Apocalypticon (25 page)

“Help your mother clear the table!” Warren shouted after them, but they were already bounding up the stairs. He shook his head and chuckled. “Kids these days, eh?” He stood and began clearing the dishes from the table. Patrick and Ben moved to help, but he shooed them away.

“It’s impossible to teach them any sort of decent value in today’s television culture,” Mary said, shaking her head. Warren agreed.

Television culture
? Ben mouthed to Patrick. Even televisions run on generators were useless; the stations had almost all stopped broadcasting. The only active channels they knew of were the ones set to blast pre-recorded emergency information on loop. The information was completely useless, advising people to take shelter in their basements, as if those vulnerable to the Monkey dust could have survived by hunkering down in a cellar. And even those emergency broadcasts were probably dead by now. It was hard to imagine someone keeping them powered this long. There sure as hell wasn’t any “television culture” infecting the youth. That was an extinct concern. Patrick just shrugged.

Warren reappeared in the dining room. “I hope you don’t mind, I moved your bags and things over to the guest room. That’s, uh...that’s quite a little arsenal you boys have,” he said, more with curiosity than concern. “I suppose you must be...what, some sort of bounty hunters?”

“Uhm...not exactly,” Ben said.

“What an exciting life that must be!” Warren continued, his eyes growing glassy with imagination. “Dedicating yourself to tracking down all manner of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells. Sleeping under the stars, traveling to exotic locales, all that excitement and adventure, bringing criminals to justice. I do envy you boys.”

“Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Patrick said, his voice dropping a whole octave. “It can get pretty dangerous out there, but we like to think we do some good.” Ben rubbed at his temples.

Warren shook his head and smiled. “Mm. I do envy you,” he said again. “Come on, why don’t we head down to the study?”

He led them to a small, comfortable room at the corner of the house. The dark leather of two overstuffed couches matched the stained oak bookshelves that lined the walls. About half of the shelves were full of books; the other half held family portraits, various plaques and awards, and polished woodcarvings of horses, sports cars, and contemplative Native Americans. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couches. They plopped down and sank into the cushions.

“Oooooo!” Patrick said, bouncing a little. “Very nice.”

Warren lit a fire in the hearth. Its light still paled in comparison to that given off by the plethora of candles spaced around and above the room, but the warmth was nice. He crossed over to a bar cabinet against the far wall. He pulled three glasses and a bottle of Four Roses small batch from inside. “I’m afraid our ice maker’s on the fritz just now. Do you fellows mind taking it neat?”

They toasted to good fortune and sipped their drinks quietly in front of the fire. Warren seemed deeply lost in his own thoughts as he swirled the drink in his glass. “This is a pretty classy man cave,” Ben said, breaking the silence. “Put in a pool table and you’d never have to leave.”

“Is billiards your game?” Warren asked. “I’ve never been much for it myself. Too mathematical, billiards. All angles and speed. I’m more of a links man, myself. Do you boys play golf?”

“I hit a guy with a putter once,” Ben said. “Remember that, Pat?”

“Yeah. I do. ‘Cause that guy was me, you jackass.”

Ben smiled at the memory. “It sure was.”

“I used to play,” Patrick volunteered. “You know, before everything happened.”

Warren gave him a queer look. “Before what happened?”

“You know. Everything. M-Day, the Flying Monkeys, and all that. The end of the world.”

