Once Upon an Ending

ONCE UPON AN ENDING

A novel by Mike Trippiedi

Edited by Sue Trippiedi

Cover design by Joe Taylor

Published by Smashwords

Copyright © 2018 Mike Trippiedi and Shut Up & Do It Productions

All rights reserved

First Edition

First published by Smashwords 2018

ISBN 9780463280843

Printed in the United States of America

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book would not have been written without the loving support of my wife, Sue Trippiedi. In addition to the patience she has in being married to a man with a lot of spontaneous whims, she also edited the book, proving to me how much high school English I actually had forgotten.

The cover was designed by my good friend, Joe Taylor, whose creativity and many talents inspire me daily. Check out some of his work at vimeo.com/studioextrano.

A special shout out goes to Judy Huss, who provided an additional set of eyes in proofreading. She caught a few goofs that slipped through the cracks, and I’m eternally grateful.

And then there were the people who offered much needed encouragement along the way. Thank you, Scott Cimarusti, Jennifer Heaton, Thomas Nicol, Laura Aull Johnston, and Kay Holley. Your sincere interest in this project helped motivate me to continue rewriting until I felt the story was ready to pass the high standards all of you put into your own inspired projects.

PROLOGUE

Nothing lasts forever, although Coca Cola and The Three Stooges certainly made a run for it. In the end, it wasn’t a nuclear bomb launched by a loose cannon that did in the world, but rather that fickle force of feminine personification, more widely known as Mother Nature.

Back in the day, weather was the universal topic of conversation, consistently beating out politics and sports as the subject of choice. What better way to start a conversation or to transition out of an awkward silence than to talk about the humidity, or the cold, or the wind. And alas, it was weather in the Earth’s finale that dominated all conversations. Conversations that started simply enough by questioning the amount of rain and concluding with unanswered cries for help.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when the end finally arrived, but it’s the consensus that the six simultaneous tornados that blew apart one hundred and sixty-three communities in a span of thirty-eight minutes is what got the ball rolling. Or at least the rain. Forty days and forty nights to be exact, tying the record that was first recorded in Genesis, chapter seven, verse eleven.

This time Noah wasn’t around to step forward and build an ark – only politicians and religious zealots more apt to point a finger than to lift a hand. The world had become divided between the spiritual and the scientific, and the only belief shared was that the growing devastation was the wrath of something way beyond the Earth’s control.

Within a matter of days, the intense thunder, crashing waves and powerful winds became the music of the world. Along with the mighty rains, every continent developed deadly hurricanes on their coasts, damaging tornados in their mid-sections, and devastating earthquakes throughout; as flooding, destruction, and death rapidly became the new standard.

World, state, and community leaders whose voices once were revered, feared, or mocked, became their people’s equal as they found themselves alone and susceptible to the fates of the crumbling world. The violent rain and all its regurgitated destruction took no prisoners as it raged vigorously upon the unprepared inhabitants of the changing land.

Highways buckled. Bridges collapsed. Dams broke. Buildings fell. Cities sank. Soon there were no more rulers, heads of state, or even bosses. Every individual on the planet equally fought to stay among the living, or unwillingly, became the dead as the world’s population fell, faded, then practically vanished.

On the forty-first day, the rains stopped, and the Earth went silent.

One by one the weary few slowly peeked out from their makeshift shelters and surveyed their new surroundings. Like cockroaches in the murky shadows of an unkempt home, they scurried about aimlessly, each looking for a loved one, a neighbor, or an inanimate object that resembled something from their former lives. They didn’t know whether to call themselves, lucky, doomed, chosen, or cursed, but they knew one thing for certain – they were survivors from the old world and the first pioneers in the new one.

Those ill-fated few who safely endured the ire of Mother Nature now found themselves alone, miles away from the next living human, unknowingly sharing the same unsettling feeling that they were the only one left on the planet. These frightened leftovers from another time were too overwhelmed to grieve over the life, land, and loved ones lost. Instead, most of their waking moments were spent scavenging for food, cultivating, and struggling to adapt and begin anew. Their minds became sharp, and their bodies thin but strong, yet they remained vulnerable due to the constant fear of another weather-related sucker punch and all its repercussions.

Many of the initial survivors did not make it. Triggered by a combination of stress, fatigue, depression, and lack of grit, the weak in mind and body gave up the struggle to natural causes. Others starved to death or took their own lives. And some, due to weather-created mudslides and sinkholes, were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, instantly buried or swallowed into the earth, never to be seen or heard from again.

