So You Survived the End of the World Read online

  Sebastian’s smile grows even broader. Challenge accepted.

  On the opposite side of the Carnaval, a set of mechanical animals inexplicably go still, the lights of their platforms blinking out. The kids crowded around the display “Aaaw” their disappointment.

  Sebastian spots Meza by her dark halo of textured hair poking out from behind the table in question.

  “Pardon me,” he says. “I need a quick second here.”

  Tucked behind the table, Meza holds the Sol canister that, up until a few second ago, had been rigged up to power the now immobile set of mechanical animals.

  “Hey, lady,” says a boy about ten with about fifteen pounds of dirt caked into his clothes. A handful of other runts of various ages stand around him, the obvious ringleader. Brows furrowed and fists on hips, between them they must have a hundred pounds of dust to shake out of their weathered clothing at the end of each day.

  “Why’d you have to do that for?” the boy says. “We were looking at it.”

  Meza doesn’t hide her grimace before angling her back to them. She’s never particularly cared for the company of children. Sebastian imagines that even when she was knee high herself, all she had for other kids when they invited her to play in the dirt was the same scowl she arms herself with today. Though it’s not that hard to picture.

  She barely stands taller than some of these kids. Not that Sebastian would ever make the mistake of insinuating that she’s adorable. Again. Just like he would never be tempted to use her head as an armrest when he’s standing next to her. Even though the top of her head is at the perfect height for exactly that.

  “Hey, lady,” Sebastian says, standing behind the kids. “Why’d you have to do that for?”

  Rising, but still not acknowledging the runts, Meza frowns at the gauge indicating that the Sol canister is half-depleted of its stored energy. Standing on the opposite side of the table where the awning’s shade falls short, she’s left fully at the mercy of the sun. Sweat beads on her dark skin. She’s only seventeen, a year younger than Sebastian, but she might be the most brilliant tech head he’s ever met.

  She turns her frown on Sebastian. “Quit wasting the Sols on these things.”

  “Not even this cute mécanique dog chasing his own tail? Look at the little retro guy go.” He leans over the neighboring table where the dog is still going at it. “You’ll never get it, buddy. You’re trapped in a vicious cycle.”

  The kids gather around the second table, giggling. At least someone out here finds him amusing.

  “No,” Meza says.

  “What?” Sebastian cries, throwing up his arms. “Why not? You’re being completely unreasonable!”

  “Need them to make the bus run when we’ve been without sun.”

  He gestures toward the relentlessly cloudless sky. “When does that ever happen?”

  “Every night.”

  “Well…”

  In that case, she wouldn’t be happy to hear that he’d traded two canisters for this mechanical menagerie. But it’s her fault for being so good with tech. He has full confidence that if it really came down to it, she’d be able to whip a couple Sols up from scratch. And intimidate the sun into shining at midnight while she’s at it.

  “You squander too much power on silly things, like pointless toys.”

  “Uh, first of all, the point of toys are to be pointless. Secondly,” he gestures toward the kids, “look at these adorable little faces and tell me a little power ain’t worth it.”

  She doesn’t look at the adorable little faces. “Ain’t worth it.”

  “Relax, Meza,” Sebastian says, pulling the narrow canister from her hands. “There’re plenty of Sols to go around.”

  “No, there were plenty until you were unleashed on our reserves. Now, we’ll have to hope to replenish our supply, quickly, or trade for more. And since you insist on giving our refurbed data rings away—”

  “How else will people listen to my show?”

  “—what on Earth do we have to spare right now that anyone would bother trading for?”

  Sebastian balances the Sol upright on his palm. It teeters on its rounded end. “There’s always my charm and good looks, but I ain’t figured out how to bottle those yet.”

  Meza snatches the canister back. “I’m being serious.”

  “I know! That’s why it’s so hard to keep a straight face.”

