Pursuit of the Apocalypse Read Free Page B

so he could see the silent crowd on the screen. “Does it look like we have time? What about Christopher?”
    “We haven’t heard from him since he found the Librarian in Texas. He’ll get him. He’ll bring him. He’ll be here. Please don’t let me go!”
    Invictus pulled him back in the window until they were face to face. “Texas is gone! Alasis is all there is! I am all there is! I am the master of our fates!” He leaned the man out the window. “You’ve forgotten too much, praetor.”
    The praetor screamed as Invictus opened the hasp of the cape and let him fall to the concrete below.
    The room was silent as Lord Invictus stood at the window with the crimson cape flowing in his hand, but the room was not still. The toadies, lackeys, aides, and assistants quietly shuffled around the room. Some moved closer to the man at the window while others inched closer to the door.
    When Invictus finally turned, he pointed to the praetor’s second in command and held out the cape.
    The soldier stepped forward and accepted the garment and the title, responsibility, and repercussions that came with it.
    “It’s time to put this issue to rest, praetor.” Invictus walked towards the door. “Send out the Skinners.”
    The orders were given, and within an hour a column of vehicles left Alasis. Battlewagons, War Chariots, Fight Cycles, Stick Ups, Murder Machines, Slug Bugs, minivans, and sedans of all sizes drove out of the city.
    Alasis had declared war on the Librarian.
    TWO
    The Librarian had parked the truck between two upright Cadillacs somewhere in what use to be the state of Texas. Bombs had a tendency to throw things around, so after the world had tried to kill itself, it was hardly worth mentioning any kind of vehicle turned on end. Many were stuck in trees or even set on buildings and were only worth noting if they were being used to give directions. Even then, one would have to be very specific about which car on which roof to make the directions of any use.
    These two Cadillacs, however, had not been thrown but placed on end on purpose and were currently saving his life.
    It had been a handful of years since the last weather report had been broadcast. Records weren’t available and memories were fading, but most people liked to remember the weatherman saying, “It looks like a great day to get outside.” As the bombs fell and the Earth turned from green to a charred brown, people realized that it wasn’t that nice a day after all and the weatherman had been wrong again.
    Had meteorology not been obliterated as an occupation that day, Jerry was sure they’d be breaking into regularly scheduled broadcasts to talk about the maelstrom of sand and lightning that raged outside his truck’s window at the moment. Frightening graphics would fill the screen as the howling of wind, crashing of thunder, and an orchestral score teamed together to terrify viewers at home. A severity scale would be used to compare the deadlier elements of the storm to food items. And some poor bastard from the station would be standing in a raincoat in the middle of the murderous tempest doing his best to out-yell the wind while smiling and secretly hating the assholes that were safely back at the studio.
    But with the death of the old world came a new kind of storm, and there had never been a graphics package for what roared outside. Perhaps, before the end, in the depths of the Sahara, lightning had flashed through swirling sand with such intensity that it turned the particles to glass. But not here in the Texas panhandle. Not until recently.
    Once covered in graffiti, the Cadillacs had since been blasted to bare steel by wind-whipped sand. In the sun, they gleamed. Their reflections could be seen for miles. But in the storm their metal bodies glowed red as they caught the frequent lightning strikes and channeled them into the ground. They pulsed with heat and barely had time to fade back to steel before they were struck again and