Don't Fear The Reaper (18 page)

Sacasa whipped his infected face back
at them in a glower. ‘Don’t bother helping. You lot just stand there and let me
do all the work.’

‘Like you did when we had to move the
Dumpster you mean,’ Number 1 said.

The old man bared his rotten,
brown-yellow teeth.

Number 2 and Number 3 aided Sacasa in
edging the big, rusty door all the way open. They weren’t siding with the old
man. However, they did want to see what lay beyond the darkness.

The absolute blackness devoured
Sacasa.

Silence.

Then footfalls scraped across the
concrete.

The men who had surrendered their
names for numbers daren’t go any closer. They waited.

Abruptly light from inside the chamber
blinded them momentarily. They winced and shielded the radiance, squinting
until their eyes adjusted. Sacasa stood in the doorway like the proverbial
gatekeeper.  He appeared to take pleasure in the men’s reactions, especially
Number 1.

‘Enter.’

At last the three men entered the
chamber and marvelled at the bricked walls. In the farthest niches were loaves
of bread, butter, cereal boxes, fruit, all kinds of ready-to-eat meat kept in
packages. Bottles of fizzy drinks and five cartons of milk had been arranged
neatly. Bags of biscuits, crisps, Pringles and chocolate were stacked on top of
each other helter-skelter. In the opposite corner were gas masks and inflatable
camping beds with quilts rolled up.

Raising an eyebrow, Number 1 asked
Sacasa, ‘Did you do this?’

Sacasa smiled broadly.

Number 1 knew full well that although
Sacasa had done good coming down here and supplying them with essentials, he
was under strict instruction from the Reaper. Had he not performed this task,
not only his infected body but his soul would face extinction. Also, after
Number 1 had glimpsed the depravity of the old man’s past he was wary around
him.
   

ANTHONY
PERKINS
let the women perform their surrogate, motherly duties. He was glad
they were here. Sapphire needed them. There were certain tasks he was unable to
perform. He supposed he could change a nappy and dress the baby, but as for
having the knowledge of taking care of a baby, he wouldn’t have a clue where to
begin.

The women were in the kitchen. Anthony had surrendered to the comfy chair
in the living room and welcomed the dark. He hoped to sleep tonight.
Nevertheless, the likelihood of that was very slim. All four of them had
something to eat from the freezer. Sapphire was on the baby milk. Sue, Nadine
and Anthony had each cooked themselves a microwave meal. They were all beef
dinners with Yorkshire puddings and a side dressing of peas and carrots. Now in
the comfort of his own home, savouring the quiet and solitude, Anthony nursed
his can of Carling beer.

Sue had packed a bag of clothes from his wardrobe. The cold would creep
into the bunker. Of course, Anthony knew how to make a fire so they could eat
tinned food. Sue had brought all his scarves and kerchiefs downstairs. This she
said wasn’t merely for the winter weather, but for the time when, if they
survived, they needed to emerge. Anthony didn’t protest. Sue’s behaviour to
some might have been considered melodramatic under any other circumstances. But
these circumstances were unprecedented. No one quite knew the extent of the
destruction soon to befall them. Perhaps Sue Dyer’s attempts of doing her
utmost to prepare for this catastrophe were not only futile but also sinisterly
amusing. Perkins never judged one’s reactions. He admired the two women’s
courage and steadfast approach. If nothing else, John would be proud of them
for not giving up the good fight.

Perkins may have decided to part ways with his religious beliefs and
faith, but he wasn’t so bitter or recalcitrant that he’d drag others down with
his melancholy.

He rose with a disgruntled groan. Once he’d drained the last of his beer
and crushed the can for no particular reason, he stepped outside.

What he saw was the most peaceful, star-studded night he could ever
recall. Nature, not God, had unveiled its most priceless and stunning jewellery
set. Amidst it were the comets that looked like burning boulders ripping across
the heavens.

Tears brimmed in his eyes. Perkins did his utmost to suppress them and
succeeded. He shook his head. ‘Damn you,’ he hissed beneath his breath. The
breath those words were spoken on coiled into a ball and ascended.

As he was about to step back inside, a crying, not human but of an animal,
pierced the night. Perkins senses snapped to alert. Eyes and ears tracked the
source of the sound. Yet he saw nothing, save the erect and leaning headstones
of the grateful dead.