  Considering she has her own set of blasters, a matching NX-84 in a shoulder holster and a 16-inch FT-M Devastator strapped to her leg, a smarter man would think twice about antagonizing her. But he never claimed to be the brains of their operation.

  “Sebastian Yun!” a grizzled voice calls out.

  Sebastian groans. This guy again.

  He knows that he’s supposed to revere elders. Hardly anyone makes it to the wrinkled and gray stage of life. But if people get this annoying when they get up there in age, maybe monsters aren’t the real reason there’s so few old folks around.

  “You oughta be ashamed,” the old man says by way of greeting, dry, crinkly lips turned down in disgust.

  “And good afternoon to you, as well.”

  “You’re an irresponsible jackass.”

  Sebastian tilts his head, considering. “Fair.”

  The kids “Aaaw” again as Meza disconnects a Sol canister from another table.

  “Broadcasting your brainless dribble drabble for hours everyday,” the old man says. “And for what? So you can hear yourself talk foolishness and pump that garbage out for anybody—anything to catch wind of. You go around corrupting otherwise sensible men and women. Getting them to thinking it’s okay to use them data rings all day everyday with no regard to the trouble it’ll bring. There’s a reason we left the Old World tech in the past— ”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sebastian says, “but that well-used vehicle I noticed tucked behind your walls, that’s tech, huh? And them blasters you all cling to, that’s something we got thanks to the Old Worlders, right?” He flicks up a finger as he goes down the list. “Your radios, and lights, and water purification system, and don’t tell me y’all ain’t got a data hoop squirreled away somewhere in there. For emergencies, of course.”

  “Ain’t the same.”

  “Well, elder, you’re as charming as a barrel of hungry hellions and I hate to cut this short—”

  “I got something important for you to announce on your little show.”

  “Sorry. Only foolishness and or garbage allowed. Gotta keep standards up, you know.”

  “Shut your trap and listen. A holy woman been roaming around these parts for weeks now, going from town to town. She got some kinda power to drive out the evil hellions! I hear tell she can even separate sludgebrains from those nasty parasites that done crawled up into their noggins. I pray every day that she comes visit us here.”

  Another Carnaval table goes still. Meza shoots the protesting children a withering glare.

  “Does this woman also live in a bottle and grant wishes?” Sebastian asks. “I could really use a less uptight sidekick.”

  “Bite me,” Meza says. “And I ain’t your sidekick.”

  The old man shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, no. This holy woman is the real deal. My neighbor’s nephew’s girlfriend saw it with her own two eyes. Come hear her tell it!”

  “Your neighbor’s nephew’s girlfriend… Right. Sounds super legit to me.”

  “You young whippersnappers think you know everything. Never wanna listen. I been around since before the hellions’ portals ever opened!”

  Sebastian purses his lips. Why is it that every old person tries to claim they witnessed the fall of civilization with their own two eyes? As if math isn’t a thing.

  “That would make you like a billion years old, and you hardly look a day over one hundred and five.”

  The old man turns red all the way from his neck to his hairline. “I survived the end of the world, and I’m still alive and kicking. In my day, the young folk knew how
to show respect. When our elders told us to do something, we jumped to it. ‘Course, back then, following a command was a matter of life or death. This generation done got too soft. You think just ‘cuz we established a little stability for you—”

  “Okay, old timer. I’ll say I believe you if it means I can skip the geezer lecture.”

  Meza gives Sebastian a disapproving look.

  “What?” he asks. “It’s okay for you to kill the joy of children but I can’t be honest when addressing the elderly?”

  “This gotta be a scam,” she says, pulling him aside. “Guessing whoever this lady is, she ain’t offering her services for free.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Sebastian laughs. “Definitely some kind of racket. Well, you know what they say. There’s one born every minute.”

  “We gotta do something.”

  He cocks his head, narrows his eyes at her. “Why?”

  “Folks in these parts ain’t got much. Can’t let some charlatan take ‘em for everything. We gotta learn more so you can put out a warning about her on your show.”

