Tourists of the Apocalypse by C. F. WALLER Read Free Book Online

out of the way of the punch, and then slips the next one as well. Only getting more furious, Jarrod rushes Graham, who punches him in the throat with a cat-quick movement. Jarrod grasps his neck and wheezes. He’s frozen there until Graham sidesteps him and kicks down on the side of his knee, causing a crunching sound.
    “Son of a —,” Jarrod bellows as he crumples to the ground, one hand on his throat, the other on his knee.
    Walking around him, Graham waits for Jarrod to look up and then kicks him in the face as if he were punting a football. The smacking sound echoes in the pit of my stomach. I have never been witness to this type of damage inflicted on anyone. Jarrod lies motionless now, face peering blankly at the sky. His lips quiver for a moment then he coughs, leaving tiny speckles of blood on his face. Graham watches him for a bit, and then shakes his head.
    “You alright doll,” Violet yells from the door of her car.
    “Yeah, you should get out of here.”
    “Use your one phone call to let me know if you make bail,” she remarks, pinning a short purple mini-dress under her leg and climbing in. “It will save me the drive next week if you’re in the can.”
    “I’ll be here,” he chuckles. “This was clearly self-defense.”
    “Ya think?” she smirks as the window rolls down. “Looked pretty one-sided.”
    “He’s in my yard,” Graham points out. “And he did threaten to kill me.”
    “He looks real dangerous. Just lying there bleeding.”
    Graham points down the street and the yellow Porsche zooms past us out of sight. Leaving Jarrod in a pile on the lawn, Graham helps me get my mother inside. Her jaw is swollen and painful. He tells us it’s broken and we need to get her to an emergency room. One eye is puffy and closed, but she shakes her head. Graham looks at me for answers.
    “We don’t have a car,” I explain, “or insurance.”
    “I’ll take you,” he assures her in a soft voice. “You can’t walk around like this. It won’t heal.”
    She nods and squeezes his forearm. He smiles back in a reassuring way, then whispers to me as he gets up.
    “Get her a jacket or something and bring her outside,” he whispers, averting his eyes as she has nothing on under the nightie. “I’ll pull the truck around.”
    “What about Jarrod?” I balk; fearful he will be outside waiting.
    “He can drive himself to the hospital.”
     
    …
     
    Graham takes my mother to the emergency room. He also pays the bill and fills her prescriptions all without asking for any money. When we get home, Jarrod is nowhere to be seen. There are however, two moving trucks, one in each of the uninhabited house’s driveways. The trucks are locked up and deserted, but a yellow light glows in the front window of the house closest to ours.
    Graham knocks on the door and has a conversation with a rough looking black man in a desert camouflage jacket. There is hugging and smiling, then he points a thumb over his shoulder at us and conversation gets more intense. Before long a woman slips out and takes my mother by the hand.
    “Let me take her,” she offers. “Let’s get her lying down.”
    The woman is very pretty. Not pretty like Violet, who looks like Jessica Rabbit, but nice looking. She’s very fit with shoulder length dark hair pulled back over her ears. She reminds me of Mrs. Hamilton, who was my third grade teacher. A dull blue tee-shirt and grey cargo pants give the appearance of a uniform, but it doesn’t match the guy who answered the door. I release my mother’s arm and watch her go. My first instinct is to hang onto her, but trusting in Graham has become a thing today. Clutching her bag of pill bottles, my mother disappears into the dimly lit house.
    “She will be fine,” Graham soothes me from behind. “Izzy will look after her tonight.”
    “Who are these people?”
    “My friends,” he explains, then pauses. “Jarrod wouldn’t dare come over here.”
    “True, but he will be back. We