Apocalypse: Not

Copyright © 2018, 2019 by Etienne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Wherever possible, the syntax and spelling in this book follows guidelines set forth in The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Cover Art Copyright © 2018, 2019 by Gerald Lopez

Acknowledgments

To my partner of twenty-four years, for his support and encouragement.

To my beta readers: Thank you for your many helpful suggestions.

And to Christine, for advice on medical matters.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Joyce -

For her many helpful comments and suggestions;

For serving as my sounding board;

And last, but not least, for just being Joyce.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

About the author

Contact the author

Other books by Etienne

Apocalypse—Not

Etienne

Apocalypse

a·poc·a·lypse

noun

1. The complete final destruction of the world, especially as described in the biblical book of Revelation.

2. An event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale.

Chapter 1

Tuesday

TELL ME AGAIN when the world ended, Randy said.

You know that as well as I do, his partner Josh said.

I know, but going through the story makes the miles fly by.

They were currently in the middle part of Tennessee, driving easterly along a four-lane highway. The pavement was in decent condition, considering it hadn’t been maintained in more than three years. Most of the main highway had long since been cleared of obstacles, but when they ventured down secondary roads there were always problems to deal with. So far that day, they’d only had to stop four times to push abandoned vehicles off those secondary roads and out of their way. They tended to avoid the interstate highway system because those highways typically bypassed small towns and communities. And the interstate system had been clogged with semis and their trailers—vehicles that were much too heavy to be pushed aside, at least, not without wreckers. US numbered highways were much better for their purposes.

The world ended three years ago, on May 20, 2020, Josh said, and these days everybody refers to it as 5-20-20, or sometimes simply as ‘the crash’.

That’s not precise.

Okay, the end began when the earth entered a massive amount of unusual solar activity on that date. And the end was complete when the entire planet had rotated through it.

That’s better, Randy said. Ever wonder why the scientists who spotted the solar activity didn’t say more about it?

What was there to say? Josh said. It was unusual activity, and they watched it closely, not knowing what it meant, until it caught up with them. They must have been shocked when their instruments stopped working.

Yeah.

"Of course, the world didn’t really end."

Yeah, but it might as well have, given that every computer chip on the planet stopped working when it hit that solar activity.

Right, and I wish we knew more about that, Josh said.

More?

I’d like the answers to a bunch of questions—including, but not limited to: a) was the damage permanent? I mean, when the solar activity stops—if it stops, that is—will computers start working again? and b) if not, will some smart people begin to develop computers using regular transistors instead of miniaturized ones? Oh, shit!

What?

What if the solar activity has already stopped? How the hell would we know?

Good point, Randy said, but one thing’s certain, solar activity stopped or not, the computers are still dead. I tried to boot my old laptop the other night, and… bupkes.

Wait a minute? Josh said. If the world had actually ended, wouldn’t we, by definition, be pushing up daisies?

Okay, so it wasn’t the end, just an apocalypse.

An apocalypse—but we’re not going to let it be the end of us.

Apocalypse—not, Jake said. I like that.

That makes two of us.

It had, in fact, been a disaster of almost unimaginable proportions. Airplanes in flight for example—as airplanes entered the zone of solar activity, their computers had stopped working. Which meant that the pilots suddenly had little or no control over their craft, and tens of thousands of people had died in the ensuing crashes. An airliner had actually crashed in a county adjacent to theirs, and they’d made their way to the crash site to have a look. Similarly, ships at sea had stopped moving, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine the plight of thousands of cruise ship passengers stranded at sea with dwindling water and food supplies. Trains stopped running—as did automobiles, causing more than a few car crashes on the interstate and other highways as drivers lost control of speeding vehicles.

At least we still have transistor radios that work, Randy said.

Yeah, but the transistor radios in old cars can’t find any stations on the air. On the other hand, if you’re lucky enough to have one of the older ham radios, you can communicate with others. Although their numbers are few and far between.

Yeah, but we still get a bit of news that way.

Right. I just loved hearing about food riots and other horrors in the inner cities.