  “Or—and just hear me out, here—we don’t.”

  “Sebastian—”

  “Times are tough. This woman’s trying to make her way in the world same as the rest of us. Who are we to deprive her of her livelihood if these people are dumb enough to fall for it?”

  Meza glares at him.

  “No?” he says. “Okay. How about this, then? It’s an even exchange of goods. These people want hope and she’s selling it to ‘em at competitive rates.”

  Meza sidesteps Sebastian to address the old man. “Elder…”

  “You can call me Carl.”

  “Got to put a few things away, Elder Carl, then we’ll come inside and talk to your neighbor’s girlfriend.”

  “My neighbor’s nephew’s girlfriend.”

  “Right. Her.”

  Sebastian groans heavily as Meza disconnects the remaining Sols. “I’m flattered you think I’m capable of evolving into a better person—”

  “What? By reminding you to care about human beings who ain’t you?”

  “Yes! That very nonsense! But, one day, you’re gonna hafta accept that this is who I am. A shallow but rakishly gorgeous guy with awesome taste in music.”

  After putting the Sols away, Meza offers her arm to the old man. They stroll together toward the wall’s gate.

  Her Royal Majesty is too big to make it through the opening, and even if they did get it inside, it would take up the entirety of the tiny “town” square. Sebastian and Meza had been forced to park outside Hope. But that’s the way it usually went with small places like this.

  Borough, maybe?

  Too metropolitan.

  Sebastian trails behind Meza and the old man.

  “How you all figure this lady’s a holy woman?” Meza asks.

  “Like I said. My neighbor’s nephew’s girlfriend saw her in action while out on a trading expedition. She described the whole thing in detail. Boy, I would’ve loved to see something like that with my own eyes, I tell you what.”

  “She saw her fighting a hellion?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. A whole horde of ‘em!”

  “Thought hellions rarely venture into this region. The proximity to sludgebrain territory and all that.”

  “That’s right. We ain’t had a big incident involving them in years. Only a few lone stragglers here and there. But we keep watch for hordes just the same. From the towers, you can see if any are approaching from miles out.”

  Carl points out the 20-foot tower built into the wall as they enter the… tribe? No, that’s not it, either.

  There isn’t much to the “town”, and what is there isn’t much to look at. Half of the square is given away to a scraggly patch of dull green, the bit of land the people here toil over for what will only ever amount to a modest harvest. And in the center of the square, a small blockhouse fortified with a combination of wood and rusted metal.

  A church with a second lookout tower atop it stands out as the largest of the dozens of buildings surrounding the square. Though calling some of these wobbly shacks buildings may be a bit too generous.

  Made of various combinations of warped wood, rusting scrap metal, and packed dirt brick, they barely look like they’d withstand the huff and puff of a hungry wolf. All major fortifications went into the wall and the blockhouse.

  The good people of Hope mill about, doing whatever it is people in tiny places like this do. The smallest kids play in the dirt. A handful of people tend the garden. Another group tinkers with weapons on a porch.

  The music of Queen drifts into the square from a small device perched in a window. “Don’t Stop Me Now” has ended and the playlist is well into the next song.

  Several faces and voices lift to join the refrain of “For meee”s.

  Sebastian has never been prouder.

  “But mostly,” Carl continues on, “whoever’s on tower duty sits around bored for a few hours until their replacement comes, unless it’s sludgebrain season, of course. We see plenty of action then. But that’s usually just once a year. It’s the darnedest thing how hellions hordes been showing up all around these parts lately. This holy woman was sent to us at just the right time.”

  “Huh,” Sebastian says. “That is the darnedest thing. And how close to this miraculous lady showing up did all the hellions start making an appearance? Asking for a friend.”

  As if summoned by Sebastian’s voiced suspicions, the keening wail of an alarm shatters the calm of the square.

  In unison, Sebastian and Meza draw their Devastators, brace the weapons against their shoulders, and pivot so that they’re back to back. Their eyes scan the top of the wall, the open gate, the sky for the threat.