Some time passed, probably no more than five minutes, before he heard a
distant
miaow
. Perkins had seen cats across his back yard ambling
through the graveyard prior to these events. He neither loved nor hated cats.
They loved to roam around in the graveyard as it was quite large, quiet with
lots of grass and trees and shrubbery to explore. If he was out the back when
he saw one he’d even give the cat some scraps of meat. But this was different.
This cat wasn’t doing some night exploring, he or she was crying.

Perkins went back inside and told the women he was going to the
graveyard, but he didn’t mention why. Then he ventured through the gate and
across the path, turning his head left to right, scanning his surroundings.

To attract the feline’s attention Perkins made
psst, psst
noises.
He also called out in a high-pitched voice, ‘Here, puss, puss,’ over and over
again.

Another
miaow
reached his ears, closer this time.

Perkins would hastily admit he was no expert on cats, but the cry sounded
to him as though the feline was upset and lost. He came to a halt on the path
and called out again in a softer tone. A rustle in a bush covered with stingy
nettles alerted him.

‘It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you,’ Perkins said, feeling a bit foolish.

Then, as he was chastising himself for not bringing a tin of tuna to coax
the little one out of hiding, he heard another rustle. He whipped his head
around and was both excited and alarmed that the cat was a black kitten,
struggling to escape the tendrils of brambles. Their sharp talons scraped hair
and skin. Perkins wasted no time getting off his haunches and placing a gentle
hand on the kitten’s stomach. The kitten looked up at him, emerald eyes
sparkling in the night. Perkins fell in love with him instantly. It didn’t have
anything to do with the fact that the kitten was cute and adorable in
appearance. No. The kitten, as young and as frightened as he was, purred amidst
its pain at the reassuring warm hand. It took a minute to disentangle him, but
when he did, Perkins took him in both hands and raised him to his chest. The
purring was constant and loud now, like an engine.

‘There, there. What are you doing out here on your own, huh?’ Perkins
stroked the kitten’s head with his index finger. ‘You shouldn’t be out here on
your own. You should be at home with your family. It’s cold, if nothing else.’

The black kitten had no collar or nametag. However, that didn’t mean he
wasn’t someone’s pride and joy. A member of someone’s family. Still it was too
late and too perilous to go out and start searching for where this kitten’s
home was. It couldn’t be far. The fact that he was out late at night at his age
and under the circumstances didn’t bode well though. If Perkins put him down and
walked away, the kitten would certainly die the next day when the comets
penetrated the earth’s atmosphere. Even if the blast didn’t directly hit them
the oxygen would be sucked out of the atmosphere with the world’s most powerful
vacuum cleaner. The absence of sun for however many days would make a huge
contribution to bringing extinction even closer. The way Perkins assessed this
situation was the kitten was one of God’s creatures. Born of a natural birth
and thus rewarded the gift of life. It was no different from Perkins himself.
The kitten deserved a chance to live.

‘Would you like to stay with me? Probably as doomed up here as will be
with me, but at least you won’t be on your own. Whad’ya say?’

In response the kitten nuzzled his chin and purred. He stood there
motionless on the path, never breaking his gaze from the kitten. And when Perkins
blinked slowly and purposefully the kitten reciprocated the motion.

‘Guess that’s a yes then, huh?’

Glad for the company of the innocent little creature comforted by his
presence and warmth, Perkins and the kitten returned to the vicarage.

*

Perkins,
Sue, Natalie, Sapphire and the kitten ambled through the graveyard in the early
hours of 27 December 2006. They’d gathered packets of meat that Perkins used to
put in his sandwiches for his lunch. The kitten had eaten a whole tin of tuna
and had some fresh cold water. It also finished off the bag of treats Perkins
kept in his cupboard for the stray cats.

He thought it bizarre that he should grow up in an orphanage and then a
foster home with no pets, have no desire to have a pet of his own and yet feed
stray cats when others would shoo them away. Without contemplating it
excessively it did somehow seem fate had brought them this four-legged bundle
of joy and he happened to keep bags of treats.

Yesterday, Perkins had ventured outside in the morning and caught up with
a man no older than forty and inquired as to when the comets would make their
impact. Apparently, the man who was in a rush to return home told him that the
end of the world was forecasted for some time today.

And as he tilted his head back the comets were closer. They left a
burning trail in their wake across the Milky Way.

The sight was both spectacular and terrifying.