On the outside, the world resembled that of a universal junk yard, but at a closer peek, a much more positive routine was beginning to develop. In the early days of the new world, a stranger was not feared, but welcomed, for it meant a kindred soul, a helping hand, and of course, a conversation partner to trade survival stories, which always began with the weather. Combined, the new acquaintances would help each other with the daily responsibilities of hunting, cooking, and building safer shelters. And with so much to do within the hours of available sunlight, making it to dark became the shared purpose of the living.

As the first year passed, every survivor learned of more survivors and soon discovered they were not alone in attempting to build some sort of simple existence for themselves. With each road and highway virtually destroyed, one foot in front of the other became the only option of transportation. And the more the people adapted, the braver they became in venturing further from their self-proclaimed living zones, discovering even more people, existing the same way, and with the same resilient will to live.

It was a laborious growth made even slower by disease, which had taken on a new form. Unearthed by the shifts in climate and structure, a new virus developed which attacked the weakened nervous system of the already weak and nervous. Starting with flu-like symptoms and ending in what best can be described as a form of rabies, sickness in the new world brought with it dangerous and out-of-control behavior from the plague-ridden victims. And even though the illness would kill the infected within a matter of days, like a rabid animal, the sick became a serious threat to anyone who crossed their path.

The dystopian future that yesterday’s world so depressingly painted in its novels, comic books, motion pictures, and television shows had arrived. However, despite the bleakness of the landscape, the mindset of the Earth’s remaining tenants was anything but. Still shell-shocked from their journey from the old world to their current, none of the survivors fought for power, leadership, or control of the land. Instead, what grew was a proud sense of survival and determination to work together to make the new world function as well as it could with what little it had. And every new face encountered along the way was welcomed with a smile and open arms.

Since the end of life as one knew it, the sex drive of humans had lay dormant. First, the surviving race was now either widows, widowers or the significant other-less. And second, people were just too dirty and tired at the end of the day to think of sleeping with anything other than a blanket. And while thoughts in the new world occasionally drifted to the naughty deeds with a former love, the reproductive organs of most of the surviving men and women appeared to be either wilted or dehydrated.

That was until a rumor started to spread that put a curious twinkle into the minds of many and a sense of purpose into the others. From what was being whispered from the lips to the ears and back to the lips again, it appeared that the world’s oldest profession was now the world’s only profession. Soon conversation of a mysterious house of pleasure surpassed even the weather when it came to small talk. And while living was still a struggle, many were feeling the urge to venture out from their new-found comfort to try to find some concrete evidence of this swift spreading rumor.

Whether true, exaggerated, or an outright lie, the current gossip had turned humanity from robotic survivors struggling to live, into actual humans with something to live for. From the obvious to the irate and everything and anything in-between, both men and women had their own personal reasons to start this unexpected excursion. Unbeknownst to them, it would become a journey that would shape the real beginning of the new world. And although each motive was different, the goal was ultimately the same – to find the whorehouse at the end of the world.

CHAPTER ONE

Tobey tried to steady his shaking hands as his rifle followed the crazed intruder through the broken and deserted neighborhood. The erratic stranger, unaware of the weapon pointed at his head, was mumbling gibberish, and violently swinging his limbs in all directions, which was a warning to Tobey that this senseless, wandering anomaly before him, was in the final stages of the sickness.

As his finger caressed the trigger, Should I, or shouldn’t I? rushed through his mind. Tobey’s decision to end the suffering of the diseased man was interrupted by the shade from his father’s shadow that swept across the young man’s face.

Get it out of your head right now, boy. snapped the shadow.

He’s good as dead, Pop.

But he ain’t dead and you ain’t God!

Tobey couldn’t argue the God part considering his days as an altar boy lasted all of ten months. He could have continued his religious studies further, but for a young unfocused teenager, being the class clown was more attractive, and the benefit of instant laughter far outweighed the thought of spiritual growth. And while his strict school headmaster was willing to look the other way on many occasions, he had to act when he discovered that Tobey had been the mastermind behind soaking the Sunday communion wafers in habanero sauce. Thus, Tobey’s days as a straight C student at Saint Finbarr’s Catholic Institute of the Brotherhood for Divine Souls ended abruptly.

That was just one of many incidences that came between the father and son. Tobey always threatened that when he turned sixteen, he would get his driver’s license, speed away and never look back. Since that milestone birthday happened two years ago on the twenty-third day of the forty-day storm, Tobey felt it safest to stick with the only person he knew on this earth who was still breathing – his old man.

That poor soul’s in his final stages, his father continued. Let him die naturally.

He’s dangerous, Pop. I could be saving someone down the road, debated Tobey, not willing to settle for anything other than the last word.

