Don't Fear The Reaper (15 page)

The sheer notion of the Prime Minister being executed like many American
presidents stunned her into silence. It didn’t make sense. You couldn’t shoot
and kill the leader of the country. It was unfathomable. Yet these days you
could. And if enough citizens got together and caused a mass riot, no matter
how well equipped and trained the British Army and other forces were, there
would be no stopping them. After all, they had nothing to lose. Their way of
thinking was, why should the Prime Minister be taken to an unknown location to
be saved from the global destruction in an attempt to survive when others of
less importance and no money were left to burn to cinders?

Sue turned the cold water tap on and splashed her face. Bending over the
sink, shudders of pent-up emotion overcame her and racked her bony frame.

She didn’t know what would be worse, extracting herself from the world to
be alone in her armchair with a hot chocolate and good book or interacting with
the world and dying, if not of the meteor shower, then the shocking news of so
many others dying?

Righting herself, Sue clutched the rim of the basin until the dizziness
passed. When she felt safe to walk she ambled out of the kitchen in the dining
room and retrieved her mobile phone.

Nothing unforeseen or awful has happened, my arse!   

 She hit the dial button when the cursor highlighted Natalie Hayes’
mobile phone number and sat on the arm of the chair.

Patience was a virtue that other generations had the luxury of, not her.
Not now.

‘You answer the pissin’ phone girl, if it’s the last thing you do, damn
it!’

Sue listened as Natalie’s mobile rung…

*

Natalie
was careening around the roundabout and onto a straight road when her mobile
started ringing. Startled at first by the sound, Natalie shot a look around her
and spotted the mobile in the floor well beneath the glove compartment. She had
no idea how the hell it’d got there. It must’ve fallen out of her pocket at
some point.

The Asda superstore was a mile ahead. Natalie couldn’t risk pulling over
or taking her eyes off the road for a second. Not after that madman back in the
small town tried to assail her and steal her van. She cussed as the ringing
continued inexorably.

‘It’s Sue! Shit, I forgot to pick up Sue.’ She slapped the steering wheel
and winced at the pain lancing through her hand.  

Natalie swung around the corner, tyres protesting, clinging to the
concrete. The car park was nearly empty. She continued forward to the front of
the big superstore and pulled up alongside the kerb, yanking the handbrake on.
Then she unfastened her seat belt and reached over for her mobile phone. It
slipped out of her clammy grasp on the first attempt. Cussing, she focused and
clambered over the seat and obtained the mobile. She punched a few buttons and
identified the missed call as Sue’s number.

She pressed the dial button when the cursor highlighted the familiar
number and waited for a response.

After three rings the ring tone cut off.

‘Natalie?’ Sue sounded panicky. ‘Are you all right? Is everything all
right?’

At hearing her name spoken in the dulcet tone of her best friend’s voice
Natalie almost relented to the emotions bubbling up inside her.  ‘I’m sorry,’
she said. Then she cleared her throat and chastised herself for nearly letting
the tidal wave washing through her system drown her in perpetual sorrow.

‘Sorry?’ Sue said, perplexed. ‘What’re you apologising for, honey? You
got nothing to be sorry about.’

‘I’m sorry for not calling you sooner,’ Natalie said, getting herself
under control.

‘That’s all right. I was just getting anxious. I know John said that you
needed to get supplies. I’ve spent the morning packing food, drink, clothing and
bedding into my suitcases too. I imagine you two have been doing the same.’

Natalie balanced her brow on the dashboard above the glove compartment
and prepared herself for what she was about to reveal. ‘John’s dead, Sue.’

No answer.

‘Sue?’

‘Yeah. Sorry,’ Sue said, distant. ‘Did I hear you right? Did you say your
John is gone?’

Natalie confirmed what she’d said.

More silence.

Then: ‘Sorry sweetheart, I don’t mean to sound thick, but could you
elaborate. How can John be d…?’ she trailed off.

Natalie licked her chapped lips to help her speak coherently. Then she
explained in as much detail and accuracy what had transpired at Tesco, and how
John had met with foul play in the form of a crazed mass murderer.

