Don't Fear The Reaper (21 page)

Prior to the worldwide events Frank often envisioned taking his son out
on fun daytrips. Perhaps going on holiday in the summertime. Enjoying Christmas
and New Year in each other’s company, laughing, playing and seeing the joy on
his little face as his eyes lit up with new presents.

Perhaps the dream was a sign of the rage his son and other youngsters
would feel. They had been robbed of their youths and the luxuries their elders
had enjoyed. Instead hunting for food and doing their utmost to survive on a
daily basis would consume their existences. It wouldn’t be long before they
realised how pointless life was.

What Frank found most distressing was how Elias was the only person under
the age of fifteen who had endured the impact and survived the aftermath.

As Elias had said in his dream, the world had burnt to cinders in a
living hell. That was undoubtedly true. The panorama before Frank squashed any
doubt of that argument. Therefore, was it Elias’ fate to grow into a man who
became a leader? A man full of utter contempt? A man who would go on a killing
spree the likes of which the world had never known?

No. Frank shook his head as though someone else had been whispering those
brusque words into his ear. No, it couldn’t be true. If it was then the dream,
Elias who said he was son of no one, wouldn’t be his. That was not true. He was
his son. And in spite of the melancholy all around them, both he and Sammy had
given Elias all the love a child could ask for. More even under the
circumstances. They’d lost everything else. All they had was each other. They
would be more than bearers of life to Elias. They would protect him from all
evil.

THE FIRST DAY
of 2012 was a cold one. Reverend Anthony Perkins sometimes had to pinch himself
to make sure he was alive. It stunned him to think that he, Sue, Natalie,
Sapphire and the young black cat (Smokey) had all lived. The global tragedy had
hit them worse than Perkins ever could have envisioned.

Sure they were all grateful and relieved to be alive, but so far there
had been no sign of many other survivors. They had still yet to receive any
news through the portable radio or through physical communication. The drastic
alteration prior to the comet strike and the aftermath were polar opposites.
What was even more strange was Sapphire had just turned five and knew of no
other existence. Smokey also appeared to be unaffected. For a cat he didn’t
venture far. Normally the most he travelled were the few hundred yards from the
crumbling church to the vicarage (which surprisingly had no damage at all).

Sapphire’s days were spent listening to Sue and Natalie. They taught him
rudimentary English and mathematics. They told him stories of a place where
people travelled from place to place in vehicles, performing jobs and errands.
The toddler sat for hours straight, captivated by these yarns. It reminded Perkins
when he was a wee boy reading H.G. Wells and Ray Bradbury stories. What was
rather sad though was Sapphire’s wonder and intrigue believed the yarns to be
farfetched and implausible.

Smokey enjoyed the life of being constantly cuddled and stroked by
Sapphire. The young boy doted on the cat. Smokey took immense pleasure in this
daily, unwavering treatment. The world may have been scorched and in ruin, but
Smokey’s days were filled with pure, unconditional love.     

Perkins felt a twinge of envy towards Sapphire and Smokey. Their
ignorance to the worldwide events permitted them peace in abundance. Smokey
slept either on top of or next to Sapphire on the spare bed in the vicarage.
Meanwhile he would be tiptoeing through the cottage. His insomnia invaded him
completely. Every thought or notion a dagger piercing his brain. When he did
lie down on his mattress in the living room (Sue and Natalie shared a bed in
his bedroom) and closed his eyes, his brain buzzed. He’d lie there staring into
the dark, his eyes adjusting. Then in the next instant the dark began to ebb
away and the first grey tinge of light came through the window. Before he knew
it Sue and Natalie were waking and getting ready.

Even during the day when the food had been cooked and there was nothing
much else to do Perkins’ body refused to shut down. He’d retire to his armchair
in the living room with a Scotch and let nature take its course. Nothing
happened. It was as if his anatomy was no longer physical in the human sense.
It was as if his anatomy had sent all conscious thought and emotion to a robot.
Bit like the film
Robocop
he’d seen in the eighties.  

