United States Of Apocalypse by Mark Tufo, Armand Rosamilia

check in on me. Have you seen the dregs I’ve been placed with? It’s a good thing I’m not dead.”
    “Pembroke’s symbol should have kept you safe enough.”
    “Oh, you knew about that?”
    “I know more than you think I do.”
    “Oh yeah? What do you think I think of you right about now?”
    “There are censorship laws that prevent me from saying those kinds of things out in public.”
    “Damn, you are good.”
    Tynes opened the cell and began to escort Mike out of the station.
    “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
    “With you?”
    “No, like, in general.”
    “No one has taken responsibility for the nuke in Wyoming. An extremist terrorist group based in Syria has said they detonated the two bombs here in the city, but their claims have no credibility. You can say you ‘told me so’ about the volcano.”
    “I’m surprised it held out for as long as it did.”
    “Almost too long; those people that had evacuated were starting to come back to their homes. A week is a long time to be uprooted. There was a run on most stores, huge lines. Looked like Russia back in the eighties.”
    “How old do you think I am?”
    Tynes ignored Mike’s comment. “Most places got cleaned out, some closed their doors; others were looted.”
    “I fucking told you, man.”
    Tynes nodded. “The computer models regarding the ash were mostly right about its path. They were, thankfully, a little off on the volume. But millions have already died from the initial blast and they expect more over the next few months from fallout, dust pollution, and crop failure.”
    “And putting me in jail is going to rectify this somehow?”
    “I should have known. It all comes back to you, doesn’t it?”
    “I’m a narcissist, man. Who the hell else is it going to come back to?”
    “The government has said they want things to run as smooth as possible as we ‘transition past this most difficult of times.’”
    “Wow, talk about towing the party line. Of course that’s what they’re going to say. They’re trying to get all their little ducks in a row. Activating the National Guard and getting all our troops from overseas is going to take time. Can’t collect taxes if anarchy sweeps the nation.”
    “A conspiracy theorist too? You should add that to your resume. Listen, things are a little tenser out there right now—”
    “Tense? That’s rich, I’ve seen some of the guys the cops have brought in lately. They said they’re happy to be here, that it’s safer. And I’m not talking about shoplifters, man, I’m talking hardcore criminals, so you keep turning your blind eye if it makes you feel better. If I were you, I’d go grab your wife and get the hell out of here.”
    “That a threat?” Tynes smacked Mike’s head as he pushed him into the cruiser.
    “Fuck, man. No, it’s not a threat,” he said as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m just saying—”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t just say. That kind of shit can be hazardous to your health.”
    “Yeah, apparently. Just trying to help a brother out. Shit. I wonder what the judge is going to say when he sees a big old knot on my noggin.”
    “Probably going to wonder why it took someone so long to put it there.”
    They were less than a mile from their destination when the cruiser violently spun to the side as the rear end was t-boned by a much heavier, old Checker Marathon that at one time had been a taxicab, somehow doing nearly eighty on the traffic-packed roadway. Tynes’ car spun nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, the tires screeching wildly as they protested their sideways skid. The passenger side smacked a utility pole with a ruining crash of shattering glass and twisting metal, the collision causing the pine-tar-pitched wood to snap with a sound like a shotgun blast. The side of the car had stove-piped, almost fully encasing the splintered stump in a cocoon of metal and plastic, its fallen power lines hitting the street like spilled intestines.
    A horn blared