Fun Times in a Dystopic Hellscape, page 11
He gave the bottle a final shake, twisted the cap halfway off, and sent it hurtling down the hallway at the attackers. He charged toward the window, sprinting harder than he had in a decade, and leapt toward it as half the trailer exploded behind him. He landed outside, crashing shoulder-first into the tangled remains of a swingset.
Still holding his wagon handle, Eddie stood nearby, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as flames consumed the trailer. A thick cloud of black smoke rose into the already contaminated air.
Smith leaned forward, gasping for air that stank of cat urine.
“I... hate... it... here,” he sputtered between breaths.
The only movie little Eddie had ever seen was The Wiz, and this explosion outdid that. “That was... so cool!”
“Uh huh...” Smith ignored the child’s excitement. “How... far is... Biscuit Bucket?”
Eddie pointed, grinning.
Smith turned to see half of a peeled billboard—now illuminated by the trailer fire:
BISCUIT BUCKET: ONLY 3KM AWAY!
EXIT 5, TURN LEFT
Smith groaned, and not just because he didn’t understand the metric system. It would have been nice if the answer to his question hadn’t required a meth lab explosion.
If there were other men, monsters, or mutants out there in the wasteland, the blaze would definitely grab their attention.
He pulled off his already loose tie and wrapped it around his burned hand. Then he reached for the base of his neck and pulled out a modest shard of glass. He couldn’t stand to leave it in, even knowing he should. A thin trickle of blood began to gush. He pressed his pocket square against it, hard, and knelt down.
“Come on...”
Smith let the boy back on his shoulders, feeling a little woozy as he stood back up.
He’d get over it.
He didn’t really have a choice.
19 / Separation Anxiety
Leslie and Phil Smith sat—wigs in hand—on a busted couch, facing the now-closed entrance to this universe. Brooks, who had assured them it was fine to let their scalps breathe for a while, stood before them, bending Phil’s cane back into shape following his outburst.
On one hand, Brooks was glad Smith wasn’t there to meet another version of his abusive parents. On the other, much larger hand, he was beside himself with worry. His husband was trapped in some nightmare world, while he was stuck in this one. He needed to know everything there was to know about everything, and fast.
“So, portals. Spill,” he said, getting right to the crux. He handed over the cane, which was a little wonkier than before. “Sorry, by the way.”
“Uh... good as new,” lied Phil.
Leslie scoffed. “Spill what? We’re figuring it out as we go along.”
Brooks reacted to her attitude the same way he always responded to his Smith’s sass—with an unflinching, deadpan stare. “Then spill what you’ve figured out.”
Phil fidgeted with his wig. “It’s like this... every so often, a portal between your universe and ours opens in one direction or the other. Leslie and I have spent years trying to figure out the pattern. There isn’t one. We’ve pinpointed fifteen spots where the portals open up so far, but it seems totally random. You could park yourself in one of those spots for years and never see one.”
“We’ve been doing that in Clarksville,” Leslie added.
Brooks was stunned. “You’ve been waiting? For years?”
“No, six years.” Leslie snickered at her own joke.
Brooks stared right through her.
“A few months back,” Phil continued, “we met a fellow from Akron who tipped us off about a portal here. Said he’d seen something at another mall. This is what we found when we got there.” He motioned to his wife.
Leslie stood up from the couch, pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, and handed it to Brooks.
None of it meant anything to him, except the company letterhead at the top of the page: Shoppli.
“God. They own everything in every universe!”
“We knew 84 was a year,” Leslie explained, “but we figured 18 was a page number or something. Turns out it’s a year too. Your year.”
“What are the numbers?” Brooks asked.
“Locations. We still don’t know where all of them are.” Leslie pointed. “We know two is Akron, and one is...”
“Clarksville,” Brooks said. “That’s where Eddie got sucked in. So... since the April 6th event in Clarksville is labeled B, but the April 7th event in Akron is labeled A, I’m guessing the letters are directions?”
Leslie’s voice boomed. “Tell him what he’s won, Johnny.”
Phil smiled and wagged his forefinger. “Our son married a smart one.”
“Uh huh.” Brooks blinked a few times before handing the sheet back to Leslie. “So, you expect me to believe... that you just happened to find this spreadsheet with the exact information you needed to hop from one universe to the other and back... just lying around?”
“It was in a dumpster.” Phil channeled his disarming folksiness. “Look, I know it seems a might suspicious, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”
“It’s more than a might suspicious,” said Brooks. “Especially when Eddie just disappeared.”
“Can you tell us about him?” Leslie asked.
Brooks was in no mood for reminiscing. “I’d rather talk about the portals, if you don’t mind.”
Phil pointed out a fact. “Next portal back ain’t opening ’til tomorrow.”
“... in Clarksville,” Brooks realized. “It’s five hours from here, and... I left my car there. Shit. Lemon’s going to be pissed.”
“You just abandoned your car?” Leslie wondered.
“With a lemon?” Phil added.
Brooks ran a hand through his hair. “Ugh, yes! I mean... no. I mean... I hitched a ride here on a time machine and now I’m gonna have to call the girls back.”