Sarcasm noted, Randy said. Besides which, there hasn’t been any news that you really could call good.

Frankly, I’m just as glad we don’t know the details of every tragedy that happened during that period. My overactive imagination doesn’t need any prompting along those lines.

Which is why we’re riding along the highway in a 1975 Ford Econoline Van that’s nearly two decades older than we are.

Thank God for old vehicles, and the people who keep them running, Josh said.

We both qualify in that respect.

Yeah. You talked me into taking all those shop classes in high school, and it’s paid off in ways we couldn’t have imagined back then.

It’s getting late, Randy said. Are you anywhere near ready to stop for the night?

As it happens, I am. And if memory serves, there’s an old country church a few miles up the road, one that we can pull around behind and be out of sight from the highway.

Works for me.

A couple of miles down the road, Josh spotted a sign and read, Trinity Presbyterian Church. Just what I’ve been looking for.

He drove the van around behind the church, where they found a small pavilion that had obviously been used for church picnics.

How convenient, Randy said. A nice screened-in building. We won’t have to worry about bugs tonight. I don’t remember this place—was I with you when you were here before?

No. You stayed home when I made that trip. Josh pulled the van and trailer up behind the pavilion and killed the motor. Time for Rex to earn his keep.

Randy opened the passenger door, allowing Rex to hop out of the van. Rex, patrol, he said.

The Irish Setter began roaming around the church grounds and adjacent cemetery, taking care of his needs as he did. Several minutes later, he returned to where Josh and Randy were waiting.

That wagging tail and happy-go-lucky look says it all, Josh said.

Yeah. That looks like an old-fashioned hand pump over there beside the church. Why don’t you get our sleeping bags set up while I check out the water supply?

On it, Josh said, and opened the rear doors of the van.

Randy retrieved a water container and carried it over to the pump, where he pressed the pump handle up-and-down a few times. The water was rusty at first, but he was eventually rewarded by a steady flow of what appeared to be clean water. He filled the container and carried it back to the van.

This water looks good, Randy said, but it’s from a shallow well, so I think a couple of water purification tablets are in order.

That’s better than risking a serious case of the runs or worse, Josh said. I still haven’t forgotten the last time that happened.

Do you think we can risk a fire?

Not now, but maybe after the sun goes down.

Right you are, Randy said. I’ll get things set up.

A couple of hours later, having consumed a light supper, they settled down for the night. It was a warm evening, so they slept on top of their sleeping bags with Rex curled up at their feet on the sheepskin doggie bed they carried with them. The van and trailer were locked up tight, and given the dark color of both, they wouldn’t be easy to spot from the highway, even on a moonlit night.

Wanta fool around a bit? Josh said.

Talk about silly questions.

I’ll take that as a yes— Josh didn’t complete that sentence because his mouth was suddenly covered by Randy’s.

Later, Josh said, How long have we been doing this?

Since we hit puberty and found how much pleasure our bodies could give us, and that’s a lot of years.

"It hasn’t been that many years—we’re barely thirty."

And we have many more years to look forward to, don’t we?

Yet another silly question.

Not so silly, given the state of the world we live in these days, Randy said. Josh.

Yeah?

Have you given any serious thought to what we do and how dangerous it is?

I’ve thought about it, but not extensively. Why?

Because we both have to be prepared for the eventuality that one of us might get killed on one of these scrounging missions.

I guess it’s a possibility, Josh said, but I haven’t thought about it.

You should.

I don’t see why.

Okay, then, Randy said. I’ll get specific. If something happened to me, I would want you to put blinders on, look forward, and keep on enjoying life. As Auntie Mame said, ‘Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death’.

You worry too much.

Josh, I’m serious, and I want you to promise me.

Okay, babe. If something happens to you, I’ll go from wearing black to wearing purple in a matter of days instead of waiting six months or a year.

Damn it, Josh.

Oh, all right. If it’ll make you feel better, I promise I won’t lock myself away from the world and get all dramatic if something happens to you.

That’s better.

And I expect you to do the same for me, should worst come to worst.

Of course, Randy said, I’ll do the same thing, should something happen to you.