And here’s the thing Perkins learned about insomnia that people who have
never suffered from it could ever know. You are never fully awake or asleep at
any time. Instead your body goes on vacation and leaves you on Auto Drive. You had conversations as you would normally, the only difference was you
couldn’t remember exactly what they were about five minutes later. It could
have been something pertinent or insignificant. It didn’t matter. At least not
to your brain. 

He’d been in this stupor for a long time. And if he were honest, Perkins
wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it either. He didn’t need to be a doctor to
know that depression, melancholy, anxiety and too much contemplating
contributed to his symptoms. Nevertheless, if he wasn’t inflicted with those
emotions Perkins presumed he’d cease to be human. To not care would be
inhumane. Yet as one there was nothing he could do about the situation.

The provisions situation was getting worse and needed to be addressed.

While Sapphire played hide and seek with Smokey in the living room, Perkins,
Sue and Nadine sat around the kitchenette table.

‘So, what is it you’re trying to say, Anthony?’ Sue asked, sipping milk
from a carton.

‘The convenience stores and local supermarkets are running out of
supplies. The meat that’s left that is not frozen and uneatable. There’s still
snack food there, such as bags of crisps, Doritos and sweets. Plenty of booze.
God knows this time and age would be paradise for alcoholics and chain
smokers.’

‘What’re you proposing?’ Natalie said. Her cheeks puffed out as she
exhaled.

‘We’ve got plenty of fuel. I checked the transit van – it still works.’

‘So?’ Sue pressed.

‘So, I think it’s time to go farther afield. The environing towns and the
city are full of convenience stores, petrol stations and supermarkets. But I
can’t do it on my own. I’ll need someone to help me. For protection.’ He paused
and finished his Scotch. The liquid burned the back of his throat, making his
eyes water. ‘In our district it’s safe to say that if there are – or were – any
survivors then they’ve sadly perished. Or gone insane. But beyond our little
community there are bound to be others. It’s inconceivable to think we’re the
only survivors.’ 

Natalie shook her head, hand on her brow. ‘What d’you mean, “For
protection”? Protection from whom?’

Perkins faced Natalie. ‘Forget everything about what used to happen
before. Those days are long gone. They exist now only in our memory. These are
harsh times. These are also desperate times. People are desperate. They see me
loading a van full of goodies and they’re gonna try to take advantage.’

‘I think people ’round here have witnessed enough destruction to last an
eternity, Anthony,’ Sue said.

‘That maybe so, but I can’t rely on someone having a clear conscience.’
He regarded both women solemnly. ‘People who have lost everything and are
starving and dying of thirst are apt to put their morals to one side. If you
were in their place you’d do the same…’

No one spoke for a minute.

‘Imagine us lot had survived but had no sanctuary. No food. No water. And
imagine we saw someone who had everything and we had nothing. What would you
do?’

‘I’d kindly ask where that person got their supplies from and ask to give
me something they could spare,’ Sue said.

Perkins shook his head in defiance. ‘No you wouldn’t. You’d run after
them full-pelt. Your words you said you’d speak are those of someone who has
food and water and is still rational. It doesn’t make someone a bad person
because they’ve acted on insanity and starvation.’

‘But what difference would it make it if one of us was there with you?’
Natalie said. ‘If they’re as mad as you say we wouldn’t be able to stop them.’

‘Instead there’d be only one to look after Sapphire and Smokey,’ Sue
added.

‘What possible protection could we offer?’ Natalie asked.

‘As we are by ourselves… nothing. Armed we’d at least be ready and able
to fight off any immediate attacks.’

Sue put her carton of milk down on the coaster, frowning. ‘Armed? What do
you mean, armed?’

