Apocalypsis: Book 1 (Kahayatle) (15 page)

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Okay, then, I guess we let him stay.
 
But at the first sign of something being off, we cut him loose,” said Peter.

I smiled.
 
“Well that’s not a good criteria.”

“Criterium.”

“Whatever.
 
I mean, you’re off all the time, but I don’t cut you out.”

Peter shoved me.
 
“Get away from me, you rude beast.”

“Come on.
 
Let’s go eat dinner and then we’ll go to bed.
 
We’ll make him sleep away from us the first night.”
 
I pointed my finger at Peter.
 
“And no cuddling, you hear me?”

Peter ignored me, instead going to the trailer to find some of the dried military meals.
 
He quickly whipped up a meal and invited Bodo to join us for dinner.
 

Bodo ate his own stuff, but was generous enough to give us each two of his precious ‘Pringkles’.
 
It felt like a picnic, and I decided after Bodo’s third ridiculous story of his horrible mishaps he’d endured trying to find travel partners, that he was going to fit in just fine.
 
As long as he didn’t try to kill us or steal from us while we slept.

CHAPTER FIVE

I WOKE UP TO THE beeping of the alarm on my watch.
 
It was three thirty in the morning and time to get on the road.
 
The first thing that came to mind was the fact that Bodo was really going to slow us down until we found him a bike.

I sat up and nudged Peter awake.
 
“Time to get up, sleepy head.”
 
I looked down to where Bodo had gone to sleep and saw nothing.
 
He was gone.
 
I shoved Peter harder and then got on my feet.
 
“Get up, Peter.
 
Bodo’s gone.”

“What’d you say?” mumbled Peter, rolling over onto his back.
 
“Oh, God, this ground is so friggin hard.”
 
He paused for a couple seconds and then sat up all of a sudden.
 
“Did you say Bodo’s gone?”
 
Peter looked down to where Bodo had been sleeping.
 
“Crap.
 
That’s weird.”

I had a small panic attack when I thought about our supplies.
 
I rushed over to the trailer and lifted up the tarp.
 
My eyes scanned the contents, taking in our backpacks that still looked full, the tools, the square of plastic, the bucket.
 
All of our food seemed to be there, too.
 
I pulled the last item I noticed out of the trailer and held it up.

“What do you suppose this means?”

Peter squinted his eyes and then they opened wider.
 
“He left us his Pringles?”

“Yes, he left us his ‘Pringkles’.
 
And he didn’t take anything else that I can see.”

“You still have your gun?”

“Yeah.
 
Do you?”

“Yeah.
 
What about the bullets?” asked Peter.

I grabbed the bottom of the backpack where we kept the bullets and shook the boxes that I felt there.
 
They sounded full.
 
“Still here.”

“What should we do?
 
Wait for him?
 
Maybe he’s … doing his business or something.”

“Yeah, but why would he take his backpack if he was doodling?”

“God, I wish you’d stop saying that,” said Peter, standing up and scrubbing his face a few times.
 
“I’m going to go pee.
 
I’ll be back with better answers.”

Buster and I went to go pee behind a bush, and we got back after Peter, who was drinking some water and eating a chip.
 
We sat around for a few minutes, but then decided to just leave.

“For whatever reason, he’s gone, but we can’t wait around anymore.
 
We have to get to the Everglades.”

“Did we ever tell him yesterday what our plans are?” asked Peter.

“No.
 
I didn’t.
 
And I don’t remember you telling him.
 
Why?
 
Are you worried about him ratting us out?”

“No.
 
Actually, I was hoping maybe he could eventually catch up with us.
 
But I know that’s not very realistic, since the Everglades is kind of huge and we don’t even know exactly where we’re going.”

“Well, I’m not going to worry about it.
 
Maybe we’ll see him again some day.
 
It was nice of him to leave us his Pringkles though.”

“You can stop calling them Pringkles now,” laughed Peter.

“I kind of prefer it that way, actually.
 
Pringkles.
 
It has a nice ring to it.”

“Come on,” said Peter, grabbing the handlebars of his bike and wrestling it down the slope.
 
“We need to get fifty miles today at least.”

I had a hell of a time getting my bike down the hill without crashing it and mangling the trailer, but somehow I got it done without damaging myself or the equipment.
 
Buster wisely stayed far away until I was on flat ground again, but as soon as the bike was upright, he ran and jumped into the trailer, turning a few circles on his Hello Kitty backpack before lying down.
 
He rested one paw over the edge of the trailer and then looked at me expectantly.
 
Sometimes he was so humanlike, it was scary.
 
It was easy to see why George had been so attached to him.
 
I was really glad Peter had brought him along, even though having a dog wasn’t necessarily the smartest choice we’d made.
 
He ate some of our food and he did bark occasionally when he shouldn’t - but I guess I couldn’t argue about his watchdog skills.
 
He’d alerted us twice already, and one of those times he’d been a life saver.

“Good dog, Buster Pink.
 
Good boy.”

I was rewarded with a doggy grin and a tail wag.

Peter led the way up the ramp, heading south on the highway again.
 
I drew up parallel to him so we could chat.
 
It was still dark, but the sky was light enough that we could make out the hulking forms of cars along the way.
 

“I was kind of excited about having a third person in our tribe,” said Peter wistfully.

“Yeah.
 
Me too, actually, which surprises me.
 
I honestly was fine with it being just us.
 
But having Bodo there with this goofy accent and way of saying things was entertaining.”

“I’m sure we’ll meet some other fun people on our way or once we get there.”

“I doubt it.
 
