Tourists of the Apocalypse Read Online Free PDF Page A

silent tears flow down my cheeks. I’m not sure how to feel. Is it failure or anger? In the end, I decide that feeling nothing would be preferred.
    “Stood up by a man,” I complain, digging around in the piles of medical supplies. “Why is this not a huge surprise?”
    I have to look at maybe a dozen vials before finding the Morphine. I stop to rub my face on my sleeve several times to wipe away the tears of failure. Tilting it up, I draw out an entire syringe and flick the end. The air bubbles disappear as a tiny bit of liquid dribbles out of the tip of the needle, running down my finger. At first I look for an alcohol swab to wipe down my thigh, but then smile when I realize the folly. An infection is not what’s about to kill me.
    The elevator in the observation room suddenly dings. My breathing freezes as the doors slide open revealing a member of the Catch Team . At first he doesn’t see me, but as he searches for some bauble left in the Observation Room he gradually turns his head. The floor is littered with medical stuff. I watch breathless as his eyes trace the source back to me. Lowering the syringe, I wave with my left hand trying to look harmless. I have no doubt that the guy in a radiation suit is just as surprised as I am. Finding a legless girl sitting on the floor is not what he expected.
    At first he puts a hand to the glass to get a better look. Once he is sure it’s just me, he opens the door. His radiation badge identifies him as Bernard Willis . His eyes give away his confusion, but then seem to clear. Does he think I am the Fail Safe ?
    “Are you okay,” he shouts, his voice muffled by the radiation suit.
    Glancing to my left, I see the handmade gun. It’s at the periphery of my reach from where I am leaning against the wall. I doubt he will hand me a gun, but then I realize that it doesn’t look like a gun to anyone but me.
    “No, help me,” I whine, reaching for it.
    He pauses, looking from me to the prosthetic weapon. Sweat trails off my forehead as seconds pass with his hand wobbling between helping me or demanding more information. I drop my right hand, hiding the syringe in my lab coat pocket.
    “Please,” I moan, tapping on my glowing radiation badge. “I feel sick.”
    The badge is solid red, a symptom of being down here so close to the reactor. He stares at the badge and then without hesitation hands the gun to me. Why are people so unbelievably gullible? Smiling, he puts out a hand to help me up.
    “Let’s get you out of here.”
    “Thanks,” I shrug, putting the barrel of the gun to his chest as he leans over me.
    When I pull the trigger the ceiling hanging above is painted crimson. Bernard flies back and winds up face down ten feet from me. Blood trails out and trickles to the left side of the room. Whoever leveled this floor was off a bit. This offends me as an engineer but isn’t relevant now. I expect to feel better after killing someone, but do not. I lean the gun against the wall and fish in my pocket for the morphine.
     
    +00:05:24
     
    Holding the syringe in my lap, I watch the clock tick up. My entire life is like a dream about a thing that never happened. Finding no reason to continue feeling bad, I am just about to plunge the needle into my thigh when an electrical hum fills the room. My hair suddenly stands up as if I touched the purple ball at the science museum. There is a crackle and I hurry to slide my sunglasses down from the top of my head. A brilliant flash explodes from the center of the room. Blue sparks shower down on me.
    “Better late than never,” I gulp.

Act Two
    Present day, West Texas…
     
    I am jarred from sleep by the slam of his truck door. Rolling out of bed onto the floor, I scramble in bare feet to my bedroom window. Jarrod’s rusted red 4x4 sits in the driveway, one tire on the grass. My mother’s boyfriend is most likely drunk as that’s the norm. I pull on my canvas sneakers and slip into the second floor hallway. The front door