When she’d stopped speaking, she could hear Sue’s heavy breathing on the
other end. ‘Sue? Sue!’

‘Yes,’ her best friend said.

‘I’m at Asda. I’m gonna get some baby stuff and other vital items.
Hopefully, Reverend Perkins and his sister and her baby will arrive shortly. We
need to get down in the bunker sometime tonight. Either tomorrow or the day
after the meteors will enter the atmosphere. If we’re not down in the bunker,
sealed in, then we’re as good as dead.’

Sue didn’t seem to hear her. Instead she said, ‘I… can’t believe John is
gone.’

‘Sue love, I could do without discussing my dead husband at this time. I
really need to get in this store, gather as many items as I can and fill the
transit. On my way back I’ll pick you up. Be ready. See you soon.’ And with
that Natalie terminated the call before Sue could say anything.

Without wasting any more precious time, Natalie got out of the van and
locked it. She ran to the trolley station and pushed it full pelt at the
automatic doors. They made a hydraulic hiss as they disappeared into the
apertures.

*

Sue
hefted her heavy suitcases to the front door and undid the latch. It finally
dawned on her that there was a strong possibility that she’d never seen her
two-storey semi-detached home ever again. She still clung to the hope that she
could return, but then if it was nothing but rubble, would she really want to?

No
was the resounding answer.

If she did manage to survive while the small town she’d resided in her
whole life and the environing towns in the district were eradicated the place
she called home would be nothing but a memory.

The realisation was beginning to kick in what this all meant. This time
it wasn’t some huge event happening in another part of the world. This was
happening everywhere and anywhere in the world. This time no nationality was
being spared the devastation.

There wouldn’t be any redemption.

There would be survivors, of course. But the ruined land would resemble a
war zone. Not a trace of scenery or beauty would remain.

The drone of an engine drawing closer snapped her out of her depressing reverie.
Sue opened the front door and poked her head outside. The white transit van
steered kerbside, tyres rubbing concrete. She wasted no time lifting her
suitcases over the doorstep and down the small garden path onto the pavement. A
door opened then slammed shut.

Sue’s heart jolted.

Then she relaxed when she noticed Natalie appearing from around the side
of the van and jogging over to her. She tore open the rear doors and stepped
aside to permit her best friend to pull her suitcases behind her. When she saw
the third suitcase balanced precariously on the doorstep, Natalie ran forward.

Sue glanced over her shoulder, seeing what her friend was doing. ‘Thanks,
hon. Be careful. They’re damn heavy.’

Together the two women, getting on in age, hoisted the three suitcases
into the back of the transit door and panted with exertion.

‘Get in!’ Natalie barked.

Sue slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

Natalie started the engine, fastened her seat belt and pulled away from
Sue’s house and sped down the tree-lined street.

The embodiment of suburbia grew smaller and smaller in the passenger wing
mirror.  Sue stared at the receding scene until it disappeared forever…

*

The
Grim Reaper paid no heed to the screams now whimpering from the passenger
occupying the bench next to it. Instead it stared forward, no expression or
gestures to reveal what it might be thinking.

Meanwhile Vince had gone into shock. His massive, muscle-bulging anatomy
shuddered with minor convulsions. The sight, feel and texture of his last
victim’s decapitated head were still too vivid and surreal to erase from his
mind’s eye. He kept jolting backwards in his seat and making horrified sounds
that weren’t quite screams or cries but something in-between. Now he
relinquished to whimpering like an abused six-year-old girl, hiding in her
closet.

Eventually he summoned the energy and willpower to speak around the
trembling of his lips. ‘W-Why d-did you d-d-do that? Why’d you g-give m-m-me
his h-head?’

The massive cloaked figure that gave Vince the appearance and demeanour
of a young boy in the presence of a monstrous adult ignored his questions.

‘Did you think it w-was amusing?’

The Reaper continued to stare straight ahead.

And it was the interminable silence that sent invisible pitching forks into
Vince’s nerves.