  It’s a reflex that comes as easy as breathing.

  Because here’s the thing about life after the fall of civilization: Everyone from the smallest child to the oldest man knows that there’s no such thing as peace and safety. Even in those small, happy moments that almost feel like perfection, one’s finger is never too far from the trigger of a reliable weapon.

  And so it is that the second the alarm sounds, the good people of Hope drop whatever they’re doing and prepare to face battle, and their probable deaths.

  Weapons are snatched from holsters. Leaders call out commands. Children are swept indoors, and most likely into hidey-holes dug into the foundation of the homes.

  Some men and women race to join the lookouts in the two towers. The more shooters at a higher vantage point the better. Others flock to the gate, pointing their blasters outward as those who’d been outside the wall race through the closing gap.

  With a flick of his wrist, Sebastian activates his holo-interface and stabs at the bright red button at the bottom of the display. Though he can’t see it happening, he knows HRM is drawing in her awning and shuttering her windows.

  Firing starts from the tower near the gate. The monstrous creatures are already close.

  “Watch the curios!” Sebastian cries, thinking of the set up he’d spent hours perfecting despite feeling less than one hundred-percent this morning. HRM is armored. The curios are not. “See, Meza. This is why I can’t have nice things.”

  If the gunners manning the enormous rapid-fire Ravagers do their jobs like the rock stars Sebastian hopes they are, the hellions won’t make it past the wall.

  The problem is that when these monsters show up en masse, they’re like a force of nature. They don’t let something as insignificant as heavy casualties or massive injuries slow them down. It’s all or nothing with them. Headshots for all the hellions or the poor humans in their path are nothing but dinner.

  “Move,” Meza says. Sebastian doesn’t have to be told she means the blockhouse in the center of the square. Best not to be standing out in the open if the hellions make it over—or through—the wall.

  A few steps away, Carl fumbles with his blaster, drops it.

  “Meza,” Sebastian says, and nods toward the o
ld man. They reconfigure themselves to put Carl between their backs.

  “Shouldn’t you be inside with the kids, Grandpa?”

  “I been standing my ground against these things before you were born! I was at the battle of—”

  “Remember our deal? I believe everything you say you did if you spare me the trips down memory lane. Can you make it to the blockhouse?”

  “‘Course I can!”

  Carl recovers his weapon and they’re moving toward the center of the square. The structure cobbled together with wood and metal isn’t much to look at, but it’s better than nothing.

  They’re still precious yards away when writhing, black shadows fall over the square like giant locusts coming to chow down on some juicy crops.

  Fun fact about walls, even impressive metal ones. They are significantly less useful when the monsters have wings.

  And no, not all hellions can fly. There are as many types of these creatures as there are covers of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. A great number of them are flightless. This just happens to be Hope’s lucky day.

  The screeching hellions crisscross over the sky like those flying monkeys in one of the old movies Sebastian found while mining the streams for new music. Their numbers are small, for a horde, but that’s like saying you have a small hole in your boat. You’re sinking either way.

  One of the grayish-brown creatures lands on a roof thirty yards away from Sebastian, its claws clang noisily against the metal. It leaps to the ground ahead of a spray of blaster fire. On its four spindly legs, it moves even more swiftly.

  Sebastian fires Captain. The Devastator unleashes its fury, but the thing zigzags so fast the hot blue energy blasts can’t pin it down. The hellion is twenty yards from Sebastian. Ten yards. Five.

  Meza whips her Waster from her shoulder holster and fires past Sebastian. The monster drops, the shot catching it dead in the center of its forehead.

  But she’s so busy covering Sebastian’s ass she doesn’t see the brute charging toward them from her left. Sebastian swivels, pivoting Captain’s barrel with him. Even as he moves, he knows he’s not going to make it.

  “Halt!” The commanding, feminine voice rises above the ruckus.

  And then, weirdly, the hellion stops.