Phil and Leslie looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Speak English,” Phil said, in the nicest, least racist tone anyone had ever used saying that to Brooks.
“Um... so... Eddie and I,” he began to explain, “we adopted two girls from... two different spots in time. They travel around in a time machine.”
“What on earth do you do for a living?” Phil asked, scratching his head.
“We’re paranormal detectives.”
“Ohhh,” Leslie and Phil said simultaneously.
“Real live dicks!” Phil added. He meant it in the detective sense, but Brooks nevertheless shot him a sideways glance.
“How’d you get into that line of work?” Leslie asked.
“My whole family was murdered by wraiths at a music festival. Then, Eddie saved my life and recruited me to work for a secret organization that fights monsters.”
Their silence spoke volumes.
“Should... you be telling us that?” Leslie finally asked.
Brooks brushed the question off. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. They don’t exist anymore. We’re freelance now.”
“Small business owners!” said Phil, but his excitement quickly turned to fear. “Wait... then how did Eddie get into that line of work? Did we... I mean, was his family...”
Brooks shook his head. “No. I mean... they are dead, but that’s not how he got into the business. Just your run-of-the-mill vampire encounter.”
“Run of the...” Leslie trailed off.
“So, what’s our son like?” questioned Phil.
“Um—” Brooks stretched that note like a diva singing the “Star Spangled Banner” before a football game.
Leslie and Phil stared at him in anticipation.
“He’s... the love of my life.”
“We kinda gathered that from the marriage,” Phil said.
There were silent stares in both directions. Brooks had hoped that would be enough.
“Um...” Brooks didn’t stop himself from sharing. “Eddie is... complicated. When he wants to be, he’s the most charming person in the world. Spontaneous. Fun. Full of jokes. He’s thoughtful and loving and supportive.”
“And when he doesn’t want to be?” Phil asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brooks wasn’t inclined to badmouth his husband to anyone—least of all some random version of the man’s parents—but he was inclined to connect with the Smiths. In-laws were a concept he thought he’d never encounter.
He paused to consider his words, but ultimately let them flow. “Eddie’s been through a lot, and... he’ll help anyone, any time. No question. But he thinks his problems are a burden, so he’ll just let things eat at him.”
Phil nudged Leslie. “I know someone who does that.”
Leslie nudged him back.
“So, what else?” Phil asked. “Is he happy?”
“Uh...” Brooks stopped. Ever the detective, he’d noticed something strange. “You said ‘our son’ before.”
“What?” Leslie played stupid.
He looked at Phil with an accusatory stare. “You said ‘tell us about our son.’ That’s not normal. I wouldn’t say ‘my husband’ if I were asking you about your kid.”
Leslie and Phil both avoided eye contact.
“Why are you so eager to know about my Eddie?”
The Smiths kept silent and exchanged nervous glances.
“Don’t make me bend the cane again...”
Phil waved his hands in the air in protest. “Okay... okay, fine. This is our universe. It’s not a new home we’re looking for, it’s our original one.”
“What?” Brooks balled his fists—an unnecessarily threatening gesture, but he’d had enough. “Explain. Now.”
Phil leaned back into the couch. “Okay! About six years ago from our perspective... apparently a lot longer than that here... we were shopping at the Green River Mall and... there was this portal. Glowing, red thing. Eddie went in...”—he snapped his fingers—“Bam. Gone. We had no choice but to follow. On the other side, we met the other versions of us. They promised to get us home, but... they stranded us and took our places here.”
“They took our son.” Leslie’s hand covered her mouth.
“Why would they... why would anybody do that?” Brooks asked.
“We don’t know,” Leslie professed. “It could have been an honest mistake or it could have been... we don’t know.”
“We’ve been raising Eddie—the other Eddie—for the last six years because it’s the right thing to do, you know? Heck, he’s our son too... in a way. As far as he knows, we’re the only parents he’s ever had.”
“Híjole,” Brooks cursed to himself.
“Gesundheit,” Phil said.
Brooks’s throat tightened. In his mind, he googled ‘how to tell your spouse their parents aren’t their real parents,’ ‘alternate universe body swap?’ and ‘real life consequences of the parent trap.’[21] Nothing useful came of it.
He parked himself on the couch, stealing Leslie’s seat. Phil took the space next to him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” sighed Brooks.
“The other version of Leslie and me... the ones that raised your Eddie... I’m getting the feeling they weren’t any better to you two than they were to us.”
“I never met them,” Brooks said. “They died in the ’80s.”
“But you already had a negative impression when you met us. What’d they do?”
“That’s not my story to tell.”
Phil shuffled around a little in discomfort. “I see.”
Brooks sighed and rose from his seat. It was time to face the music—or at least the rage of a former musician.
“Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.”
Leslie squinted. “What are you—”
Bright green light illuminated her face as the time machine answered her unfinished question. This time it landed a little further right, with one of its fins fully lodged in a pothole, leaving the whole thing tilted twenty degrees or so.
Phil leapt from the couch and grabbed his awestruck wife by the arm. Neither of them had ever seen a time machine before, and they stood in wonder, unsure whether to approach.
