Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

XXVIII

Sheila told Mortimer this: The Chattanooga Joey Armageddon’s (the Joey Armageddon’s, the first, the prototype, the home office) was at the top of Lookout Mountain.

This is what Mortimer knew about Lookout Mountain:

When he was ten years old, his father had taken him. There was a legitimate Civil War memorial at the top, a historical landmark, flags, cannons, etc. Additionally there were a few cheesy tourist destinations in the area. Ruby Falls, a long cave with an underground waterfall at the end. The proprietors shone a red spotlight on the rushing water to give it the “ruby” effect. At certain times of the year, the underground river that fed the falls slowed to a sad trickle. But nobody wanted to go to a tourist attraction called Ruby Trickle. Another place: Rock City was a collection of unique rock formations connected by flimsy bridges and walkways. Ceramic gnomes had been placed strategically to heighten the cheese factor. To a ten-year-old Mortimer it had all seemed like a magical land of wonder and enchantment.

As an adult, these wonders were much less wondrous. One Labor Day weekend, a year after his wedding, Mortimer had taken Anne to see the sights. He’d talked her out of attending a Shakespeare festival.

Anne had not been amused. It was a blisteringly hot day, and she was dirty and sweat-stained by the time they’d finished touring Rock City. Even Mortimer wondered why he’d thought the trip would be a good idea. Looking around he’d seen only families. Moms and dads with two or three kids on the loose. The realization had hit him palpably in the gut that a hot summer day among ceramic gnomes might not have been his father’s idea of a good time. The things parents did for their kids.

Not knowing what else to do, Mortimer had pressed on, taking Anne to Ruby Falls. At least the caves would be cooler. The gift shops were filled with the bright debris of future spring cleanings.

At the end of Anne and Mortimer’s long cave tour, the music swelled, and suddenly, in the total darkness, the red spotlight had blazed forth to illuminate a pathetic trickle of water. A recorded voice boomed Behold Ruby Falls!

In the indifferent silence that followed, while the bored tour group shuffled and looked over their shoulders for the exit, Anne suddenly burst out laughing. It had all been so ridiculous, the big buildup, all for a little dribble into a puddle. Mortimer had started laughing too, and kitsch value had saved the weekend, at least a little. They adjourned to a Mexican café and got slightly drunk on watery margaritas. They’d had fun, but Mortimer had always been aware that in some important way, on some important level, he and Anne weren’t fully connected. Perhaps she would have thought the same about him if they’d ended up at the Shakespeare festival.

One last memory struck Mortimer with wry amusement.

The Incline was a trolley-style railroad car that climbed Lookout Mountain to the Civil War park on top. As a ten-year-old, Mortimer had ridden with his dad down the Incline to St. Elmo Station, where tourist shops and ice-cream parlors and arcades and frolicking fun in every form clustered around the foot of the mountain.

When Mortimer had returned with Anne, he’d been shocked to find the area had fallen on hard times. The streets were deserted and most of the shops had been boarded up. The once bustling tourist zone around St. Elmo Station had become a ghost town.

It was the only place Mortimer thought might actually be better off for the fall of civilization.

They still had a long walk ahead of them.

Lookout Mountain was south of the city. They hiked I-75 until it intersected with I-24, then headed west on 24. They found out quickly enough which exit to take. A large wooden sign had been erected, featuring the vivid illustration of a thrashing, large-breasted woman against a pink mushroom cloud. An arrow underneath with neatly painted lettering read THIS WAY TO JOEY ARMAGEDDON’S SASSY A-GO-GO.

Their moods picked up at the sight of the sign, and they all three exchanged sheepish smiles. It wasn’t quite like coming home, but it beat the hell out of camping on the interstate. They picked up the pace as they hit the exit ramp. They wanted a bed and a meal and a drink. Many drinks. And loud music and all the extravagant good times for which Joey Armageddon’s was famous. It was why people came from miles and miles. To lose themselves in indulgence and forget the daily horror of simply waking up every morning and living. Respite, haven, sanctuary, and yet much more than that. Something that reminded you on a primal level that it was good to be alive.

Five minutes later, a dozen men pointed automatic rifles at them.