“Holy shit, they're all bald” Drip commented as we watched our targets camp from a distant vantage point hiding atop an old water tower.
“So?” I responded and immediately regretted my decision as he began rehashing his pet peeve about how ridiculous it is that every survivor tribe we came across seems to have some kind of theme. He had a point, however I was tired of hearing about it.
“Do you remember those mother fuckers in New Florida pretending they was Indians?” he ranted, “the ones with the Maybelline war painted faces? Oh my God, I can't with these…”
“Drip”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up or I'm going to make you play bait again.”
“Whatever.” he responded before returning an eye to his scope, “I'm just sayin' it's stupid...”
“Drip….”
“I'm sorry, my bad, I'll stop…. But I am right though...”
Welcome to our Party-pocalypse.
Insofar as I can tell, it's been about a decade since people began whistling past the graveyard.
That's what they used to call the virus that killed us back when we had the news; “Whistling past the graveyard”. Now we just refer to it as the kazoo. No one l know, or have spoken to in the years since, has any idea when or where it began however one of the early symptoms was wheezy breathing that kinda sounded like a whistle.
Get it? Wasn't that witty of them?
Douche bags.
The good news was that if you didn't catch it during the original epidemic, you were already immune. The less than good news was that the mortality rate for those who did have it was 100%. I don't know what percentage of the world's population died as a result but I'm willing to venture a guess and say it was 187% given how few seem to be left.
Of course, for all I know, the kazoo could've only killed like ten percent of us and the rest of the death and destruction was simply our overreaction to that. And believe you me, we most definitely overreacted even while overreacting. I didn't see any of the nukes going off but I sure as Hell know where not to go. Sure, those decimated cities are probably nothing more than radioactive wastelands but even the smallest possibility of nuclear mutants is already too much for my active imagination to deal with.
Within a couple of weeks of the first panicked news coverage we were already back in the stone age. Cell phones, computers, electricity in general, all gone. Every now and again I'll make a wish when I spot yet another satellite falling out of orbit. It's actually a pretty cool thing to see.
I hope you'll forgive my limited understanding about what happened; however it all played out so quickly that those of us left have been guessing about it ever since. The kazoo only took a few days to kill off a majority of us, the rest was basically the entire remaining population all going to war all at once. I don't know who, if anyone won. I just know that if there was a victor, they sure as Hell ain't anywhere I've been.
Everywhere I've been has been loner weirdos, tiny groups of wanders, “tribes” of people who came together for survival and every so often an old military base that's been converted into a new tiny city. They always seem to be doing better than anyone else. Probably because they had the means in the beginning to take from everyone else. Survival of the fittest, I avoid them at all costs.
They can rebuild society if they want, law and order didn't exactly work out for me the last time we tried it. I preferred things out here in the barren boondocks. Out here you get to be whatever you make for yourself.
All in all, I'm not hating this.
Whoa, calm down. Just hear me out.
Back when everyone was busy whistling past the graveyard, I was doing time for some silly misunderstanding where the justice system said I had murdered a drug dealer during a robbery but that wasn't what happened at all. The truth was I had no choice but to shoot him in the head a couple of times because he was rude. I did not rob him though. It's just that he didn't need his stuff anymore and it seems wasteful to just leave it there. I was railroaded, I'm sure you understand.
They locked us down when it all began. Next thing I knew, no one was there to unlock the doors anymore and I was stuck in a cell with a bunky who's corpse was stinking up the place. All in all it was a pretty crappy weekend.
It took me a little over a week to bust through the reinforced concrete walls with the side of my bedframe but I did eventually get out of my cell. Now, I am not promoting cannibalism. I'm not saying that. That would be awful. I'm just saying that my bunky was the only one who lost weight during that time and I was really happy to get my hands on some Little Debbies in the commissary afterwards.
Manna from the heavens.
I had no idea what was going on in the great big world beyond those walls but I was able to guess from the thousands of corpses in there with me that it was nothing good. I was going to get my bearings before I went anywhere. Going block to block, I happened across quite a few other men locked in their cells as I had been. They hadn't been killed by the gross lung virus but most of them were in various states of dying regardless. Having scavenged the keys from a guard who appeared to have been way too passionate about his job, I let out whoever was able to come out. Drip, a young and wild felon, being amongst them.
We hunkered down there for a period of time while we figured out that the world had, in fact, ended. Some took that better than others. For me, the world had ended long before it made the news. Only thing to do now was figure out what was next. Fortunately, much like those city-like military bases, we were well stocked for precisely this. Suddenly the freeze dried powdered eggs and industrial sized cans of everything in the chow hall didn't seem so bad.
