Topher's Ton

Survival of the Fittest-3

They did, however, find a huge cache of Adderall and Ritalin, Prozac, and Zoloft, as well as an inordinate amount of Cialis and Viagra. More importantly, they found a single round of antibiotics. One round. At least one of them wouldn’t have to worry about getting an infection.

Gradually it all began to make sense. The end struck so fast and in so many different ways that nobody had time to react. Most people were drowned or burned or swallowed up almost immediately, and those who didn’t find immediate shelter afterward were eaten during the ensuing CZA. Desperate men wiped out the rest. Nobody had time to eat or fire a gun. Nobody had any time to do anything other than kill or die.

They headed north on Rt. 15, spent the August and September in the cool climes of the mountains. In the fall, they traveled back to I-95 where Topher told Zorn he wanted to head to the ocean.

“Why the ocean?”

“Why not?”

“I can think of a few: Hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, the fact that most of the coast is underwater.”

“We don’t have to stay there. I just want to see it. Kind of like a farewell.”

“Farewell?”

Topher gave him a look.

“Don’t worry. I’m not there yet.”

Zorn didn’t press him about it. He was too busy thinking of the best route to get to the beach. He fished an old road map of the East Coast out of his backpack and spread it out on the ground. The edges were tattered and torn, and the map was ripped at the folds. He found some back roads they might use, but back roads were always a gamble; they were either washed out or blocked by fallen trees or, even worse, hunted by bandits. The interstate was only slightly better, but at least it was out in the open and relatively dry. They’d have to avoid Philadelphia altogether. It was always a good idea to stay out of the big cities. He traced his finger over his proposed route.

“I think we can head north to Wilmington. Head east on 295, then take the Atlantic City Expressway.”

“Alright then.”

“When do we leave?”

“I don’t see why we should wait. Why don’t you go rally the troops?”

Zorn was more than glad to help, and Topher watched him as he folded up the map and left. He wished he could share his friend’s enthusiasm, but all he could think about was Robert Burns and Steinbeck.

His name was Scotty, and he was eight. He was only a year old when the Catastrophes happened. He’d never known a home other than a tent, had never been to school, had never passed a day when his stomach wasn’t grumbling. He didn’t know what electricity was, had never seen a television program or gone to the movies. He didn’t know it, but the woman he called his mother wasn’t his mother, and the man he called his father wasn’t his father. He was tough and smart, but young and full of questions, and one morning he got it into his head that he was going to explore. His mother always told him to stay close, to wake her up if he got up before she did, but she seemed so comfortable in her sleep, breathing heavy as the sun lightened the sky, and he didn’t want to bother her.

First he was just going to pee. That was okay, wasn’t it? He went to the edge of the woods where they made camp and made water there, staring into the dark, his breath fogging the air. It was so beautiful, so still. He’d just finished when he heard the crack of somebody stepping on a stick, the thump of something heavy nearby. He held his breath. Nothing. Daddy always said to be careful, and Scotty had seen some red work in his short life, so he knew it wasn’t an idle warning. But if he ran, he’d make noise, and whatever it was would come after him. After another silent moment, he began to relax. Nothing more to be heard. Just the rustle of the wind.

“H-hello?” he asked, then clamped his hand over his mouth.

Stupid! Why did he do that?

Another crack, another thump.

He strained to see what was out there, fighting the urge to run back to his tent. He was brave. He was strong. Noises were nothing, right? He swallowed his fear, even as his hands trembled. Daddy wouldn’t be afraid. Daddy would fight the monster and kill it. Another breath of wind stirred the dead leaves, and then the thing stepped into sight.

Scotty gasped.

It was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Brown and white fur covered its body, which was sleek and strong and made for speed, and it had a little ball for a tail and nubs pushing out of its head. He marveled at how it seemed to emerge from the woods, like magic. It stopped when it saw him, and they stared at each other for a long time. Then another thump came from somewhere else and the beautiful creature bounded away, shooting between the trees and brush with athletic leaps.

Scotty couldn’t help himself. He ran after it.

He tried to keep up, but it was too fast, too agile. Little branches whipped his face, the undergrowth tore at his jeans, and he quickly lost track. He ran farther and farther in, turning here and there when he thought he heard it nearby, but after a while he grew winded and had to stop. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

How far in had he gone? Was he lost? The camp couldn’t be too far back. He’d run in a straight line, right? All he had to do was turn around and head back out. He was about to do this when he heard a scream. A woman’s scream. It sounded like it was coming from in front of him. She must be in trouble! He turned back the way he came, thinking. Daddy wouldn’t run back. Daddy would help. She screamed again, clearer this time, and Scotty made up his mind.

