Welcome to the Infinitum

APOCALYPSE RESIDENT

by Alper Caglar

We always would find a way. We always would find a place. We always would find someone to do it. The last great war began calmly, suddenly, and subtly. We began with precision guided lances of digital terror, and smart bombs. When we ran out of silicon and fiber-optics we started using our shrieking engines of annihilation. When those were spent we began using rifles, guns and cannons. In the last few battles we fought by chewing on the enemy's flesh, tearing out their skin, and strangling them until spittle mingled with blood on our sinful hands.

Then someone realized that we had never used an old friend. By that stage of the endless war, no one recalled the saying:

"An enemy forgotten, is an enemy returned."

And so the end of the world came with nuclear inferno. It was not humane, but human. It was not logical, but technological. It was a fury unleashed by us, on us. No one foresaw it coming and no one thought it would ever happen. Infernal flowers of malevolence blossomed upon the sky, vaporizing all life on its path without mercy. In a few days, many many spears of god rained upon the innocent and billions died.

No one knew who struck first, no one was even sure if it was a nation at all. The spark ignited the fire, and the fire rose into thousands of pillars of destruction. Not one city was left intact. As the bombs dug craters as wide as entire lakes, the earth watched. She watched in tears of irradiated water, she watched in bellows of the shaking fault lines. She watched her fondest children killing themselves.

Those left alive above the surface gasped for clean air, and begged endlessly for fresh water.
I… was one of them.

PART I

Jeb looked up from his writing, and glanced around. The harsh wasteland surrounded him and his charred wooden hut. Even after six years, it still smelled burnt from that first shockwave that grazed the town. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't get used to the acrid stench of his dwelling. Perhaps it was the radiation. He crouched beside his "fireplace", a burning trash can, and set a camera on automatic to take a picture of himself. He held his dinner, a fried bird and smiled above the camera, as if someone was there. The click and whirring signaled that the picture was taken. This photo would serve as the cover of his book… if he could find a damn dark room to bathe the film. He seriously doubted that possibility.

He pushed himself up from the primitive stool he made by chopping up a log. He skimmed the pages of his new journal, and realized that his Pilot pen was leaking ink.

Oh man.

He shook his head and slowly walked over to his basement trapdoor. He had stolen the huge steel lock itself from the Walmart he sacked a few days after the war erupted. The memory of the store employees writhing in agony from their radiation burns was etched onto Jeb's mind. One of the poor bastards must have been in pain for days. The old man had severe radiation burns all around his body. Jeb regretted not killing him.

The locker's password was 5182002, after May 18th 2002, one day before the infamous date on which the Great War abruptly started. He was smart by not making it the exact date, heck that must be the most popular password in the world right now. He opened the sturdy steel lock and descended into his rudimentary basement. He rummaged through seventy tubes of toothpaste, eleven toothbrushes, countless plastic jars holding vitamins and medicine, a handgun, ammunition, four hundred packs of Marlboro Reds (he was an occasional smoker and ransacked every shop in range to make up for a ten year supply of cigarettes).

Almost seven thousand dollars worth of items remaining from the original thirty thousand… I need to go shoppin'

He found the empty pack of Pilot pens. He was out of writing utensils.

Should have stolen more from the shop.

His new book, The Apocalypse Resident, was an auto-biographical narrative he had begun only a few days ago, but he was already out of pens. Glancing at the last remaining Pilot pen which continued to drip ink, Jeb decided to venture forth for the first time in nearly ten weeks. He would need to change into his commandowear.

Part II

The hull of the M1097A2 troop carrier was hot to the touch as the sun shone above. Jeb ran his hands on the gleaming exterior. It was a true beauty, the Humvee. The outer shell was camouflaged and the inner space was covered with bulletproof lining. Jeb had decided to steal it as his own transport, along with several more military trinkets, nearly a year ago from a storage garage near the Virginia Military Institute. His fuelmeter read nearly full. Though gasoline was very hard to come by, an intact road was a true rarity. Whereas one could loot a remote gas station, it was impossible to build roads alone.

Doesn't matter, with this lady, I don't need roads to travel.

It was almost funny how he would never be able to own such an exquisite off-road vehicle had the war never started. Yet both had their purpose. The military outfit he wore, along with the equipment he posessed, was all to build a persona. Around this part of the state, he was known as Captain Jeb Williams. Captain Jeb Williams the Brave. Captain Jeb Williams the Savior.

Whenever he had the need to venture forth into the unknown, he carefully acted out the role of a military Sergeant. The survivors of the war gave him a wide berth then. Traveling with fake promises of the government trying to reorganize the army in order to map out supply routes, he always tried to hand out hope to anyone around him. Besides, a little hope hurt no one. He had to have such a story. Without it he would be legitimate prey for the scoundrels of the new world. Survivors were the most dangerous adversaries within the wasteland. Most were mad and beyond reasoning. They only lived to die, from someone else's hands, so they could finally go to heaven.