That’s not our prob… He stopped mid-word, his attention immediately shifting to a lone figure with a loaded slingshot in hand, ready to let fly. The deteriorating man, whose life was spared by the bickering father and son combo, suffered no more as the rock from the slingshot smacked the sick man in his temple, killing him instantly.

The only thing Tobey and his dad shared at that moment was the same instinct to duck behind a toppled tree as a stern Shhhh, came from the father’s lips. As they lay motionless, unseen from the anonymous assassin, curiosity got the best of them as they both quietly peeked through a dying branch for a better view.

What they saw was a lone figure wearing a long coat and cowboy hat approaching the motionless body. Checking for life, the figure gently kicked the fallen man. Convinced the rock from the slingshot had done the job, the stranger then proceeded to rummage through the pant pockets of the fresh corpse.

What’s he doing? an inquisitive Tobey whispered to his dad.

Looking for valuables.

It appeared that this renegade scavenger had come up empty when a wedding ring was suddenly spotted on the left hand of the recently deceased man. The lone figure paused, took off the long coat, followed by the cowboy hat, revealing a shapely feminine body with long bright red hair.

He’s a girl! a shocked but excited Tobey softly mouthed to his dad.

I got eyes, boy, was all his old man could reply as the family of two continued to observe.

Spitting into her hands, the young woman rubbed them together until they were soggy enough to try to loosen the ring. Tobey watched breathlessly as she vigorously twisted her wet fingers around the ring, attempting to pull the stubborn jewelry over the dead knuckle. After rewetting her fingers several times, success came to the young thief. Admiring her achievement, she pocketed the wedding ring, put the long coat back on, and quickly stuffed her red hair up inside the cowboy hat as she placed it back onto her head. With her mission completed, she proceeded to leave the scene.

But Tobey’s father had other plans.

Leave the dead alone, he articulated slowly, startling the young woman. She instinctively placed a large rock in her slingshot, pulled back the pocket and aimed her makeshift missile at the old man, forcing Tobey to stand up and point his rifle directly at her.

Put it down, boy, the father blurted out.

I’m not a boy, I’m eighteen, Tobey shot back, hoping it was loud enough for the young woman to hear.

Dammit, boy, show her we mean no harm!

Realizing his pop was trying to avoid injury to all the parties involved, Tobey obeyed and laid down his weapon. The girl did not.

What plans you got for that piece of silver you just stole? said the old man calmly as he stared directly at the rock restlessly sitting in the pouch of the slingshot pointed at him.

None of your business.

It’s his business, replied the old man, motioning to the dead body. And since that poor unfortunate can’t speak for himself, I’d like to do the honors for him.

Fine, the girl said reluctantly. Speak your peace, or his peace, and let me be.

The old man paused as he glanced at the female outlaw, then looked at the slingshot leveled straight at him, then back to her with a harmless gaze. She slowly lowered her weapon. He acknowledged the gesture with a kindly wink.

First, he began, that dead man over there would like to thank Russ here, that’s me, for sticking up for him after his senseless, cold blooded murder.

He had the sickness. I was doing him a favor, responded the defiant girl.

Those were Tobey’s thoughts exactly, but he chose to stay quiet at the risk of his father embarrassing him more than he already was in front of the first woman close to his age that he’d seen since the storms destroyed the earth. It was too late, though, as he knew his dad like nobody else. He stood helplessly, knowing his father was just beginning one of his life’s lessons lectures, and felt sorry for the young lady in front of him about to be told a moral. At least it’s not me this time, thought the defeated son.

It’s all a gray area anymore on what’s the law and what ain’t, Russ began. And you might be able to justify putting that poor man down, but what gives you the right to take away the one thing that mattered most to him when he was living?

The young woman stood there patiently wondering where this old coot was going with his train of thought and how long she’d have to listen to his babble. Wait it out, she thought to herself. He can’t go on forever.

That wedding ring you got snuggled up in your pocket, he continued. That’s all that man had left of a life cut short. And if he could talk right now, other than asking for a glass of water and a bandage to cover up that hole you put in his head, I can promise you he’d say he wants that ring back on his finger.

I don’t think he much cares anymore, interrupted the female thief, giving Tobey an inner chuckle he was too timid to outwardly reveal.

It’s a symbol! the old man shouted back with irritation. It represents that he not only lived, but also, that he loved, was loved and still carries love into this ground, or heaven or hell or wherever his murdered soul rests its weary, unembodied self.

The young woman glanced at Tobey. He rolled his eyes. She smiled on the inside but didn’t show it on the out as she continued to fake listen to this want-to-be truth-seeker.

You see, young lady, Russ continued. I remember the world before all the destruction and sickness, and I suspect that you do too. And I would hope that you could find it in your once pure heart to give back to this poor dead man the only thing he’s got left to show of a life once lived.

