THE HOST FROM THE SOUTH
Three Men and an Apocalypse
“Yea, I’m not going out there.” He had to be a bastard.
“Yes, you are.”
Ike leaned back in his chair. Never breaking eye contact, he reached over for his mug and sipped noisily, “Oh, you’re still here. NO!”
“Come on. Not only are you going to be in trouble, but you’re going to get me in trouble.”
“Sorry?”
“You’re not sorry.”
“You’re right.”
Dave fidgeted nervously, “What do I have to do to make you come with me?”
“Have some coffee.”
“It was that simple?”
“No, I’m not going, but I’ve made coffee and you should have some.”
“We don’t have time for…wait what kind of coffee?”
“Chock Full of Nuts.”
“Maybe one cup, but then you will come with me. Right?”
“We’ll see.”
The coffee was better than Dave expected, especially since it had been brewed in such an improvised contraption, “Well?” Ike wasn't paying attention, choosing to read a three month old newspaper instead. “What have you decided?”
“That I really like Chock Full of Nuts.”
“No, about coming with me.”
“Did you know that the local playhouse preformed Man of La Mancha. Man, I wish I had gone to see that.”
“Ike! You promised.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Fine. I order you to get your ass in gear.”
Ike looked up from his paper, “I don’t take orders from you.”
“Yes you do. Lieutenant Hurley said so.”
Ike switched to a sing-song teasing voice, “Lieutenant Hurley said so!” He rolled his eyes, “Grow up. By the way, he’s not even a lieutenant.”
“Is so!”
“Not so. ROTC: he never actually made it to the military.”
“You can be a lieutenant in the ROTC.”
“There’s a difference between rank in name and experience.”
Dave desperately wanted to change the subject, “Is that a pastry?”
“Indeed it is, I found a whole box of pre-packaged chocolate-filled croissants.”
“May I have one?”
“Of course. I just want to warn you, the picture is a little misleading.”
“These are pretty awful.”
“Eh, beggars and choosers and those sort of things. So, where were we?”
“Well, I told you to get your ass in gear.”
“And I told you no.”
“You then condescended me.”
“That I did. Oh right, Bob Hurley. Even if he was a military man, hell if he was Eisenhower or MacArthur or Patton, he still wouldn’t know shit about how to deal with this situation.”
“I think he’s a swell leader.”
“And I think he’s a fucking twit.”
“Regardless, you are indebted to him.”
“How so? I’m not indebted to him, you or anyone else. Maybe Thomas, but he would say something like: If that’s what you need to do, then go do it.”
“Well, then we’ll go and ask him, see what he says. If he gives you the ok, then its fine with me.”
“Sorry kid, that’s not going to happen.”
“I thought it was a pretty reasonable request.”
“Well it wasn't. All it would do is cause a whole big hullabaloo. Is that what you really want?”
“I suppose not. But, you just can‘t leave without warning.”
“Watch me.”
“That’s desertion!”
“No, it’s not. Desertion implies that my whole relationship with whatever this is, is something that it isn’t.”
“Well, whether whatever you just said is true or not, I am arresting you for desertion!”
“Give me that.” Ike belted the gun, “You've watched too many movies. It’s my gun anyway.”
“I hate you.” Dave stormed out.
“Wait. Kid, wait. Wait! God damn it. Don’t march off to a needless death.”
“Why?”
“…Because you want to live?”
“No, why would I be marching off to a needless death?”
“Oh, right, because Bob Hurley is a fucking twit and will be the death of us all.”
“He hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”
“He hasn’t been given the opportunity. I, for one, am not waiting around for him to prove me right. Look, come with me instead.”
“And why would I listen to you?”
“Because I’ve saved your life three times.”
“Two times.”
“Three times.”
“Fine. Stay here, I’m leaving.” Dave flung open the door to a horrific scene of mass slaughter. He promptly shut the door.
“Four times.”
**************************************************************************************
“Say it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Say it.”
“You were right and I was wrong. There, are you happy?”
“More than you could ever imagine.”
“So what are we going to do now?”
“Well, I’m going to smoke a cigarette. Want one?”
“No.”
“It’s a Jackal!”
“Yea, I quit.”
“You…quit?”
“Yea.”
“Why would you go and do something that stupid?”
“Well, Ike, cigarettes kill.”
“So does everything else nowadays. We’re in the motherfucking apocalypse!”
“Precisely my point. You’re not just killing yourself with those, you are killing everyone else in the room. I just don’t see why you are trying to plunge headfirst into death.”
“…Listen to yourself. We would be lucky to die of cancer.”
“Fine, do whatever you like.”
“Dave…Dave! Fuck… Don’t be so touchy. What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry. You?”
“Famished.”
“Tuna and crackers.”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Unless you want cold soup or uncooked pasta.”
“Tuna sounds fabulous.”
“Actually, I might be able to make quite the feast. I mean, by today’s standards.” He began pulling out a various assortment of foodstuffs and spices. Ike was genuinely impressed.
“What were you, a chef?”
“I wish. Short order cook at a shit hole on Morris, stuck between a shit hole pizza place and a shit hole laundromat.”
“Don’t know it, but then again, I tried not to spend too much time on Morris Ave.”
