far too good of shape to have been put here when everyone was disappearing. Someone's been taking care of it."

"Fine, then say it."

James huffed angrily. "There might be someone else out here."

Tommy smiled and pulled on the oars. Despite Vegas being a ruined metropolis, he felt a strange satisfaction at being back.

"This is where it started for me," Tommy said, as they rowed past the rusted track of a rollercoaster.

"You told me once."

"Did I tell you how it happened?"

Jim shook his head.

"I was playing blackjack," Tommy explained. "I was here just to blow some money. Man, I loved Vegas! It was only a five-hour drive from Los Angeles and I'd head up here any time I could. I don't even remember any more if I was up or down on that trip. I'm sure I didn't care at that point. I had been drinking most of the day and was just trying to finish myself off before I headed home."

"The guy across from me was killing it. It seemed like every time he got royalty on his first card, he either got another ten-pointer or an ace for his second card. He had this good stack of chips in front of him, too, a real stack of money."

Tommy stopped rowing and let their momentum carry them further onto the lake. "The dealer started with me, and I stayed. The next guy took a card and busted. Then it was around to the big winner. Except he was gone. I don't mean, *he scooped up his chips and left the table.' His chips were still there, in the same neat pile, but he was just gone. Not a shred of clothes was left, like everything he wore vanished when he did."

"Someone screamed, I don't know who, but it was just one of many. Seems it happened throughout the casino, all at the same time. Strangers at tables, waitresses with drinks, husbands, wives, vanished into thin air. It wasn't just our casino, either. All up and down the strip, people just vanished. Pedestrians on the street. Drivers behind the wheel. Dancers on stage. All gone in the blink of an eye."

Tommy dipped the oars into the water as his eyes focused again. "I rushed back to L.A. and turned on the news. It wasn't just Vegas, it was worldwide. Religious nuts came out of the woodwork, calling it the Rapture. People jumped on that bandwagon like you wouldn't believe."

Tommy smiled. "The Rapture, that's funny. People that disappear in the Rapture, they're supposed to be the faithful. The good people always go first, right? They didn't see the types of people in Vegas that disappeared. They weren't exactly the *first people taken in the Rapture' types, if you know what I mean."

Jim laughed as the boat cut through the oily water. "So then all the others disappeared too, right? If it wasn't the Rapture, what was it?"

Tommy pulled on the oars but didn't answer his friend. He had wracked his brain for the answer to that very question since realizing he was alone in Los Angeles. While he had some theories, everything sounded as far-fetched in his mind as the Rapture.

"Who knows?" Tommy finally answered. "I thought at first that it might be aliens."

Looking up at his friend's disapproving look, Tommy frowned. "Don't judge me. I just lived through the world vanishing. I'm ent.i.tled to my crazy conspiracy theories. Anyway, I've seen enough movies to know they love the abduction shtick."

"Aliens?" Jim asked, echoing the disbelief that even Tommy harbored in his mind.

"Then I thought maybe it's all just a dream, you know?" Tommy continued, ignoring James' question. "Maybe I got too drunk in Vegas and got hit by a car. Maybe I'm sitting in a hospital, in a coma, and I'm imagining all this."

"Does this feel like a dream?"

Tommy frowned. "No, it doesn't. It doesn't smell like a dream, it doesn't feel like a dream, it doesn't taste or sound like a dream, and it sure as h.e.l.l doesn't look like a dream. But the alternative is that all this is real, and that sucks worse than thinking I'm just dying in a coma."

The pair rode in silence until the boat came to rest on the far sh.o.r.e.

Chapter Eight.

Tommy felt the excitement burn inside him, knowing he was in the last leg of the journey to the Grand Canyon. He allayed the fears that he would find the Canyon, like the rest of the world, abandoned, by constantly reviewing the pamphlet in the backpack. Someone had planted the brochure on a pile of rocks outside L.A., and he had to believe that they were hoping for survivors, like himself.

He put the brochure away and pulled out the last filled water bottle. Only a few mouthfuls remained in the bottle. Swishing a little water into his mouth, he drank deeply, letting the cool water rush down his throat and into his stomach. The sun beat down from above, once again shining in a cloudless sky. The heavy thunderstorm they had the past week seemed like an eternity ago, and the small amounts of drinkable water they'd found in the meantime were almost gone.

The Grand Canyon, and the area around it, was always fairly well established with spa.r.s.e trees and scrub brush. With the new streams providing water to former desert lands, and without humanity keeping the wilderness at bay, it had grown into a practical jungle. Despite his fatigued arms, Tommy hacked at thick vines and thin trees block their way with the hatchet.

He knew that the overland route was the quickest route from Las Vegas, but it was a double-edged sword. By cutting overland, they eliminated nearly a hundred miles of backtracking that would have had to be done otherwise. The overland route, however, meant growing exhausted even quicker with the extra effort required. It also meant they burned through the last of their rations fairly quickly, since they needed to maintain their strength. Thirst and hunger had become his steady companions, sharing the trail with him and James.

He could hear the rushing of water ahead as he approached another stream. Streams like these hadn't existed months ago, before the Rapture. As the dams failed and water flowed into previously dry regions, they cut their own paths. No maps would show their new courses, and Tommy thanked whoever would listen when he stumbled upon one.

Pushing through the brush, he saw the shallow stream. The water cascaded over jutting rocks, leaving the entire fast-moving stream in a perpetual state of white water. The air around the water smelled pungent, like organic rot. Beneath the bubbling waters, Tommy saw that it wasn't just rocks that caused the white water. Brush and thick cl.u.s.ters of gra.s.s were drowned by the newly formed river, adding to the smell of wet decay.

Tommy began his water routine after lowering his pack to the ground. The fast-moving water gave Tommy hope since it moved contaminants downstream much quicker, not giving them the chance to fester in stagnant water.

He admired the clear water within after pulling the full jar from the stream. A few bits of debris swirled in the gla.s.s, sediment rolling through the water. Tommy pulled free the box of matches. The match ignited quickly and he let the flame dance in front of his vision for a second before placing the match head against the water. The match fizzled as it touched the water. With a hiss, the match was extinguished.

For a second, Tommy simply stared at the burnt match, expecting the water to flare into blue or green flames. When it didn't, he gingerly pushed the jar over and let the water roll onto the damp ground.

Tommy slid to the edge of the water and scooped a handful of water into his palm. Lowering his head to his palm, he slurped the water from his hand. The water was cool as it flowed over his gullet. It tasted rancid in his mouth, however, and his senses immediately revolted against the smell and taste. Rationalizing the smell as part of the plant rot, he took another drink, followed by another.

Tommy laughed loudly, sounding like a giddy child, as he lowered his face into the water, drinking directly from the stream.

When he had drunk his fill, he reached behind him and pulled free the plastic bottles. One by one, he began filling them from the rushing water.

From over his shoulder he heard James politely clear his throat. Engrossed in filling the bottles, Tommy ignored his friend.