You promise you won’t follow me?

Russ grinned a devious smile. Me and my boy have our own agenda, and you ain’t on it. Right, son?

Tobey nodded. The girl realized the only way to get out of this situation peacefully was to accept defeat and give this peculiar stranger what he wanted. She reluctantly reached into her pocket, pulled out the wedding ring and held it out for the man to take.

Ain’t mine, said Russ, then nodded his head in the direction of the dead man.

The girl turned to look at the corpse. She slowly walked over to the body. First, she placed the wedding ring on the cold finger, then with a little bit of muscle, forced the ring over the nub. Finished with that task, she looked up to the father and son as if asking what to do next.

Get out of here, the old man said with a harsh coolness.

Relieved this odd encounter was almost over, the young woman started to walk away but was stopped one last time by the father’s words. Hey, Slingshot Suzie! he shouted after her, pressing the young woman to indignantly turn back around. Ain’t you even gonna say thank you?

For what? she responded coldly.

Cleaning up your crime scene.

The young woman held up her fist, slowly extended her middle finger, then defiantly walked away. Tobey wanted to laugh but hadn’t the courage to do so in front of his father. Instead, he silently stood there hoping his path would cross again sometime soon with the fascinating female stranger who had appeared and disappeared before him like an unfinished dream.

I got a hunch that girl is going to lead us to your sister, the old man snickered, placing his arm upon his son’s shoulder.

So, what do we do?

We track her. Like a bear, replied the father. But first, grab a shovel. That dead man awaits his final habitat.

CHAPTER TWO

The water in the bucket looked dirty, but it was cold and that’s what mattered, thought Kate as she dipped the cloth into the rusty pail, wrung it out, then gently placed it on the forehead of the dying woman. The damp, moldy floor of the old deserted and barely standing gas station was not the ideal place to spend one’s final days, but it was shelter, and discovering it was a stroke of luck for the small group tending to their fallen comrade.

Body weak, but mind alert, Janet gazed at the two younger women monitoring her final hours and weakly mumbled, Can you ever forgive me?

For what? Kate responded softly.

For what I might do. I’ve seen this disease, and I know what happens in the end.

That’s part of the sickness, comforted Kate, not part of you.

Janet fought to catch her breath. Her slowly inflating lungs were too exhausted to bring in the amount of air needed to resume speaking. And yet she continued to push forward, wheezing with every attempt at communication.

Kate helplessly glanced at Chen, the quiet young Chinese woman they had met along the way. They all had been strangers until a couple of weeks prior when they helped each other climb over the heap of rubble that almost two years earlier had been an upscale shopping mall. Arriving from different backgrounds, lifestyles, and experiences, the outrage they shared from the questionable rumor had driven all of them together.

And now Janet lay dying, desperate to prevent herself from causing harm to the last of the living faces she recognized. Tie my hands, she managed to whisper weakly. I don’t want to hurt anyone.

With limited English skills, the young Chinese woman looked to Kate for an explanation. Kate held her own wrists together in front of her as if they were cuffed. The visual clarification brought an understanding of the dying woman’s request to Chen who responded in her best English.

Me tie hands when time comes.

Now, pleaded Janet. Give me that peace of mind.

Kate refreshed the cloth into the muddy bucket of cold water as she nodded to Chen to get a rope. The cool, wet material against her feverish hot forehead brought temporary relief to the dying woman, but it was the rope being tied around her hands that gave her the most respite.

Tighter, she demanded.

Chen obeyed. An eerie calm fell over the room while the two novice caretakers watched in silence as Janet’s mind turned into cliff notes of the fifty-eight years she had spent on this Earth. Unintelligible sounds of joy and sorrow emerged from her mouth. Her animated face dreamingly recapped the highlights of a life completed, with her shackled hands often reaching for things only the dying woman could see.

Her tranquil, fantasy-laced journey through the landscape of a long-ago world was cut short by the booming voice of the black man who had quietly entered the premises. What’s going on? ordered the voice.

She’s nearing the final stages, answered Kate.

Janet’s eyes opened wide. Reverend Micah, she weakly spoke. Where have you been?

Praying, he said kneeling before her, his large black hand cupping her two that were tied together.

Why is this happening? the dying woman uttered, her words barely audible.

I suppose, he quickly began, as if already knowing the answer, God’s human creations finally embarrassed and angered him to the point of no return. And now we must live amid His wrath. Let us all pray.

With one hand on Janet, he reached for Chen. Her small hand disappeared into his as Kate covered Chen’s other hand with her own, and completed the circle by covering Reverend Micah’s, which