“You’re better off.” Dave continued sorting the food, refusing to meet Ike’s gaze. It was a matter of shame, but he had found something to do and he couldn’t be blamed for that.
Ike fought fruitlessly for something more to say before finally resigning himself to the fact that the unpleasant task had fallen to him, “Hey, while you finish up here, I’m gonna check on the downstairs.”
“Yea?”
“Yea.”
“Brave man.”
“What can I say.” Ike turned and headed down the stairs.
He drew his gun. The house was most likely safe, but that was no excuse for being caught unaware. Plus, it all made some kind of morbid sense: a stairwell and foyer shrouded in darkness, a destination where any multitude of unknown terrors awaited. It was a perfect situation for something horrible to happen. Yet, the front door was still locked and the minimal barricade they had placed remained undisturbed. Ike let out a sigh of relief.
He opened the door to the bottom apartment. Four men laid in makeshift comfort, all in various states of hurt. If there had been conversation going on before, there was no sign of it now. Ike felt their eyes upon him, waiting for him to say something. This wasn't going to be easy.
“Um…hello.” What a stupid way to start. “Some of you may know me, some of you may not, but we all know what needs to be done here. So, um, if you need help undressing, well, I’ll help you.” There was no response. “I’m going to get some water and towels to, well you know.” Ike felt like an idiot, that whole situation could have gone much better.
When he returned, two had stripped down, one was already dead, and the other had accepted his fate.
Meanwhile, Dave busied himself in the kitchen creating enough food for what he hoped to be six. The main feast consisted of pasta with vegetables and a little olive oil. On the side, he prepared tuna with crackers, tiny peanut butter and jelly cracker sandwiches, some pretzels and carrots. He, also, found four cans of Coke and half a case of canned light beer. It wasn't the most desirable meal, but it was enough.
“Is there a rag around here?” Ike had returned and he wasn't alone. “I don’t know if you two know each other. Dave, this is Jack. Jack, Dave.” Dave briefly wondered what had happened to the others, but seeing Ike wipe his knife clean made him realize that he probably didn’t want to know.
“Nice to meet you.” Dave stuck out his hand to shake their new companion’s only to realize that what had once been Jack’s right arm was now a bloody mess. He quickly fixed his faux pas and went to shake with his left. Jack tried to return the greeting but stumbled while doing so. Dave helped him into a seat by the table.
“Jack, here, caught the wrong side of a badly placed grenade, didn’t you? Luckily, that was the worse of it.” Jack had no opinion on the matter and only asked for something to drink. The rest of dinner was eaten in quiet until Jack coughed up some blood and excused himself from the table.
When they finished, Ike helped Dave clear the table and then set down a map he carried of the local area. Dave finished bagging what leftovers there were as well as a half pound of granola and decided that he needed some sleep. He mentioned it to Ike, who briefly acknowledged him before returning to the map.
Upon waking, Dave found his way to the kitchen, which was illuminated by a single candle. There, he found Ike hunched over his map and laughing to himself about something. Dave yawned and inquired, “What are you so giddy about?”
“I have a plan.”
“And pray tell, what is it?”
“We dump the bodies outside, drawing the attention of the zombies in the area while we make our way to Thomas and the rest.”
“That’s your plan? You can’t be serious.”
“Think of it as, I don’t know, chum in the water.”
“I guess so.” Dave was still half-asleep. “Wait, why are you so interested in rejoining the group? I thought you were doing your whole lone wolf thing.”
“Simple, Bob Hurley fucked up. I can’t possibly pass up an opportunity to rub it in his face.”
Ike then preceded to explain in detail his plan to save their lives. Dave attempted to follow along, all the while combating both exhaustion and Ike’s generous leaps in logic. And, as it often happened between the two, what had started as an innocent debate over the semantics of the plan quickly turned hostile and finally devolved into no more than a test of wills.
The resulting scuffle had a two-fold effect. The first was the knocking down of the candle which lit their sole map on fire. Fortunately, the only destruction was the upper corner of the map which detailed the very suburban town of East Shroudsburg which, coincidently, was being ravaged by an uncontrolled wildfire at the same time. The second effect of the battle was the waking of Jack who assumed that the group was under attack. As he dashed with what strength he had through the door, tearing open his wounds once again, he found the two friends locked in combat.
Jack couldn’t believe his eyes, “What the fuck is going on here?” The two untangled themselves quickly and smoothed out their tattered clothes.
Ike fielded the question, “Well, um, we were arguing about a, well, rather stupid topic and, as we live in an age that is post-internet, we had to resort to a more archaic way of settling our differences: trial by combat.”
“You know, might makes right,” Dave added.
Jack had been saved by complete fucking morons. “What are you? Children?”
Ike smiled sheepishly, “I like to think of it as young at heart. Anyway, I think you‘ll be pleased to know we have the beginnings of a plan.”
Jack listened carefully as he rewrapped the bandages on his arm. With reasonable calmness, the three filled in the gaps, especially the key one: how to cross the street. It was Jack who had the solution. He mentioned a survivor, Theo, that he had met briefly the day before. With the plan agreed upon, the three gathered their gear and set out across the rooftops.