Maybe on our way, but I kind of hope not.
 
I think we got lucky finding one good guy when we could have found a lot of bad ones.
 
I’m starting to think the bad ones are the majority now.”

“Yeah, like a gang mentality kind of a thing,” suggested Peter.

“Exactly.
 
I mean, maybe one person alone wouldn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m going to eat a person for dinner tonight’, but when a group of people are together and they get each other all wound up, I guess it’s different.”
 
I was trying to figure out how a civilized society could degenerate so far and as quickly as ours had.

“I think it’s more like you have a group led by someone who’s either very charismatic or very vicious, someone with a screw loose obviously, and he decides for everyone that cannibalism is a valid way to exist.
 
And the rest of the group goes along either because they’re just as crazy, or brainwashed, or just afraid to go against him.”

I laughed.
 
“Yeah, can you imagine?
 
You’re at the bar-b-cue and you say, ‘Oh, no thanks.
 
I’m a vegetarian.’”

Peter got silent all of a sudden and I wanted to smash myself in the face with something.

“Jesus, Peter, I am such a jerk.
 
I’m sorry.
 
I don’t mean to be so flippant about that stuff.”

Peter shook his head.
 
“No, don’t apologize.
 
I know you don’t mean anything by it.”
 
He started to cry, using an arm to try and hide his face while he kept riding.

I held my hand out to him to get him to stop moving forward.
 
“Stop for second.”
 
I got off my bike and went over to where Peter was standing, straddling his bike.
 
“Time for cuddles,” I said, pulling him into a hug.
 
“Don’t cry, please.
 
I’ll never say anything about the stupid canners again.
 
I’ll try harder to be more sensitive.”

“No, don’t change.
 
I like the way you are just fine.”
 
He sniffed hard and cleared his throat.
 
“What happened to my sister wasn’t funny, but if we can’t laugh about the terrible things happening in our world right now, I’m afraid we’ll eventually go insane.
 
And that’s what led to Lily’s death, so we need to avoid that.”

“Okay, avoid insanity.
 
Check.
 
I’m down with that plan.”

Peter rested his head on my shoulder for a minute.
 
“You know, for a girl who mocks the cuddle, you’re pretty good at it.”

“Yeah, well, my dad taught me.
 
He was a great hugger.”

“Um, Bryn?”
 
Peter picked his head up.

“Yeah?”

“I think we have company.”

I stiffened, standing up straight and releasing Peter, turning to see what he was looking at.

Off in the distance, in the dawning light of the day, I could just barely make out a bright orange, wiggling flag coming down the highway towards us.
 
“What the hell?”

***

The orange flag got closer and closer, and as it did, I finally realized what I was looking at.
 
Bodo was on a bike - a beach cruiser with a basket on the front of it and a flag on the back - riding as hard and as fast as he could up the highway towards us.

He pulled up all red-faced and smiling.
 
“Hi, guyss.
 
Vhat’ss up?”

I shook my head slowly, laughing.
 
“What in the hell are you riding?”

“It’s a bike.
 
What doess it look like?
 
See?
 
It even hass a fleg.”

“It’s a flag, goof, not a fleg.”

“Dat’s what I said.
 
Da bike hass a fleg.
 
Anyway, it’s not a problem.
 
I found it so I can ride with you and not slow you down.
 
Isn’t that a faboolus idea?”
 
He smiled at both of us, back and forth, nodding his head in apparent agreement with himself.
 
“Oh, und, it hass a basket on da front for da little doggy.”
 
He looked down at Buster and nodded some more.
 
“Do you want to ride in da little basket, little doggy?”

Buster looked at him and then at me, crouching lower on his Hello Kitty backpack.

“I think he wants to stay with me,” I said, kind of hoping Bodo’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt, being rejected by a naked poodle.
 
He seemed to be trying really hard.

“Well, dat’s perfect, becauss I got dis bike really for you.
 
See?
 
It hass a big seat on it.
 
It’s made for people with bigger rear ends dan men.”
 
He had moved his butt off the seat and was pointing to it.
 

Now I could care less whether Buster had hurt his feelings.
 
“Are you saying I have a fat ass?”

“A fat ass?”
 
Bodo looked confused for a second and then shocked. “Oh, no, dat’s not at all what I am saying.
 
No, your butt isn’t big.
 
Actually, I do not know if you’re butt is big or not, I haven’t looked.
 
But da rest of you is quite small, so I expect your butt is too.”

Peter was laughing so hard he was bent over holding his stomach.

“Stop laughing, you idiot,” I said.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, giggling in between words, “I can’t help it.
 
It’s so funny.
 
He got you a big butt bike!”

“No, Peter, don’t say dat,” chided Bodo.
 
“I just got dis kind of seat because it’s good for girls.
 
And da basket is for her little doggy.”
 
He looked at me with a sad frown on his face.
 
“I will ride dis bike.
 
It is okay for me.
 
It is not a problem at all.
 
I am sorry about your butt.”

That sent Peter off into more gales of laughter.

“Don’t apologize for my ass, Bodo.
 
My ass is just fine, thank you very much.”
 
I hated to admit it at this point, but that seat did look a heck of a lot more comfortable than my current seat did.
 
And my butt was sore from riding on the small, hard surface for so many hours the day before.
 

“Okay.
 
I’m ssorry.
 
My English is not good.
 
I offended you and dat is my mistake.”

“No,” I waved him off, “it’s fine.
 
Really.
 
I see what you were trying to do and I appreciate it. But before we go any farther, we need to get that flag off of there.
 
You’re alerting every canner within a one-mile radius that we’re coming.”