They got to the bunker and reached the underground lair just as the
deafening, ominous rumbling erupted. Perkins wanted to pretend it was thunder
and nothing more. But this was the loudest thunder he’d ever heard. This
thunder threatened to split the globe like a beach ball in one massive, almighty
bang.

And it was only the start of bad times ahead.

Not knowing why he did this, Perkins retrieved the silver crucifix and
chain from where he’d discarded it. If nothing else, it would be ungrateful to
his deceased friend, John Hayes, to leave it there.

The weight and feel of it didn’t reassure him in the slightest. What it
did do was remind him of all the good times he shared with John; the times that
seemed a lifetime ago compared to these harsh times ahead…

THE
AFTERMATH

Greater love hath no man than this:

That he lay down his life for his friends.

– The Gospel According to Saint John

REVEREND
ANTHONY PERKINS
had taken a keen habit of writing in his diary everyday
ever since taking refuge in the bunker. Whether or not this was cathartic he
couldn’t say. What it was good for was purging. Also, he found it interesting
to go back after several days, weeks and months to read his thoughts and
feelings. He wouldn’t go out on a limb and say it gave him wisdom. Neither
would he say it made him educated or thoughtful. He merely used the diary as a
way of expressing himself without losing control and saying something that
might offend Sue or Natalie.

He read the list he’d jotted down prior to hiding out in the bunker.

Pictures, books, board games, medicine, food, water and winter
clothing
. The list was brief, lacked detail. However, at the time it served
its purpose. The details he’d sussed out when he’d gone on shopping (or rather
looting) sprees.

Perkins flipped the page over and wiped a film of dust off the lined
paper and read his scrawl by candlelight.

27 December 2006

“The Impact”:

Shock waves from the time of impact
shook the foundations splintering fissures in the earth and rock. The
thunderous effect of the impact reverberated and raced around causing massive
earthquakes I can’t even begin to get my head around. My nerves, I believe,
have been frayed indefinitely. Ash from the megaton explosion fell from the
sky. The last I heard from the news station on the portable radio was the
hierarchy and upper classes had taken refuge in nuclear shelters positioned
around the country. I assume similar measures have been taken in the other
non-poverty countries. But I can’t say for sure. The news also reported that
tsunamis would emanate from the impact points and they would stop at roughly 25
– 150 miles inland.

I can’t even fathom that never mind
picture the scene in my mind’s eye. I guess when the realisation of the
situation is finally upon you it’s only then that it hits you. The incredulity
is beyond that of a scientist’s imagination.

Natalie cradled baby Sapphire. I
embraced my furry, four-legged feline pal to my chest. Sue sat between us and
trembled. We used each other’s body heat to keep warm. Then we closed our eyes
and did our best to restrain our cries when the foundations started rocking
crazily
.

Reading the text put Perkins back into
that specific time and place. And unlike a novel, as the memories were as
tangible as the here and now, he could feel the emotions as if he had sent
himself back through time.    

He continued reading in spite of the
trepidation creeping up on him. The sticky little tentacles of fear fastened
themselves around his heart.

10 hours after impact:

From what we all learned from the
news report apparently huge amounts of “ejecta” (a.k.a., rock blown out of the
craters by the thumping impact) would descend back to Earth. According to the
report the majority of debris of rock would most likely burn up in the
atmosphere. The friction heats the atmosphere to an average of 100 degrees
Celsius (hence one of the main reasons why folks are advised to take shelter).
Then to add to the insurmountable misery plants and animals would now perish.
The ejecta that didn’t burn up in the atmosphere will inevitably crash back
down to Earth, bombarding buildings and starting fires in forests and urban
areas, such as the one we reside in.

Upon impact we all believed the
world was ending. The world was being burned to cinders and exploding and
catching fire like meat in the oven. Turned out this was an apt analogy
.

Perkins let go of the leather bound
diary and shook his hands to rid them of the uncontrollable trembling. After
several attempts of performing this they still refused to relent to his wishes.

Hope was a glimmer of light at the far
end of the tunnel growing smaller as dusk beat daylight into submission.

For no other reason other than
boredom, Perkins, unwisely or not, read on.

A week after impact:

The sun has been blocked out due to
the high levels of ash and debris in the atmosphere. We stayed in the bunker,
which (like outside) is pitch black, save a candle or two. If I were still
religious I’d have lost my faith with the absence of light. I keep thinking
this is what death must be like. Pitch darkness. No heavenly white light. No
pearly white gates. And certainly no loved ones human or pets awaiting our
arrival into the next life. No sir.

