Read Online Tourists of the Apocalypse by C. F. WALLER - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C. F. WALLER
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provides, people would be forced to drive over an hour to get supplies.
A bank named Lehman Brothers files for bankruptcy on my sixteenth birthday, creating a pall about town and pretty much everywhere but our little cul-de-sac. Graham and his people could care less about the ongoing financial meltdown; as a matter of fact, Cain contends it made them money. My special day is basically overwritten by the headlines. Not like I am used to big parties anyway.
When I arrive home from school the day after my birthday, Graham and Izzy are sitting around the big table watching Fox News and eating what’s left of my birthday cake. A small flat screen television has been moved from the kitchen, where my mother watches it, to the table. A blonde woman on Fox is interviewing Nancy Pelosi, who is blaming everyone but herself. This is a strange occurrence as Graham generally only comes over on Sundays. Outside of an odd visit once or twice, I have never arrived home from school to find any of them here. When Graham notices me they are drawn from the flickering screen.
“Afternoon,” Graham greets me, sliding his feet off the chair next to his.
“What’s up?”
“Hiding,” Izzy grumbles, then puts her head down on the table and pretends to pound it up and down.
“From what?” I shrug, tossing my book bag down and pulling up a chair.
“Our group is working on a construction project West of here,” he starts, but then winds up watching Izzy. They share a laugh, then he finishes his thought. “Our group is working on a construction project West of here. We will be shuttling back and forth a bit.”
“What sort of construction?” I ask, picking at the left over cake with a plastic fork.
“Huge complex, Lance will be staying out there every other week. Probably T-Buc and the others will go out now and then.”
“And you?” I mumble through a mouth full of cake.
“I’ll be here.”
“You and Mr. Dibble,” I poke at him.
“Yes with Mr. Dibble,” he acknowledges, frowning at me.
“And me,” Izzy groans, before hoping up and stomping to the kitchen. “I can’t possibly be allowed to go anywhere.”
“What gives?”
“She and Lance had a huge fight,” he whispers. “She wanted to take her turn out at the construction site, but he won’t let her go.”
“So she’s over here at my place?”
“I got in between them and thought cake might calm her down.”
“Why don’t you go out to the site, or whatever it is?” I ask, licking my fork.
“Because the Fail Safe can’t go anywhere,” Izzy complains as she passes back through the dining area towards the front door. “I might as well have volunteered for Fail Safe since I’m basically a captive,” she growls, going out the front door and letting the screen bang behind her.
I hold out my hands and shrug, having no idea what has just occurred. Graham leans back in his chair and pulls the curtain forward just a bit. He wobbles there peeking out for a full minute then drops the curtain and returns his gaze to the table.
“Women,” he shrugs.
“What’s the Fail Safe ?” I ask, sticking the fork in the top of the last hunk of cake and pushing myself back from the table.
A worried look passes over his face, but is quickly replaced by a smile. Watching him, I get the feeling the smile is well practiced. What is he not telling me?
“It’s nothing, he assures me, dismissing my question with a wave. “She and I go back a long way.”
Pondering the situation, the only thing that seems plausible is that Graham may be Izzy’s fall back guy. Maybe when she and Lance fight, she runs back to Graham. All sorts of scenarios run through my mind, but none that seem to explain this odd conversation. Although , I wouldn’t mind being her fall back guy.
“You into Izzy?” I suggest nodding in the direction of the door. “So what, join the club.”
“Oh boy,” he snorts. “Best not to open that can of worms.”
“Why not?”
He stares at me
A bank named Lehman Brothers files for bankruptcy on my sixteenth birthday, creating a pall about town and pretty much everywhere but our little cul-de-sac. Graham and his people could care less about the ongoing financial meltdown; as a matter of fact, Cain contends it made them money. My special day is basically overwritten by the headlines. Not like I am used to big parties anyway.
When I arrive home from school the day after my birthday, Graham and Izzy are sitting around the big table watching Fox News and eating what’s left of my birthday cake. A small flat screen television has been moved from the kitchen, where my mother watches it, to the table. A blonde woman on Fox is interviewing Nancy Pelosi, who is blaming everyone but herself. This is a strange occurrence as Graham generally only comes over on Sundays. Outside of an odd visit once or twice, I have never arrived home from school to find any of them here. When Graham notices me they are drawn from the flickering screen.
“Afternoon,” Graham greets me, sliding his feet off the chair next to his.
“What’s up?”
“Hiding,” Izzy grumbles, then puts her head down on the table and pretends to pound it up and down.
“From what?” I shrug, tossing my book bag down and pulling up a chair.
“Our group is working on a construction project West of here,” he starts, but then winds up watching Izzy. They share a laugh, then he finishes his thought. “Our group is working on a construction project West of here. We will be shuttling back and forth a bit.”
“What sort of construction?” I ask, picking at the left over cake with a plastic fork.
“Huge complex, Lance will be staying out there every other week. Probably T-Buc and the others will go out now and then.”
“And you?” I mumble through a mouth full of cake.
“I’ll be here.”
“You and Mr. Dibble,” I poke at him.
“Yes with Mr. Dibble,” he acknowledges, frowning at me.
“And me,” Izzy groans, before hoping up and stomping to the kitchen. “I can’t possibly be allowed to go anywhere.”
“What gives?”
“She and Lance had a huge fight,” he whispers. “She wanted to take her turn out at the construction site, but he won’t let her go.”
“So she’s over here at my place?”
“I got in between them and thought cake might calm her down.”
“Why don’t you go out to the site, or whatever it is?” I ask, licking my fork.
“Because the Fail Safe can’t go anywhere,” Izzy complains as she passes back through the dining area towards the front door. “I might as well have volunteered for Fail Safe since I’m basically a captive,” she growls, going out the front door and letting the screen bang behind her.
I hold out my hands and shrug, having no idea what has just occurred. Graham leans back in his chair and pulls the curtain forward just a bit. He wobbles there peeking out for a full minute then drops the curtain and returns his gaze to the table.
“Women,” he shrugs.
“What’s the Fail Safe ?” I ask, sticking the fork in the top of the last hunk of cake and pushing myself back from the table.
A worried look passes over his face, but is quickly replaced by a smile. Watching him, I get the feeling the smile is well practiced. What is he not telling me?
“It’s nothing, he assures me, dismissing my question with a wave. “She and I go back a long way.”
Pondering the situation, the only thing that seems plausible is that Graham may be Izzy’s fall back guy. Maybe when she and Lance fight, she runs back to Graham. All sorts of scenarios run through my mind, but none that seem to explain this odd conversation. Although , I wouldn’t mind being her fall back guy.
“You into Izzy?” I suggest nodding in the direction of the door. “So what, join the club.”
“Oh boy,” he snorts. “Best not to open that can of worms.”
“Why not?”
He stares at me
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