Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours by John F. Leonard

seriously damaged. Never to be closed again in all probability.
    No concern of his. But a stitch in time and less haste, more speed.
    All that good shit that his mother used to say. A bit of care and that door might still be operational instead of hopelessly broken.
    Just the one open, the rest were closed.
    Someone had got their motor and hightailed it.
    Left in a hurry. Got out fast. Done one.
    Decided to get out while the getting was good.
    One person from a possible baker's dozen. It told some sort of story. Pearcey wasn’t sure he was the one to interpret it.
    Who could blame them?
    Whoever it was.
    They’d taken action in the face of impossibility. Accepted a new reality and adjusted. Said fuck it, let’s quit Dodge before Dodge becomes too difficult to quit.
    <><><>
    It was dark inside Gallagher’s lock-up.
    The open door shed some light, but it wasn’t any great illumination.
    The car was a battered Toyota pick-up. One of the extended jobs with four seats. Big bumper. A decent ride home in Pearcey’s opinion.
    “Give him the keys Sonny-Jim.”
    Tiredness was beginning to tell. Pearcey wanted it to be over. Get the girl and get back home.
    Home?
    He meant shelter.
    Safety.
    Home had become a nonsense concept. There was no home now.
    The rules had changed. Were still changing. Pearcey had a feeling the rules would be in constant flux from here on in.
    Gallagher handed over the keys.
    “How do I get there? The bunker.”
    Pearcey stared at him.
    Weighing it up.
    The rifle was in what he was beginning to think of as its customary position. Loosely held, but angled in such a way that it would be all too easy for him to be shot.
    “How do I know you’ll wait Wayne?”
    The gargling noise again from inside the mask. Pearcey was now pretty sure it was laughter.
    Crazy laughter.
    “Baby, you fucking-well don’t. There’s no guarantees in life. You should know that. Are the alien worms eating into your brain? Why would I want to dump you? Any directions you give me could be bullshit. I need you man. Inter dependency is just fucking great isn’t it.”
    Gargling again.
    Pearcey thought he might hear that sound in his dreams. The bad ones where he was drowning in responsibility and failure.
    Apart from anything else, Raylens was right.
    Pearcey had met raving lunatics who were saner, but the man was as sharp as the bayonet hidden inside his indie rock star wannabee coat.
    He needed Pearcey or Gallagher.
    If they didn’t come back, all he had was a motor with some petrol. Great in itself, but not the keys to the kingdom. All ready to roll on down the road. Pastures new and all that good stuff.
    Maybe even pastures that weren’t crawling with creatures from your worst nightmare.
    Pearcey gave him instructions for the main entrance.
    Told him that if he parked in front of the gate, he’d get picked up on the surveillance system and be allowed admittance after being checked.
    There was even a remote chance that it was true.
     
    “How long are you going to give us? Before you go.”
    He looked at the girl.
    The ambiguous Angela, clutching her bag to her chest.
    Standing in the shadows like she might be swallowed by them. Blend in and disappear into the darkness.
    He felt indefinably bad about her.
    She wasn’t his concern and he knew next to nothing about her.
    Scratch that.
    He knew nothing at all. But she’d fallen into his orbit and he felt responsible. Felt as though he’d committed himself when he asked her into Anwar’s emporium of downmarket delights.
    Angela reminded him of some lost girl.
    A waif.
    A stray. Someone who needed protecting. Maybe it was his daughter. Maybe Angela was simply a substitute. A living surface upon which he could paint his failings and sense of guilt.
    Perhaps.
    It didn’t matter. It was pointless to ponder any of it.
    There was no way that he was taking her up to Gallagher’s apartment. No way on this earth or any other. She was staying here with the knife-wielding, gun-toting