Religion had become the new legitimate government of the wastes. After several years of drought and global devastation, fanatical sects devoted to the cleansing of the world took control of the populace. The pre-war government and army were all relentlessly blamed for the holocaust. The primary creed of one of the insane cults was to slay all strangers until someone killed you.

And the bad thing is, there are dozens of 'em.

A smaller percentage of the survivors dispersed all around the continent, trying to revive the raped soil with their often-futile agricultural attempts. When Jeb met them, he would utter his trademark lines:

Evening citizens. I must make haste towards Norfolk, the government is trying to regroup after all these years. I have crucial information necessary for supply routes that can be used to send provisions here. Move citizens move! We will survive! Here, take some of these radiation-cleansing medicine, a courtesy of the Federal Government.

He would just grab a jar of aspirin and begin sprinkling the pills onto the ground. Almost always, amongst the confusion, Jeb would slip away. And if they still did not move... well that's why he carried a submachinegun.

Remembering it, he ran into his dwelling and grabbed the H&K MP5. The sun's rays gleamed over the jet black finish of the compact weapon. Throwing that on the back seat as well, Jeb climbed in the Humvee and slammed the door shut. The engine rumbled to life. The weathered vehicle began plowing through foliage nearby, and sped north towards one of the few remaining asphalt roads. It cut through bushes and leaves, leaving a battered landscape behind its inexorable movement. After several minutes, it ran over a ramp where the woods cleared towards the highway. Crossing a minor ravine the Humvee landed right on top of…

PART III

"Hell!"

No one actually heard Sergeant Luceno. The twelve soldiers were all busy trying to dodge themselves from the storms of bullets and explosives aimed at them. Luceno looked down at his watch, and raised his head inches from his cover. They were outnumbered nearly ten to one. The vast majority of the frenzied civilians they were up against were not armed, but they posed a major threat nonetheless.

They were in an engagement right in the middle of an interstate road. His soldiers we're shielding themselves within small ditches formed by explosions, as their unstoppable foes marched from a further part of the highway.

"It's noon right now boys, I want to get the hell out of here by 1 o'clock and eat a fine dinner somewhere back in D.C. So put these bastards down!"

A few of the men laughed at the joke, some didn't hear it. Making fun of the rubble that once was Washington D.C. was a classic one liner these days. Private Stoles would have laughed at it, had his face not blossomed into a red haze from an incoming 7.62mm full metal jacket. The blood sprayed all over Private Perez crouching beside him.

"Man down man down!"

The Sergeant glanced over towards the mauled face of Stoles. The Private used to be a handsome kid, quite intelligent… just a few seconds ago. He grit his teeth and grabbed his M-60 Machine Gun, swinging it with great momentum in front of him. The bulky and unwieldy contraption landed on top of his cover with a thud. Without a thought as to what might happen if a stray bullet found him, Luceno squeezed the trigger and braced for the tormenting recoil of the monster gun.

The cacophony of the entire area was snuffed out by the thunderclaps produced by the massive weapon. With each passing second, another attacker fell down, clutching a ripped hole on their body. Seeing the Sergeant, the remaining members of the platoon began firing their weapons as well. Some began uttering curses, some began praying to God for forgiveness, but all were spewing death.

No one liked to kill civilians.

Amongst the charging mob were teenagers, women, and old men. But they were all insane. They had to be. No one would march towards their death, or kill to just kill. Sometimes it seemed to Luceno that the world just went nuts after the war. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Sir they have military grade armament!"

The Sergeant squinted towards the carnage and noticed that he was mistaken. At least half of the crowd carried carbines and grenade launchers. They were just holding back until they were in range. They were not entirely bestial after all…

"Fall Back! Fall Back!"

It was too late. Right before his screams even made sense to his men, 40mm grenade shells began landing all around them. Shrieking explosions shook the earth. Cinder, dust and pieces of flesh washed Luceno's face. When the dust settled a few moments later, indescribable terror crept over the Sergeant.

"Report in Team!"

As his ears still rang with the sound of the explosions, he was able to make out Corporal Snow's voice. "Sir I have Perez and Wilder with me. They're unconscious! The others… sir… I…"

He glanced back and saw the shrapnel's butchery on the remainder of his platoon. Seven more of his men were ripped into shreds by the devastating tactic. They had no chance anymore. Luceno unclipped every grenade on his vest and began throwing them as far away in front of him as he could. They exploded one by one, possibly taking out several more of the murderers. As he activated his last grenade, he considered for a moment of just dropping it where he was. There were many rumors of the terrible things the mad survivors did to their victims. He might just end the pain right here and right now.

"This is Vicenzo sir! I have Smith with me, severely wounded! I don't think he's gonna make it."

