Ray smiled. He’d picked up the novelty crazy eyes earlier that day. “Thanks. I figure just because it’s the Apocalypse, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look my best.”
That was the beginning of Ray’s first friendship since the world ended.
It turned out that Peter had a mission of his own, a vision of bringing order back into the world, restoring civilization, and civility. He’d gathered a few like-minded people and asked Ray if he’d join them. Ray felt a kinship with Peter. Their missions complemented each other. Peter could build a society and Ray could ensure, Lord willing, that the population stayed pure.
Peter introduced him to Derek, Scotty, and Anya. They stood around blindfolded and told their stories. Not stories from before—no one liked to talk about the old world—but about how they had survived thus far, what brought them there, how they met. At first, when it was just the five of them, they put on the blindfolds every time they gathered to talk, but after a while they realized it only mattered if they started to argue or get strident about something. As soon as someone raised their voice, you could feel the tension rise like hackles on a dog. That was when they needed to tie up.
Chad and Phoebe had joined them only a few weeks back, just after they’d found the old warehouse basement. That’s when the group really solidified. Seven souls together with a purpose—a band of pirates facing the stormy future. Chad stepped up quickly, quiet but industrious, and took on the role of maintenance man—which Ray appreciated. Ray liked to prepare the food and get the crew together for meetings or games, but he didn’t like the drudgery of cleanup and repairs. Phoebe seemed shy, but sweet—as innocent as anyone could be in the circumstances. Ray wondered why God hadn’t taken her up. She acted humble, wearing her beauty without pretension, but perhaps she’d been arrogant and prideful in school and only learned her humility after the Judgment Day.
Ray didn’t have a good read on Sara yet. He’d voted to include her but he would always accept newcomers—God would take care of things if anyone went astray. She seemed to fit well with the group, joining into the mealtime chatter and respecting the rites of their tribe. Even with Sara there, and the shadow of Scotty’s death hanging in the air, everybody had been able to relax and smile as they passed the cans of food around the circle. Ray wondered if they might be the new apostles, setting the stage for the return. Could Peter be the Second Coming?
Ray chuckled at his own hubris—then the wailing began.
“Nooooo!”
Everyone arrived at the same time. It only took a moment to understand why Chad spun around screaming at them and spitting with rage; his beautiful, innocent daughter lay dead at his feet.
Chad, in his grief, spewed accusations at them all.
“Maybe it was an accident,” Ray said. It had to have been an accident—no one would murder Phoebe—but Chad lunged at him.
“Did you kill her on accident?!”
“No!” Ray shook his head as Chad pushed him away. Phoebe was just a kid. The sweetest kid. God would never want that.
“Tie up! Tie up!” Sara’s voice rang out above the others.
Ray raised his eyes, truly afraid for the first time since that moment in the bar. He saw Peter and, as Peter looked back at him, Ray’s mind flooded with memory.
He burst through the front door, shouting his wife’s name.
“Nancy!”
Silence, more than silence—an eerie stillness. A cold, choking quiet. He strode through the living room to the kitchen. His son sat, asleep in the high chair. Ray rushed to him in relief.
But Caleb wasn’t asleep. He was dead. Still belted in, he slumped over the tray, a string of cheese clutched in his cold fist and cheerios strewn on the floor, soggy with blood.
Nancy lay sprawled there, her skin drained white, bright against the dark pool around her. A kitchen knife rested inches from her fingers. She’d cut her own throat. She’d killed their son and cut her own throat.
“Tie up!”
Ray stared into Peter’s eyes.
Kyle. His friend’s name was Kyle.
PART 3
Standing
DEREK
“Idon’t know what this means.” Sara sounded legitimately confused. “Did they kill each other?”
“I don’t think that’s even possible.” Peter said.
He was probably right. You could only look into one person’s eyes at a time, and someone always won the race to death.
Derek knew what he had done. Chad had been screaming bloody murder when they’d touched eyes and Derek didn’t waste a thought before dropping him. But that didn’t explain the other two. Chad may have gotten to one of them before looking at Derek, but things happened so damned fast that didn’t seem likely.
Peter or Sara, one of the two who sat blindfolded on the floor next to him, must be as guilty as he was. Except Derek didn’t actually feel guilty. He’d given that up after only a few weeks. Besides, if he were going to feel remorse, other things he’d done over the last 24 hours deserved more regret than surviving Chad’s wrath. Regardless of what had actually gone down, he certainly wouldn’t admit to his part in anything until someone else volunteered.
He played innocent. “It’s that or one of us killed them.”
“I don’t like this.” Sara’s voice betrayed her anxiety, which made Derek uneasy. He didn’t know her and couldn’t predict how she’d act under pressure. Based on the shudder in her speech, he assumed she’d killed one of the others.
“Look,” Peter said. “If one of us did something, we should just admit it. I don’t think…”
No. Derek had already decided against that route. He obviously couldn’t trust either of them. Things had moved from bad to worse. He would admit nothing. This could easily turn into a witch hunt or an ambush, if it hadn’t already. Nope. No way.
His hands began to shake. Sweat trickled down his sides. What if the others knew what he’d done? What if they were just waiting for him to break so they could have their revenge? The stakes were too high and he was bluffing. He needed to fold before he lost. The façade of this tribe, this mission, masqueraded as civility. But civilization was over. The world had ended months ago and these people simply refused to acknowledge it.
“I can’t take this!” Derek let his composure break. “I gotta go!”
The world, the real world, had died six months ago—but how he wished he could have it back! Derek had just begun to reap life’s rewards when everything fell apart. After wasting a few years in college (because that’s what people did after high school) he dropped out and took a real estate course. Just six night classes and a three-hour multiple-choice test then—bing, bang, boom—he held a license in one hand and an offer from one of the largest real estate firms in the city in the other. He couldn’t understand why anyone would waste their time in college when it took so little to break into one of history’s most lucrative professions.
It turned out to be a little harder than that. After three weeks he realized clients didn’t just call and ask for an agent and the firm’s promise of “floor time” really meant they required him to sit for hours in the office answering zero phone calls and watching no one walk in the door. When Derek asked more seasoned agents for advice they chuckled and suggested he do some cold-calling. The more helpful ones asked if he had any aging relatives in the area.