Warren grimaced and shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not much for politics,” he said by way of apology. “I’ve always been of the mind that a man should do his duty to his family, provide for them by earning an honest paycheck, and let the rest of the world sort itself out. I don’t even bother watching the news anymore. It’s gotten so I don’t need to listen to a couple of talking heads to know how far the country’s fallen. Why, take a look around you. I’m sure you’ve noticed the board on our windows. The neighborhood kids have broken them so often, with their bats and their stones, heck, some of them just drive their fists right through the glass. I got tired of replacing them and just up and said, ‘Enough!’ Young hooligans running around screaming and destroying things like that, with complete disregard to a man’s private property...well, I ask you, what kind of world is that? Where’s the humanity? It’s gotten so we don’t feel safe sending the children to school anymore. Just last month, I walked the children to the schoolhouse myself. I wanted to discuss their progress with their teachers. William’s in third grade now, he has the sour-faced old woman, Mrs. Whatshername, Leidwenger? I tried to have a conversation with her about William’s lessons, just casual conversation, you understand, but she just sat there at her desk, ignored me completely, ignored the entire room! It’s no wonder the other parents have stopped sending their children to school. Even the teachers have given up on the youth. Of course, that’s why they’re all vandals and hoodlums. They’re not held accountable. There’s no discipline anymore. Mary handles the children’s education now, and I think she does a fine job, a
fine
job! We don’t leave the house much because of it, either. Well, they don’t, anyway. A man has to work, of course, but there’s not much cause for a woman and children to go wandering about the neighborhood, not with such reckless violence happening everywhere. Having two calm, rational boys like yourselves in the house is a comfort to me, a real comfort. Mary refuses to accept that the neighborhood teenagers have gone feral, some sort of motherly defense, I guess, but they have, oh ho, mark my words, they have. They’re the ones who were chasing you, and I knew you two were on the up-and-up. The ferals don’t chase each other. It’s dangerous times out there, I tell you. I don’t know what’s gone on with the world.”

Patrick and Ben sat wide-eyed as Warren finished his speech and sipped thoughtfully from his glass. Patrick elbowed Ben. Ben elbowed him back. The unspoken message was clear:
Holy shit
.

Warren finished his whiskey and smacked his lips, savoring the flavor. “Would you boys excuse me? It’s about time to put the children to bed. Make yourselves at home. Pour another drink, if you’d like. I’ll be back shortly.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Ben jumped to his feet as soon as the door clicked. “What the fuck is he talking about?” he whispered hoarsely. “Neighborhood vandals? Watching the news? Dear God, he sent the kids to school up until last
month
? That teacher was fucking
dead
, probably rotted to a skeleton! These people are out of their minds!”

“Yeah, but they have excellent refreshments,” Patrick pointed out, sipping his drink.

“Are
you
out of
your
mind? We have to go!”

“Go where? Back out into the woods? At night? With those man-eating psychopathic politicians running around? No, I don’t think so. You go right ahead. I’m gonna sit here by the fire and drink more whiskey.” He proved this by remaining by the fire and by drinking more whiskey.

Ben shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wracked with indecision. Patrick was right; if those emaciated man-things were still out there, there was practically no way they’d survive the night. But being inside this house was just as unsettling. “Will you sit down?” Patrick asked. “You look like you have to pee, and that makes me have to pee. And I don’t want to go pee because this couch is
really
comfortable.”

“Are you sure ‘cardigan wearer’ wasn’t one of the old lady’s warnings?”

“No, she never said anything about being attacked by Mr. Rogers.”

Ben sighed helplessly. “Okay. We stay here tonight, but one of us should keep watch at all times. Seriously. We can take turns sleeping.”

Once they’d said their goodnights and headed up to the guest room, they decided to rotate the watch every three hours that night, with Ben taking the first watch. The plan was successful for exactly three hours and twelve minutes, at which point Patrick lost a poorly fought battle with exhaustion and fell into something just bordering on a coma on the floor. He awoke to a not-so-soft nudge in his ribs. “Mrrwpft?” he said, bolting upright.

The little girl jumped back, startled. She wore a different colored jumper this morning, but the blouse and the ribbons were the same. “Mommy says breakfast is ready,” she whispered shyly. Then she turned and ran out of the room.

Patrick yawned and shook his head clear of its cobwebs. He reached up onto the bed and poked Ben in the forehead. “Wake up.”

Ben slowly came to, mumbling something about fig trees and popinjays. He opened his eyes and looked bewilderedly around the room. “What time is it?” he asked. The room was still dark, illuminated only by three candles on the dresser that someone had apparently lit while they were still sleeping.

“A little after six,” Pat said, checking his princess watch. “Time for some b-fast.”