With that he decided to take his chances and threw the grenade a few feet in front of himself, and began running back. A cloud of asphalt dust gave him temporary cover as he sprinted towards his subordinates.

"Fall back, drop your damn weapons and fall back!"

His men obeyed, though he could not make them out completely at this point. For the first time in years, he was sweating with fear. Then again maybe it was the running. As he was sprinting back he realized that more and more of his foes were beginning to flank him. The monsters were going to trap them.

And then like a miracle, something happened quite suddenly. The beautiful shape of a military Humvee burst out from the bushes beside his former cover, and landed right in the middle of the battlefield.

PART IV

Jeb cursed throughout his brief flight from the ramp and onto the road. The heavy military transport landed right in the middle of the firefight, between some fleeing soldiers and attacking civilians. No, not civilians… madmen.

Of all the places in the world.

Towards his right was utter carnage. Mutilated and scorched bodies from both sides littered the devastated asphalt. Spent ammunition shells we're still falling onto the ground like a steel rain. Which meant the fight was still going on.

Which means I can still very damn well get hurt.

In a split-second decision, Jeb hit the gas pedal and veered his Humvee starboard. The tires slid on the asphalt, screaming like wounded animals. He turned the nose of the vehicle toward the intact part of the road. Where there were no pesky cultists.

As he his velocity picked up, he noticed the fleeing soldiers looking at him pleadingly. Then the terrible truth sent a shiver through him. He was in a military vehicle, with a commando suit carrying the insignia of a Captain. However unlikely, these soldiers could survive he engagement, and report back to whatever remnant bunkers they came from. His cover would be blown. His disguise would be useless. Abandoning the defeated warriors could be the worst thing that ever happened to him.

Bullets rained all around him. The crazed cultists knew of a military vehicle when they saw one. And now all of their firepower was aimed at him.

Sweet mother of god, what have I got myself into!

The obvious leader of the military squad, a man in his late thirties waved at him. His calloused face was tanned unhealthily. Dark brown eyes gazed tiredly out of sockets that were surrounded by dark circles. His men weren't in better shape either. Three of them were carrying a wounded comrade as one just sobbed crouching beside his Captain.

And now I am here. The store looting, grave robbing, immoral savior! What a day!

The hail of low caliber shots on his hull was now louder. The occasional ammunition round ripped through the Kevlar lining of the Humvee. When that took place, he was usually just muttering prayers to every god he knew of.

PART V

The ravaged form of the Humvee slid to a stop before him. Luceno couldn't believe his eyes. Even his home bunker didn't have any troop transports. This must have been a stroke of luck unheard of.

"Climb in that beautiful son of a bitch! Go go go"

He pushed every able man within the platoon survivors into the Humvee's back seats. None of them had time to greet the driver. Private Smith had died of immense blood loss minutes ago. They had just dumped his unfortunate corpse onto the ground. No one dead would miss their body. Most of his men had no bodies anyways. Pieces of them were floating around the demolished landscape. Finally as a bullet whizzed past somewhere near him, the Captain had the strength to push himself into the armored car. He shut the heavy door and hoped that the driver had the intelligence to just hit the gas pedal and go wherever the road may take him. Anywhere was better than here.

"Report In."

Luceno raised his head and looked at the driver. The man had black eyes, and dark hair, the ghost of a beard decorated his face. He was not a burly man, but rather gaunt. The Sergeant would guess that he was twenty-eight at most. His insignia pointed out that he was a Captain… A Captain? Alone? What the heck was the world coming to?

"Sergeant Michael Luceno of the Newport News Bunker reporting in."

He narrowed his eyes and examined the interior of the car. It was almost brand new, except for the gaping bullet holes on some of the doors and windows. In front of his boots, a jar of aspirin was lying over an H&K MP5.

"Corporal Benjamin Snow reporting in. These are Privates Vicenzo, Perez and Wilder."

"You sir?"

"Captain Jeb Williams. Is there anyone wounded?"

"No sir, I have a slight wound which is just a scratch. Your bunker sir?" asked Wilder.

The man seemed to dart his eyes around for a while. A suspicious act, Luceno thought. Then he answered the question.

"Charlottesville. Captain Jeb Williams of Charlottesville. Get some rest, we'll talk when we reach a safe location."

The men nodded their greetings, and silence fell over the half a dozen ravaged men in the car, as they closed their eyes and let Captain Williams drive them towards safety. Luceno, however, calmly gripped the hilt of his pistol.

PART VI

Jeb felt the cold barrel of the gun on the back of his neck. He hit the brakes out of fear, and the massive off-road vehicle skidded on the asphalt violently. The men behind him cursed as they grinded to a halt.

Luceno behind him, spoke menacingly:

"You dumb son of a bitch, there is no bunker in Charlottesville."