He only had to walk another hundred yards or so before the woods ended at another road. He popped over a rusty guard rail and walked across it. There, down below, was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. He looked at it, heart racing, then turned and ran back through the woods to tell his parents.

Topher and Zorn scooted under a rusted metal barrier at the edge of the road to get a better look at what they were dealing with. Double layers of winding highway twisted before them, bending through itself like a fat black snake. Some of the overpasses were as tall as skyscrapers. Philadelphia sat gray and dead in the distance.

The first beams of the morning sun shone on their faces, which were dusky and dirty with endless travel. Ever since the Catastrophes, there seemed to be more dirt in the air, and the days stayed hotter longer, and the wind sometimes swooped down out of nowhere, bringing with it dust storms that blackened the sky even at noon. This, however, was no such day. The landscape was as white as bleached bone, and though it was fall, they could feel the heat gathering above, pushing down on them, cruel and heavy. All was still.

Topher surveyed the road before him with a pair of binoculars. She was there. Just like the boy said. Naked. Seemingly bound to the pole.

She was surrounded by a circle of crushed cars stacked atop one another, forming a ten-foot wall of metal shards, exposed wiring, and broken glass. Although the boy said she’d been screaming, her chin now rested on her chest.

“She’s dead,” Zorn said.

“Or faking it.”

“How could she be faking that?”

Topher handed Zorn the binoculars.

“Look. See how she’s holding her arms behind her? It’s so we can’t see if she’s really bound or if she’s hiding a weapon?” He sighed wearily. “Obviously a trap. You’ll get used to it, you know.”

Zorn put the binoculars down, placed his right palm under Topher’s chin, and smacked his head up into the guard rail.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“I’ve stayed alive this entire time, too, you know. Did you fight off the Elk-Men of Montana? Did you escape from cannibals in Aspen?”

“Boys playing cowboy and starving yuppies. Nothing compared to what she has in store for us.”

“They were cannibals! And the Elk-men weren’t playing at anything. They screwed actual elk horns into their own skulls. It sounds ridiculous until you find yourself impaled on one of them.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“So?”

“So what about morality? Goodness? Art? I thought you wanted to start civilization again?”

“I do, but for now it's gone, and we have to be realistic. We’re all eating each other. A splinter could be a death sentence, and if you die, you come back and eat other people. Even worse, nobody knows how to read anymore. The next generation will be populated by illiterate cannibals who flinch at anything made out of wood. So I’m a d**k. Who cares. I’m a living d**k, aren’t I?”

“I’d rather be a dead d**k than a d**k that lost his morals.”

“Dead d***s can’t do anything to start again. Living d***s can. At this point, selfishness is morality.”

Zorn opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Topher was right. Everybody was too focused on survival to think much beyond the next threat. Maslow’s hierarchy, right? Math and art were wonderful, but who could think about literature or geometry when someone was trying to impale you? What was the point in painting anything unless it was with blood? It was enough to make someone commit suicide.

He wouldn’t be the first, too. How many basements had he come across with swinging undead? How many times had he and his men found piles of them beneath tall buildings, skulls cracked open and leaking? Wouldn’t he have gone through with it if he didn’t think he’d come back and make someone else suffer? He saw it so clearly. They were barely holding on before the Catastrophes, and that was with the benefits of medicine and refrigeration and video games. Now they had nothing. They were nothing.

“We’re doomed,” he said.

Topher suddenly felt bad.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Can I tell you something without you getting angry?”

Zorn shrugged.

“In the beginning, when I was just setting up The Ton, there were these gangs that used to come around. Young guys. Cocky, violent. At first they left me alone, thought I was just some old quack trying to farm in irradiated soil. Then I reaped my first crop and people started to join me. That got their attention. One day, a group of them came by and demanded my harvest. I refused. They beat me half to death and burned everything. Kidnapped women and children.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. I was devastated. It was my fault. I’d promised those people protection and food and I failed. In the darkest pit of that night, I seriously considered just killing myself. But I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t brave enough. So that next morning I set off with a few of the survivors in search of another place. And we found one, and again we built it up, and again the bad men came.

“This time we were ready. We fought back. They took some of our food, but they didn’t take our people. We killed as many of them as they did us. Word got out. There is a man in the South who will fight. When they came around the third time, we outnumbered them four to one. We lured them into camp and butchered each one, cut off each head and spiked them on stakes around the settlement.”