“We'll just stay here” one of the older guys announced to the several dozen survivors one day. “We have everything we need here, it's secure, we'll be fine”
I looked around at all of the bobble heads nodding in agreement, waiting to see if anyone else was going to speak up. Clearly my optimism was betraying me that day. Like a kid in grade school I raised my hand to speak.
“What?”
“Any y'all farmers or know anything ‘bout that?” I waited a moment to see if anyone would surprise me. Turns out children of the soil have a very low incarceration rate. Imagine that. When no one spoke up, I continued, “So, we don't know what the fuck we're doing, which is neat. What's the plan when that food runs out? Do I need to hide some soy sauce for when y'all start lookin' burgerlicious? For real, I ain't feelin' that if I'm bein’ honest”
“We'll figure it out” the self appointed inmate mayor responded after a moment.
“Man, that sounds a lot like ‘I don't fucking know’”, I turned to a couple of the guys near me, “did he just say it's a surprise because it sure feels like it?”
“You're welcome to leave anytime you want” he barked over me, growing agitated.
“Son, I know you didn't just give me a royal blessing to do some shit I already knew I could do. You need to dial that back”
“Well, what's your idea?” One of the other guys chimed in.
“I ain't got no ideas. I just know I ain't staying here playing house. Y'all can have this gay ass sausage fest castle, I'm out. There's a whole world full of stuff that ain't got no owners no more. I'm gonna go put my hands on some of it”
And on that note, I left with the clothes on my back to hit the big open road. I wasn't a hundred yards away when Drip pulled up next to me out of breath.
“Can I come with you?” he asked
“I don't care man. Just don't talk too much, alright? I kinda like how quiet things are now.”
“Yeah, no problem brother.”
A decade and many thousands of miles later, atop that water tower, he still hasn't shut up. Maybe nuclear mutants wouldn't be so bad after all.
“So what's the plan?” Drip asked, “they're definitely a bunch of Mad Max wannabes.”
“Yep.” I agreed. They were clearly a raiding style group. Everything about their camp screamed temporary and mobility. There was definitely no shortage of this type in the new world. A lot of the survivors set out to rebuild when the world came apart but not everyone.
Some of us saw the apocalypse and thought to ourselves, “I can make it worse”.
While so many others sought to survive by learning how to live and be something they weren't, I decided in the beginning that I was just going to keep doing the only thing I knew how to do. Take shit that ain't mine.
And these assholes had a camp full of stuff which fit that criteria perfectly.
“What about a bait n’ snatch” Drip suggested as we examined the fact that this group seemed to have opperational vehicles. Definitely Mad Max posers. The kind that find smaller settler style communities and rush in like Vikings to, well, do whatever they want.
“It'll take us too long to find a car we could get to run long enough to trick them into chasing.” I responded disagreeably to his idea. “They'll have moved on before then”.
“Code blue?” he continued
“Nah, wrong time of year”
“Ambush Boogaloo?”
“I’m not shaving my head”
“Rusty Karen?”
“Fuck no. I'm never doing that again”
“How about a Michael Bay?”
“Ooooooo” I responded positively, “you sure you're up for that?”
“Hell yeah.” He answered without hesitation, “fuck them guys.”
“Amber is gonna be pissed” I continued. Mentioning another member of the tiny road family we'd slowly built up over the years.
“She’ll learn to live with it” Drip said smugly
“Say that to her face”
“What? No…. I mean I would, but why would…. What? No. Just no, shut up.” He stumbled.
“You're adorable when you're being her punk” I mused.
“Yeah, well you're….. you're mom didn't think so.”
“So it's settled.” I continued while ignoring his comeback falling flat on its face, “Let's head back and get what we need. It'll be dark in a few hours.”
Walking back to our small camp hidden in a nearby ghost town, I took in the evening air. Once you got passed the unimaginable loss of life, irrevocable fallout damage and untold suffering and hardships, life wasn't so bad.
It's like the world had simply reset itself. It's not like we were dealing with zombies or a biblical rapture or anything like that. It simply happened and then it was done. Everything after that was all us. It was whatever we did or didn't make of it. To be honest, I didn't miss the way things were. The world never made sense to me back then anyway.
Things may be hard and unforgiving now, but everything was exactly as it appeared to be. You had purpose and goals and none of the social baggage. You just did whatever you needed to do to survive and that was reason enough alone. Its actually a very uncomplicated existence if you were to ask me.
Plus I could poop anywhere I wanted and that's what real freedom looks like.
I think it’s fantastic. I’m always a sucker for a good apocalypse story. And you’re just a good fucking writer and a skilled storyteller. Keep on keeping on man.
Moar.
Or else, uh, you’re Mom.