Chaos Feed - Chapter 9: Keeley
July 15 at 8:00 PM
Adapted from a photo by Peter Griffin
Water gushes in, filling the empty space around me. Slowly the level rises, lifting me to the edge as I drift back to consciousness.
"Awfully rude of you not inviting me to the party," says a voice from behind.
I squint my eyes, trying to make sense of the blobs of light floating around me. "What is this?" I say, fishing myself out of the pool. "I put a bullet in your head."
"Several, actually." He takes a sip of his Strawberry Margarita. "But nothing is as it seems anymore, is it Delta? Look around triggerman, this is hardly the D.C. you remember." His bald cranium and angular jaw slip in and out of focus. "These days it's called the Devil's Club."
I don't mind the ragged t-shirt or soiled boxers that he dressed me in. I have much bigger problems. "Where's my gun, Keeley?"
"In your room of course," he replies, massaging his short goatee.
"I don't have a room." I step forward.
"Sure you do, Birchy. All members of the Devil's Club do."
Keeley loves to tease me about my addiction to Birch Beer, an American oddity that he can't get back on the island. "It's Burke, and I ain't no member of no damn club."
He set the margarita aside and leans back in his chair. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter. Nor do I."
I peer over the edge, taking note of the barren streets and dilapidated buildings. "Where are we exactly?"
"You're standing atop the sundeck of the Williard, mate. Under new management, of course. And the smoldering ruin in the distance is the zombie barbeque you threw the other night. Splendid job on that one." Keeley stands. "Here, have a look." He hands me a pair of binoculars.
I lean over the railing and take a gander. A wavering cloud on the horizon is all that's left of the apartment complex. Columns of gutted buildings poke out of the haze like dead fish. The city is little more than rubble, highlighted by an unbroken window or two that somehow survived unscathed. As I scan the horizon, something sparkles in the corner of my lens. "You've got to be kidding." I pan back around.
"That's right. The White House is still intact," says Keeley. "When you're ready you'll find him there."
"Who?" I say. And then I catch a glimpse of his handiwork. Corpses dangling from the traffic signals. I put down the binoculars and look around but there is no reply. Keeley's gone.
