Riding The Apocalypse Read Free Page B

packed with immobile vehicles, horns blaring, as corpses littered the street in various states of dismemberment. Steam was rising from cars that had collided with street poles and other vehicles. The surrounding city in the background of the shot looked familiar although, to my relief, it certainly wasn’t San Francisco. Maybe the capital of Chile, whatever that was? Then the camera panned slightly higher, and I saw what might have been the most disturbing thing I had seen yet…the Empire State Building.
    Flip...
    A talking head! Finally! We both sat up and listened intently. The news anchor looked pale and was sweating profusely, he kept glancing around the studio nervously. He had a General Custer’s last stand kind of vibe. Check that, maybe more like one of General Custer’s infantrymen’s last stand quality. He loosened his collar and spoke.
    “The President of the United States has proclaimed a State of Martial Law for the entire country. Please go to your homes as soon as you can and secure your doors. Please do not take advantage of...”
    Looters—hate those bastards.
    Then the screen split and footage was showing opposite the news guy that almost immediately turned my fear to anger. The announcer’s voice seemed to fade into the background as I fantasized about heading to that Walmart (which was mere miles from my home) and beating the crap out of the man carrying a stack of football jerseys out of the store. What a douchebag. The scene reminded me of that viral internet picture of a mouse with its head caught in a snap trap while another mouse is screwing it from behind. Seems there is always someone there to take advantage. I am actually not terribly strong, and that person probably would have beaten the hell out of me, but I was still angry.
    “All looters will be shot at the discretion of the military. Please make sure you keep open lines of—”
    Snow.
    Flip.
    “This is a test of the emergency—”
    Click.
    That was it for me. I sprang out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans that were draped over the Nordic Track, which was, without a doubt, the most technologically advanced clothes hanger I’ve owned. As I began to dress, I made time to peek at my ex who scrambled to collect her clothes from the floor as she straightened her panties.
    Priorities.
    After I finished getting dressed, with so many thoughts running through my mind, I just froze momentarily. I did not know what to do next. You dream of moments of bravery as a kid and springing into heroic action, but I simply froze.
    “Wait, where is my phone?” she asked.
    “In the living room, remember?” We both had received calls right when she came in the door, so we laughed, shut the ringers off, and threw them on the couch. We laughed again because they landed on top of each other, and were still vibrating.
    That had been seventeen hours ago.
    Should I call my buddies? Devise a plan to go to the mountains like Patrick Swayze in Red Dawn ? I drive a Camry, fat chance. I just stood there nonplussed until my ex spoke.
    “I have no idea what the hell to do right now.”

Chapter 3
     
    “That’s your decision; if you reconsider, call me.”
     
     
    When my ex decided to end her indecision by heading for the bathroom I had a few minutes to ponder my own course of action. If history was any guide, my ex’s morning prep time should take somewhere between twenty-five and thirty minutes before she would emerge from the bathroom looking almost exactly the same as when she entered. To be fair though, she’s a natural beauty and wears little makeup. It would also be fair to say if you saw us together, you would think I had absolutely outkicked my coverage, pardon the sports metaphor. Regardless, I still do not understand the amount of time it takes her to be presentable by her standards, especially since she often emerges with wet hair and a toothbrush in her mouth.
    We met about six years ago in the service department of my previous place of