“Did you keep watch all night?” Ben yawned.

“Yeah. Obviously,” Patrick lied. “You looked so peaceful, I figured I’d just let you sleep.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

Breakfast consisted of mixed Dole fruit, homemade bread, and sweet potato hash.
These nutjobs set a fine table,
Patrick thought.

“Think you fellas’ll stick around another night or two?” Warren asked, wiping his mouth with a neatly pressed cloth napkin. Mary shot him a look of alarm from across the table, but he gave her a reassuring wink.

“We hadn’t really thought about it,” Patrick admitted.

“We probably won’t,” Ben said. “Lots of ground to cover, and all.”

“Nonsense! Mary, what’s for dinner tonight?”

She gave him an annoyed glower, but answered, “Lentil and spinach pie.”

“Lentil and spinach pie,” Warren said, as if that settled the matter. “You don’t want to miss that. Plus, you’re in no condition to hunt your bounty right now, Patrick. Let Mary take a look at that hand of yours this morning.” He wiped his mouth and pushed his chair back from the table. “Well! I’m headed to the office.” He stood and kissed Mary on the cheek, and the children on the tops of their heads. “You two troublemakers be good for our guests now, you hear? Don’t give your mother any problems. What’re you working on today?”

“Multiplication,” William said miserably.

“States!” the girl cried.

“That’s the spirit, Lucy.” He smiled and tousled her hair, shaking a few strands free of their ribbon restraints.

“It took me twenty minutes to get her hair just so. You stop that and go to work,” Mary scowled, swatting at Warren. He grinned and danced away from her reach.

Patrick and Ben cleared their plates from the table and dumped them in the sink. “I don’t want to stay here,” Ben whispered.

“I know, Baby Ben, I know,” Patrick cooed, patting the shorter man’s head. Ben slapped his hand away.

“You two make yourselves at home today,” Warren said, placing his own dishes in the sink and straightening his thin tie. “Don’t let Mary talk you into sweeping the floors, now, you’re our guests.” He headed out into the front hall and grabbed a smart leather briefcase from beneath the entryway table. He beckoned Patrick closer. “The little lady gets a bit disquieted about strangers in the house. You two feel free to hide out in the study if things get a little uncomfortable for you,” he said.

“Sure. No problem.” They shook hands awkwardly (Patrick grabbing Warren’s right with his own left), and the master of the house unlocked the door.

“Should you really go out there?” Ben blurted.

“A man’s got to do his duty, hasn’t he?” Warren smiled, jangling his keys. “The bread doesn’t put itself on the table! Besides, it’ll be a long day in winter before a few neighborhood bullies get the best of Warren Tinder.” He gave them another wink, then pulled open the door and walked out, calling a final goodbye to the family.

Patrick held the door open behind him. “Where do you think he goes?”

Ben shrugged, but they didn’t have to wait long to find out. Warren turned off of the brick walk, in the opposite direction of the driveway. Instead of heading to the garage, he rounded the far corner of the house. Ben and Patrick exchanged confused looks, then followed him out into the yard. They peeked around the corner just as Warren disappeared down a set of steps into the house’s cellar, pulling the storm doors closed behind him.

“I don’t like this,” Ben said. “I want to leave. Today.”

Patrick admitted he might be on to something there. “Maybe that’d be best.”

Mary was waiting for them in the foyer when they returned to the house, her arms tightly crossed. “You should know the sheriff lives next door. Any sign of trouble, and he’ll come running.”

“There’s no trouble,” Patrick said. “We’re not trouble. Do you feel troubled?”

“Let’s just lay our cards on the table. I’m a woman with two children, left alone in a house with two strange, armed men. My husband seems to think there’s nothing wrong with that, God knows why. I want to make it perfectly clear that if you try to assault me or my family in any way, you’ll be in handcuffs before I finish screaming for help.”

“Well...not to split hairs here, but you’re not exactly
alone
in the house with us,” Patrick pointed out.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Your husband,” Ben said, confused. “He’s downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”