riches. But let him that glorieth in this, that he
understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the Lord which exercises
loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth: for in these things
I delight, saith the LORD.”
Kyle snorts as the mob goes quiet.
Everyone stands dumfounded and looking at Fred.
“Cease fire!” a soldier orders.
The soldiers stop firing but
remain ready. Everyone looks at Fred.
“I’m scared,” he says into the
bullhorn. “We’re all scared. Let’s stop fighting, ok?”
The soldiers lower their guns,
looking toward their commander.
“Look folks, the man is right. You
need to stop fighting and go to the evacuation centers. There will be help for
you there.”
Grumblings and murmurs drift
through the crowd as people slowly start to gather themselves and walk away.
Kyle lays a hand on his dad’s
shoulder and says, “Let’s go, Dad.”
Fred drops the bullhorn with
shaking hands and takes out a cigarette.
“Kyle, I’ve had enough of this
city. Where’s the hospital?”
The pain in his shoulder has
lessened to a throb. It takes him a few attempts to light the cigarette.
“Screw the hospital. A tsunami is
coming. We need to leave the city.”
“Not without my grandson.”
14
L arry’s head swims with disorientation and booze.
The tile under his cheek feels cool. He doesn’t remember passing out. The last
thing he recalls is breaking into a liquor store and having a drink. Someone
sings the hook of an old R.E.M song about the end of the world. His right hand
throbs and is wrapped in a bandage. Pixel sits obediently near him.
“You’ll need stitches,” a
disembodied voice says.
Larry struggles into a sitting
position, favoring his injured hand. His senses start to clear. There’s a heavy
smell of alcohol. All around him are tilted and fallen liquor shelves.
“How did I hurt my hand?”
An older gentleman wearing a
polished grey suit sits on the floor next to a clerk in a worn out band
t-shirt. A body guard kneels next to the older man and uses medical tape to
bind an injured leg.
“I was twenty-one when I met my
wife,” the older man says, his attention on the boy. “We met at a wedding in
July…”
“I met my girlfriend at night
school while getting my G.E.D.”
“What’s her name?” the older man
asks.
Larry stares at the man. The face
looks familiar. Finally it hits him. His name is O’Neil, some big-wig senator
from Texas. O’Neil is always on the news with one controversial opinion or
another. The clerk pulls out a wallet on a chain and flips it open.
“Her name is Emily,” the young man
says with a smile and flashes a photo of a pretty Goth girl.
Senator O’Neil gives a warm laugh.
“She looks like a firecracker!”
“What happened to me?” Larry
interrupts.
“We’re in what’s left of the best
liquor store in D.C.,” the senator answers and takes a drink from a high end
bottle of scotch. “As for what happened, you passed out after an aftershock
shook the store.”
“What happened to my hand?”
“You went straight for the Chateau
Lafite wine case,” the younger man volunteers. “The case broke with your hand
in it.”
Larry glances at the wine case.
The bodyguard is making the senator a splint.
“You dropped the wine. Take this
as a conciliation prize,” the clerk says.
Larry accepts a bottle of whiskey
and braces it between his thighs.
“Those bastards wanted to do their
drug trials in Dallas, but I said no,” the senator says while tipping his
bottle. “Boys, I’m higher than a Georgia pine.”
“Um, who sir?” the clerk asks.
“What are you talking about?”
Larry interrupts.
“Zurvan said they were curing
diseases of the brain like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s but they lied. Have you
ever heard of a drug called Killer Z?” the senator asks.
The clerk says, “Yeah, but I’m not
into synthetic shit.”
“Good for you,” the senator’s
voice is laced with bitter humor.
understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the Lord which exercises
loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth: for in these things
I delight, saith the LORD.”
Kyle snorts as the mob goes quiet.
Everyone stands dumfounded and looking at Fred.
“Cease fire!” a soldier orders.
The soldiers stop firing but
remain ready. Everyone looks at Fred.
“I’m scared,” he says into the
bullhorn. “We’re all scared. Let’s stop fighting, ok?”
The soldiers lower their guns,
looking toward their commander.
“Look folks, the man is right. You
need to stop fighting and go to the evacuation centers. There will be help for
you there.”
Grumblings and murmurs drift
through the crowd as people slowly start to gather themselves and walk away.
Kyle lays a hand on his dad’s
shoulder and says, “Let’s go, Dad.”
Fred drops the bullhorn with
shaking hands and takes out a cigarette.
“Kyle, I’ve had enough of this
city. Where’s the hospital?”
The pain in his shoulder has
lessened to a throb. It takes him a few attempts to light the cigarette.
“Screw the hospital. A tsunami is
coming. We need to leave the city.”
“Not without my grandson.”
14
L arry’s head swims with disorientation and booze.
The tile under his cheek feels cool. He doesn’t remember passing out. The last
thing he recalls is breaking into a liquor store and having a drink. Someone
sings the hook of an old R.E.M song about the end of the world. His right hand
throbs and is wrapped in a bandage. Pixel sits obediently near him.
“You’ll need stitches,” a
disembodied voice says.
Larry struggles into a sitting
position, favoring his injured hand. His senses start to clear. There’s a heavy
smell of alcohol. All around him are tilted and fallen liquor shelves.
“How did I hurt my hand?”
An older gentleman wearing a
polished grey suit sits on the floor next to a clerk in a worn out band
t-shirt. A body guard kneels next to the older man and uses medical tape to
bind an injured leg.
“I was twenty-one when I met my
wife,” the older man says, his attention on the boy. “We met at a wedding in
July…”
“I met my girlfriend at night
school while getting my G.E.D.”
“What’s her name?” the older man
asks.
Larry stares at the man. The face
looks familiar. Finally it hits him. His name is O’Neil, some big-wig senator
from Texas. O’Neil is always on the news with one controversial opinion or
another. The clerk pulls out a wallet on a chain and flips it open.
“Her name is Emily,” the young man
says with a smile and flashes a photo of a pretty Goth girl.
Senator O’Neil gives a warm laugh.
“She looks like a firecracker!”
“What happened to me?” Larry
interrupts.
“We’re in what’s left of the best
liquor store in D.C.,” the senator answers and takes a drink from a high end
bottle of scotch. “As for what happened, you passed out after an aftershock
shook the store.”
“What happened to my hand?”
“You went straight for the Chateau
Lafite wine case,” the younger man volunteers. “The case broke with your hand
in it.”
Larry glances at the wine case.
The bodyguard is making the senator a splint.
“You dropped the wine. Take this
as a conciliation prize,” the clerk says.
Larry accepts a bottle of whiskey
and braces it between his thighs.
“Those bastards wanted to do their
drug trials in Dallas, but I said no,” the senator says while tipping his
bottle. “Boys, I’m higher than a Georgia pine.”
“Um, who sir?” the clerk asks.
“What are you talking about?”
Larry interrupts.
“Zurvan said they were curing
diseases of the brain like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s but they lied. Have you
ever heard of a drug called Killer Z?” the senator asks.
The clerk says, “Yeah, but I’m not
into synthetic shit.”
“Good for you,” the senator’s
voice is laced with bitter humor.
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