Can we go to sleep now? Josh said.

Yeah.

Rex, guard, Josh said, and with that, closed his eyes for sleep.

Chapter 2

Wednesday

JOSH WAS AWAKENED the next morning when Rex began to lick his face. He got up, went to the door of the pavilion and opened it so Rex could go outside and take care of business. Then he looked down at his sleeping lover, and nudged him with a foot.

Rise and shine.

Already? Randy said. It feels like I just got to sleep.

It’s well past dawn, and his highness has already told me that it’s time to get underway.

Alright then. Is everything still peaceful around here?

It seems so, and Rex hasn’t given me any indication otherwise.

Good. I’ll put together a cold breakfast while you take care of your needs.

Yeah, Josh said. Squatting in the bushes is so much fun.

You gotta do what you gotta do, Randy said. You do know that some experts maintain that most of mankind’s intestinal problems stem from the fact that we no longer squat to take care of business.

You’ve gotta be kidding.

Not at all, and it sort of makes sense. Something about the fact that when we squat, our rectums are lined up correctly. Maybe that’s why the French are so healthy.

Say what?

You’ve been to Paris, Randy said. Remember that old-fashioned squat plumbing that we thought was so funny?

Funny, and damned awkward to use.

Nevertheless—

Anyhow, we’ll be home in a couple of days, Josh said, and I’m so looking forward to that indoor plumbing.

An hour later, the van was packed, and they were on their way east.

Okay if I take a short nap? Randy said.

I’m wide awake, so have at it.

The original factory-installed bench seat had been replaced with a pair of bucket seats, both of which fully reclined. Randy pushed his back until it was at forty-five degrees and closed his eyes. Wake me, if you need me.

Count on it, Josh said.

Love you.

Back at you. Sometime later, Josh said, Wake up, Randy.

Randy sat up and rubbed his eyes. What’s happening?

Nothing’s happening, but there’s an abandoned gas station ahead, and it looks promising.

Let’s have a go at it, then.

Josh pulled the van up to the area adjacent to the pumps and stopped. I don’t see any signs of human activity around here.

Time for Rex to do his thing, Randy said, and opened the passenger door. Okay, Rex, patrol.

Rex knew exactly what to do, and hopped out of the van. He took care of business, then began to circle around, sniffing the air as he went. As he had the previous evening, he returned to where Randy and Josh were standing and wagged his tail.

I think he needs a reward after that, Josh said, and tossed Rex a doggie treat. Rex caught the treat in mid flight and gobbled it down.

Randy, who had been inspecting the access covers to the station’s tanks, said, I don’t think these tanks have been opened in a very long time.

Good. I’ll set up the pump.

The two men had done the drill so many times that it took only a few minutes for them to open one of the underground tanks and insert a hose into it. Using a pump powered by the van’s battery, the tank of the van filled up quickly. Then they switched the nozzle to an opening on the outside of the trailer, and began to fill the holding tank it contained.

This station didn’t offer diesel fuel, did it? Randy said.

Not as far as I can tell.

Too bad. I was hoping we’d return home with forty gallons or so of diesel fuel.

We’re still a couple of hundred miles from home, Josh said. I’m pretty sure we’ll have one or two opportunities between here and there.

They closed the cover to the station’s underground tank, secured the trailer, then made a quick search of the premises.

Looks like this station has been picked clean, Randy said. Clean, that is, except for the two bodies inside. Maybe bodies doesn’t quite explain what I saw. Two sets of skeletal remains is probably more accurate. Even inside a closed up room, small critters have done their thing and left only the bones.

The station may have been picked clean of food; but I’m gonna take a look in the storage area anyhow. You never know what you might find.

Josh retrieved a large flashlight, nosed around the back room of the station for several minutes, and returned empty-handed, except for a case of Coca-Cola.

Slim pickings, huh? Randy said.

Yeah. Nothing but a few fan belts back there, and my best guess is they were all for vehicles of recent vintage.

Yeah, and therefore useless for our purposes—gotta find a parts house for belts that fit our list of old cars.