Worse than the decapitated head of the local bishop rolling around,
bumping into his feet, was the fact he had no idea where they were or what their
intended destination was. The Reaper’s broad, slab-like back prevented him from
craning his head over his shoulder and pulling the deep-purple drapes open.

‘Who’s riding the horse?’ Vince asked.

The Reaper turned its head only on its neck that made that awful,
click,
click, click
noise.

Vince bared his teeth and contorted his features, immediately burying his
head into his lap to avoid seeing into the chasm of blackness at the most
ghastly image ever known to mankind. The face that made
Iron Maiden
T-shirts look like depictions of angels.

As the never-ending journey continued it suddenly dawned on Vince that he
could no longer hear the snorting or the click-clacking of hooves striking
concrete or any other surface for that matter.

In his fit of fear he considered aiming his assault rifle at the
mysterious figure next to him and firing at close range. Yet the notion was a
fleeting one full of doubt. If he did somehow pluck up enough stupidity and
fortitude to do such a thing, Vince’s intuition assured him that the bullets
would have no effect.

In front of him he stared at Death.

Evidently Death couldn’t die as it had never been born to begin with. So
anything of a corporeal fashion wouldn’t cause it any harm whatsoever. It was
impervious to pain, suffering and the fear of death. Those were emotions for
all living creatures, not supernatural entities from another dimension.

‘Are you capable of speaking?’

The Reaper refused to answer or indicate it had heard him. Yet Vince knew
it heard everything. Most likely heard his thoughts too.

‘Or do you choose not to communicate with me?’

The Reaper didn’t rotate its head to one-quarter of the way around its neck.
Instead its skeletal hand roughly the size of a lion’s paw filled Vince’s
vision and covered his face. Blackness deeper and blacker than any night or
shroud enveloped his consciousness. Then there was nothing…

*

When
he came to Vince didn’t feel weary, dizzy or any other symptoms associated with
fainting or having slept deeply or been in a coma. Instead he woke fully awake.
The carriage door was wide open. Outside day had succumbed to night.

The Reaper had vanished from its position next to him. Vince didn’t know
if this ought to be taken as a good or bad omen. Neither, he supposed. Whatever
the case he shifted across the cushioned bench and peered outside.

He gaped in wonder and astonishment at the sky overhead.

There in full view, amidst the galaxy of twinkling stars and a half
crescent moon were what appeared to be fiery boulders floating, hovering in the
near distance.

He blurted out a plea to fornicate with himself. Then he almost tumbled
out of the carriage, forgetting to emerge feet first.

It was then, and only then, that the magnitude of what was about to
befall the Earth fully hit home. It was one thing to sit at home watching the
panning camera shots of the asteroids. But seeing was believing. All the
documentaries and panel discussions, news headlines, accounts and rumours had
been leading up to this finality.

Stumbling out of the rickety carriage, Vince gritted his teeth at the
keen wind. He shivered down to the marrow. Then surveyed his surroundings.
Frowning, he pivoted until he saw the towering figure that was unmistakably the
Reaper.

Not out of choice, but not having any other alternative, Vince crossed
the narrow two-way road onto the marshy land. The torrential and inexorable downpour
that had flooded some towns and villages on the coasts around the U.K. had soaked and muddied the mountains and valleys below.

Vince had no notion of where he was. He had a good mind to return to the
confines of the rickety old carriage. If for no other reason, to prevent
himself from catching a cold. Wherever they were they’d travelled far. The
enormous dune-shaped hilltops suggested that much. The wind sounded like a
banshee out here. The only reassuring sounds were that of innumerable blades of
grass hissing and undulating and the trickling of a stream unseen but
nonetheless nearby.

‘What are we doing here?’ Vince yelled over the din of the gust.

The Reaper turned. Vince’s screamed in terror. The incandescent glow from
beneath the hood revealed the skeletal face in every intricate detail. Every
prominent curve and indentation radiated unnatural light of luminous green.

The fog!
Vince’s mind screamed at him.

Vince blinked purposefully and averted his gaze. The light danced like
strobe-lightening in his retinas. When he opened them and looked towards the
Reaper again, its face was concealed once more by its baggy hood.