The bunker is spacious, but with
the absence of light we might as well be lying in our coffins waiting for death
to sneak up on us.

Reading this section gave Perkins no
reason to believe otherwise. It wasn’t as if he could look back and shake his
head. The same emotions and beliefs were still embedded in his scarred soul
today. Perhaps their situation had improved, but not a great deal. And, he had
to face it, they’d never return to the luxuries they once had. The endless days
in the bunker forcing himself to eat and drink something were agony even now.

29 January 2007, I think:

We decided to stay low, only going
outside occasionally. Global temperatures have begun to cool due to the sun
still being blocked out. This fact still troubles me immensely. It’s safe to go
outside, but only for short periods of time at infrequent intervals. Sometimes
we just take it in turns. Or all of us go together. We have become rather
dependent on each other during the last few weeks of darkness and solitude. Of
course precautions have to be taken. All of us remind one another to breathe
through a kerchief or a damp cloth. We make sure to keep the bunker door closed
nearly all of the time, so as not to breathe in ash and other dust. We use
torches as it is pitch black outside (as predicted on the radio, which is now
just noisy static) as in the bunker. And we’ve begun trying to find firewood
.

As familiar as his scrawl was, the
words themselves felt as though they belonged solely in a post-apocalyptic
novel, not in a diary.

20 February 2007:

It is now freezing. Those who lived
and survived near the coast would most likely find it warmer because the oceans
retain the heat. That didn’t concern us, not for the time being at least. We
only ventured outside to gather firewood to stay warm.

I’m not sure how long we can
sustain this way of life. I’m doing my best not to be pessimistic, but I can’t
help thinking we’re just staving our demise. The ones who died upon impact I’m
starting to think are the ones better off. And yet I chastise myself for
thinking that it’s not a passive thought
.

Perkins shrugged indifferently at his
thoughts. How else was he supposed to feel? Grateful for surviving? He supposed
he ought to. Yet, without being too selfish, he couldn’t help but think that
was preposterous. There they were in the bunker, barely able to come out to
breathe
,
and he ought to be grateful.

He hadn’t thought of it at the time,
but he assumed it must be similar to how a chronic asthmatic sufferer feels.

6 months/June 28 2007:

It is freezing cold inland.
Nevertheless, the ash is clearing from the sky. I thought I was imagining at
first. Like one does when one really wants to believe despite the facts
resisting one. But that’s not the case. Soon the sun will light up the surface
again. Perhaps there are such things as miracles after all. I don’t want to
think that though in case I have my diminishing hope eradicated to the point of
no return. But because the impact threw up sulphur compounds that reflect the
sun’s heat, the icy cold continues. Now there is light again we are able to
search for more firewood for longer periods and possibly any others that are still
alive
.

Upon reading the last paragraph, Perkins
felt the first glimmer of hope re-emerge. It lit up his heart and brought the
corners of his lips into an upward curl.

July/August 2007:

After much discussion one of our
options we’ve decided is if we can’t cope with the cold and begin running out
of food and water (perish the thought),is to travel to the Atlantic ocean, as
it is warmer. But if we do decide to go through with this, we have to be
vigilant and overly cautious because there might be lots of hooligans in the
vicinity. People gone mad during the aftermath. God knows I can’t put hand on
heart any longer and say that I’m totally sane. John and I used to joke about
how we weren’t all there to start with. That’s no longer a joke. It’s fact.

That’s not to say I would resort to
violence. I mean I think world over we’ve suffered enough
.    

Perkins had added other day-by-day
information in the leather bound book. However, as he only managed to get two
diaries down into the bunker he reminded himself not to waste paper on
ramblings. The diary was only to be used for useful information they’d
discovered.

Scalding tears threatened to
incinerate his eyes as he jotted down the date at the top of the page.

25 December 2009:

At long last the Earth is beginning
to warm up again. New plant life has started to grow and some animals have
emerged from their hiding places (not at all any different than us, are they?).
Those who might have survived in the nuclear shelters, who lived as members of
the higher class and were accustomed to affluent luxuries and modern
technology, will have to learn to live the simple, humble life from now on.
There was no difference between anyone now. We were all living primordial
existences. Money wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.