Lemon—now in a silver jumpsuit with shiba inu patches on the sleeves—stormed out before they could make a decision.
“You gotta be florping kidding me!”
Patience followed close behind, holding her frock high above the ground. Toil was great and all, but she’d just repaired the last tear, and she wasn’t yearning for another round of sewing.
Lemon jabbed a finger at her father. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“Sorry. This is kind of important.”
“More important than touring the Martian Royal Palace?”
“If you care about getting your other dad back, yes.”
Lemon crossed her arms. “He didn’t kill himself again, did he?”
“WHAT?” gasped Leslie and Phil.
Lemon rolled her eyes. “He got better!” she said, before registering the two strangers. “Wait. Who are you?”
Brooks stood between the two groups, wishing he were the one who’d been trapped in another universe. “Girls, these are Eddie’s parents. Leslie, Phil... Patience and Lemon.”
Leslie approached, hesitant at first. “I always wanted granddaughters. I didn’t expect to be so close to their age, but—”
Lemon took a step back from her, and looked toward Brooks. “Uh, it’s hard to keep track, but aren’t the Smiths some of the bad parents? And dead?”
Phil mumbled to himself. “Some of the...?”
“Alternate universe,” Brooks explained.
“Gotcha,” Lemon said.
Patience offered a hand to Leslie. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“So, what’s the deal?” Lemon asked.
Brooks explained. “The portals only work one way. These two came from the universe where Eddie’s trapped. We need a ride to Clarksville tomorrow so we can go in and find him.”
“If I’m gonna have to keep giving you rides, I want gas money.”
“That thing doesn’t even run on gas,” said Brooks. “It runs on nuclear power.”
Leslie and Phil took a few steps back.
“It’s fine.” Brooks stepped toward the machine and motioned for them to follow.
The Smiths didn’t budge.
“Come on,” Brooks said. “Really. I promise. No worse than getting an X-ray.”
Phil looked at his wife, and then to Brooks. “If we have time before we head to uh... tomorrow, what say we have ourselves a nice family dinner?”
Brooks repeated the last two words under his breath. “...What.”
“I’m starving,” Phil added.
“We haven’t had good food in years,” pleaded Leslie.
Brooks couldn’t see any harm. With Lemon and Patience here, he had all the time in the world, quite literally.
“Um... sure. I guess. Girls?”
“I am unopposed,” Patience said.
Lemon shrugged in agreement. “I’m never winning X over at this point anyway.”
Phil pumped his fist. “Great! Is Biscuit Bucket still around in this universe?”
Brooks buried his contempt for that question deep inside, next to a catalog of horrific crime scenes and his memories of a one-night stand with a demon named Percival.
⁂
Not long after, the five sat at a table for six, under a retro tin sign advertising seed packets. Dinner with in-laws is awkward enough under normal circumstances, and these—with Smith not being present and the in-laws being from an alternate universe—were immensely uncomfortable circumstances. Brooks decided the best way through was to keep the Smiths busy talking about their universe so they wouldn’t ask too many questions about his, and to take full advantage of Biscuit Bucket’s bottomless mimosas.
For a while, it worked, as the Smiths brought them up to speed with a brief history of their foster universe. In summary, the Cold War became a Hot War. Bombs dropped. Crops failed. The Northeast and Midwest were the hardest hit, and soon thousands of miniature civilizations rose up in replacement, with thousands of ideologies maintaining them—each living its own reality.
Those who didn’t adjust defaulted to burying their heads in the sand. If they pretended things were fine, things were fine. For some tubular citizens of the 1980s, shopping malls represented normality, so they flocked to them—window-shopping aimlessly, forever. These mall occupants didn’t buy anything, as there was no way to restock, and having no stock would have quickly killed the vibe. But walking the same halls, browsing the same goods, and watching the same movies over and over was a comforting, easy existence.
“You people live in an abandoned mall?” Brooks asked.
“Sure. There’s employee bathrooms and showers with recycled water. Plenty of space too. Most people sleep in their cars, but we built ourselves a little underground nest next to the sewer tunnels,” Phil said.
“You have water? How? What about heating? Electricity? What about the power grid?”
“Shoppli takes care of it.”
“What, out of the goodness of their hearts?” Brooks doubted that, since Shoppli hadn’t even been willing to refund a broken gravy boat.
“Children,” Phil said. “It costs children.”
Brooks blinked. “What?”
“Any babies born in the mall must be surrendered to Shoppli.”
“So... you’re telling me... people are willing to give up their kids to live in... a mall?”
“Beats a lot of the alternatives,” Leslie said coldly.
Phil realized how that made them seem, and jumped to defend their honor. “We haven’t given any up! We always use protection! And we keep our Eddie hidden. We just wanted to set up near the portal, in case another one home opened up, or someone came over who knew something.”
“Yuh huh,” said Lemon, unconvinced.
“But enough about us,” said Phil, changing the subject.
Leslie nodded. “Yeah. Who cares about the craphole we just came from? We want to know about here... what it’s been like since we left. We beat the Soviets?”
“Kind of, I guess,” Brooks said. “Now they just radicalize teenagers on the internet.”