Jeb squealed something that made no sense. He felt like a rat facing a flood. Possible excuses and answers swamped his mind, but he could choose none of them. Not while a gun was stuck right underneath the back of his skull.

"Please, please don't hurt me."

"In five seconds, I will have assumed that you are one of the civilians posing as a military officer, and blow your brains out."

Jeb squealed again. This was too much. Suddenly he began blurting out everything he knew.

"I am Jeb Williams! A survivor from Norfolk though…uhh .. I was driving interstate while the bombs fell all around the damn state. I set up a shelther for myself right nearby here! I usually pose as military personnel to not be disturbed by the more sane survivors! PLEASE!"

Luceno lowered the gun. No cultist spoke this rapidly without showing signs of insanity.

"Alone?"
"Huh?"

"You live alone Jeb? In the damn wasteland? Are you nuts son?!"

"I.. I rob intact stores and malls. There are fields of treasure within those places! Everything is more or less intact. Aside from refrigerated items, which… well… melt.. But potato chips, and cereal is mighty good! There is even milk powder which tastes good! Sometimes I even go to the bookstores which haven't been vaporized and get stuff to re…"

"Get out of the car."

Luceno sighed heavily. Perhaps this man was not insane, but he did not seem truly sane either. Living alone since the war must have driven the kid into unimaginable loneliness. He slowly opened the door of the Humvee, and stepped out. Motioning Jeb as well, they both faced each other standing beside the vehicle.

"How close is your personal shelter?"

Jeb looked behind him. If his estimations were correct it would be a long and dangerous walk indeed. In the car Private Perez hollered out to his Sergeant.

"Let's just kill him chief. The bastard lied to us, and stole a military Humvee when it could have saved the lives of many soldiers with this thing."

"No! NO! The Humvee was abandoned! I think they were trying to relocate the damn Virginia Military Institute and they just left everything behind! Please don't kill me!"

Luceno frowned towards his savage underling. Jeb frowned at his unfortunate fate.
"Well we might as kill you, god knows how much you have been irradiated."

The soldiers laughed. Jeb became teary-eyed.

"Men, grab your guns…"
Jeb winced.
"… and get out of the Jeep. This citizen has saved our lives, we owe him a lot. Get ready to walk back to the point of rendezvous."

The men grumbled and began collecting their items. Slinging the rifles over their shoulder, they pushed a shocked Jeb out of their way. Luceno, with a wiry grin on his face spoke:

"Don't mind them son. I thank you for your bravery. You know where Newport News is?"

Jeb nodded silently. He thought that if he spoke, this moment of relief might not last much longer. Relief was only temporary in this ravaged world.

"Well you are always welcome to visit us. I will mention your assistance to my Commander. I wish you the best of luck."
Jeb stared at the man in a state of stasis.

"Now get in your damn Humvee before I decide that I might make better use of it."

Without listening to another word, Jeb jumped into the drivers seat, and pushed the gas pedal. The Humvee began speeding up, and he faintly heard the laughter of the military men.

Bastards. Scaring me like that.

Screw the pen. He would go and get a Pilot pen in winter-time. No one walked around in the harsh winter. And so he decided to go back home. Home was good. Home was safe…

THE END

Story Analysis

I chose to write a post-nuclear story because of two reasons. Firstly, I enjoy the struggle of a character against an unforgiving environment. From Troy Dennings' Dark Sun series, to the Fallout computer games, I have always been fascinated by characters who mature through surviving in a harsh land. Secondly I think that Jeb is a very funny character, at least to me. Jeb is the sort of person who would be considered a complete social failure in an intact world, but in this savage apocalyptic landscape, he is thriving. He has few qualms about anything, and just tries to survive, instead of become desperate. When I think of it, a post-nuclear story is far more dynamic than any other one, because the environment is actually a character which always interacts.

There were times in the story when I tried to disturb the reader. The idea of insane civilians being mowed down by machine guns… well… it doesn't get much more disturbing than that. I also initially thought of describing violent scenes vividly, but toned it down a little in the end. I did not want to alienate the readers with violence for violence's sake.

Overall I think this is a story about a lonely survivor, who knows how to survive. There is some symbolism within the story itself. Jeb is more like an animal, trapped within an Ice Age, who tries to make a living. To me, Luceno is much more human than Jeb. Luceno is far more calculating and emotional, and thus less of a survivor. Compared to Jeb's raw survival instincts, all the rest of the characters fall short. It's interesting though, how I chose to show a more poetic side of Jeb when describing his book that was being written.

Because of time restraints, I would have liked to make this story longer and far more elaborate, but I hope you enjoy it as it is. I hope that one day it will serve as a skeleton for a short film, or perhaps a detailed novella. There is always improvement in fiction perhaps in the future I'll try to flesh out the story a bit more.