They carried with them a list of older vehicles that were owned by various members of their community, and were always on the lookout for belts and hoses that fit those models.

There’s more Coke back there, if you want to grab another case or two, Josh said.

On it.

Time to hit the road, Josh said after two more cases of Coke had been placed in the van.

Right behind you. Want me to drive this time?

Sure. I could do with a nap. Back in the van, Josh settled back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. Wake me in a couple of hours, okay?

Count on it, buddy.

An hour later, Randy pulled the van to an abrupt stop and said, Wake up, Josh, there’s trouble ahead.

Josh shot up from his reclining position and looked around. What trouble?

Just down the road. Looks like some people in a Conestoga-style wagon are under attack by bandits on horseback.

Have the bandits spotted us?

Not yet, Randy said. I think they’re too busy tormenting those folks in the wagon. I’ll get my rifle. It looks like an easy shot from here.

Go for it, Josh said, and reached under the driver’s seat. I’ll bring my trusty six-shooter.

What about Rex?

Best leave him in the van, what with bullets flying around, and who knows what else.

Good, Randy said. Should I pull up closer to the fight?

If you can do it quickly and quietly.

Randy started the van and pulled forward until they were within a hundred yards of the battle. As they hopped out of the van, he said, I’ll go for the two riders at the back of the wagon, and you can take out the one in front.

On it.

Randy knelt in the highway median, took careful aim, and with a couple of well-placed shots, knocked the two men at the back of the wagon out of their saddles. Meanwhile, Josh ran forward until he was within easy pistol range and shot a third man as he turned in his saddle to see what had happened to his cohorts.

They ran up to the wagon, which was by then on fire, and looked inside. Josh saw an older man and woman lying obviously dead behind the bench that served as a driver’s seat for the wagon, and heard a moaning sound coming from its rear. They hurried to the back of the wagon, where they saw a younger man lying on the floor bleeding from a leg wound.

Help me get this guy out of the wagon, Josh said.

Behind you! Randy said in a shout.

The next thing Josh heard was the sound of a shot being fired, and he turned just in time to shoot one of the riders Randy had knocked out of the saddle. The man had managed to get to his feet, and take a shot at Randy, who was now lying motionless on the pavement.

Josh turned back to the wagon, and pulled the moaning victim from its bed, then he turned to take a closer look at Randy, who’d taken a gunshot wound to the head.

Fuck, Josh said to nobody in particular, then his training as a Navy Corpsman kicked in. Living first, then wounded, then deal with the dead, he thought. He carried the victim, who he now realized was a young man in his twenties, over to the van and got him situated in the passenger seat. Then he returned to where the wagon had been—the horses had been spooked by the fire and bolted, taking the burning wagon with them—picked Randy up and carried him to the van as well. He opened the backdoor and managed to get Randy’s body laid out beside their cargo. Rex began to whine and lick Randy’s face.

Rex, sit, Josh said somewhat firmly. Then he grabbed a cloth and wrapped it around Randy’s head to stop the blood from getting all over the floor.

Time for first aid, he thought, and turned back to the young man in the passenger seat, noting for the first time that the man was a rather attractive blond with a really defined body. He treated the man’s injuries as best he could, then he returned to the fallen bodies and searched them. He retrieved wallets, guns, and pocket contents, leaving the bodies where they lay. He looked briefly at the bandits’ three horses, who were now grazing quietly at the side of the road. I wish I had some way to take you guys with me, he thought before he returned to the van. Josh got in the driver’s seat and headed down the highway, thinking it best to get as far away from the scene as quickly as possible.

Chapter 3

Wednesday

JAKE SINCLAIR AWOKE to strange sounds and, more importantly, to unfamiliar aches and some serious pain. He tried and failed to sit up, the effort of which caused him to groan loudly.

How do you feel? a strange voice said.

Like shit, he said. He turned his head enough to see a good-looking redhead behind the steering wheel of the vehicle he was in. Who the hell are you?

I’m the guy who pulled you out of that burning wagon.

The wagon! Oh my God, what happened to my parents?

"I’m sorry to say that they’re dead. Both of them