*

The
main road leading into the small town of Briton Ferry could have been any
wreckage from around the world. Terraced houses had been crushed flat. Pubs and
bars mere fragments of mortar, concrete and glass. A church spire protruded
precariously from the rubble. A dust cloud reduced visibility, which Perkins
was glad for. Nevertheless, the town he’d grown up knowing was unrecognisable.
Where the main road had once been about fifteen feet of destruction blocked any
entrance via vehicle.

Perkins steered the transit slowly around the roundabout, swerving to
avoid colliding with an upside down Heineken lorry. The transit rolled to a
halt, riding the kerb and coughing up a plume of grey dust.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Sue asked, staring through the
windscreen at the town that was no more.

Perkins cut the motor. ‘Listen, I hope if we do get some weapons and ammo
that we never have to use them. But as the adage goes, it’s better to have
something and not need it than it is to not have something and need it.’

Sue sighed and unfastened her seat belt. ‘How can you be sure the gun
shop is still there anyway?’

‘I’m not,’ Perkins said. ‘I’m hoping it is and we can get what we need
and leave. As claustrophobic as it is residing in a bunker and my home it’s a
far cry from being beneath all this.’ He gestured to the mountain of rubble and
debris.

Together they departed the transit and stood motionless.

‘Where’d the gun shop used to be located?’ Sue called out.

‘About a hundred yards from where we are on the left-hand side.’

Sue came around the transit. ‘The quicker we take a look the quicker we
can get outta here, right?’

‘Agreed.’

Side-by-side they crossed the main road. Sue chose to follow Perkins. She
swayed as she clambered over a pile of bricks and mortar and God knew what
else. Perkins snatched her hand, steadying her. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered,
watching where she placed her feet.

They passed a local café. The windows had been blown out of their frames.
The frames themselves were crushed down to five feet. If Perkins or Sue wanted
access into the café they would have been forced to duck and stoop down.

Across the street the café’s advertising awning flapped lightly in the
breeze. A chrome-legged table lay at the top of a heap like an overturned
spider. Both Perkins and Sue decided not to glimpse the interior of the café
lest their eyes fell upon carcasses of the fallen. The convenience store that
displayed an array of fruit and vegetables out front spilled most of its
contents out into the street. The building that housed the store itself had
begun to fold inwardly. Amidst the dust Perkins and Sue could see the
tangerines, apples, bananas, grapes, carrots, spuds and grapefruits scattered
about.

Perkins slowed to a stop. His chest heaved. The pang in his chest hurt
more than the crucifixion Christ ever could right then. Nature and humankind
had coexisted in peace. The proof had existed before him in all the thirty plus
years he’d been on the Earth. People often accused humankind for destroying
nature. And perhaps, to a certain degree, they did. But here in a town that he
was as familiar with as his own had shown that nature had aided humankind to
enjoy the succulent tastes and pleasures and goodness no artificial food could
ever replace.

‘Are you all right?’

Perkins shook his head. ‘Not really.’

‘Guess this is what 9-11 must’ve been like for all the New York
residents,’ Sue said. Her mind’s eye callously replayed the memory of the
second aircraft flying into the World Trade Centre edifice where good, noble
hard-working folk suffered unthinkable consequences.

‘Guess so,’ Perkins concurred.

To make matters worse they passed a pet store that appeared relatively
undamaged in comparison to the florist. Perkins couldn’t glimpse the posters
that had peeled away from the shop windows of cats and dogs. Their faces
reminded him of all the family members with four legs in all the homes around
the world who had also lost their lives. The innumerable crushed roses and
tulips could never account for all the lives taken in this town. Even their
blossoming hues had been caked in dust, ash and other debris.

Perkins dearly wished he had time to pray for each and every single soul.
But he didn’t know if God was listening. He wasn’t sure any more if God had
ever listened. It seemed unlikely that He did.

A surge of warmth and comfort overcame him momentarily. He glanced over
his shoulder and saw Sue’s tear-stricken face and her hand upon his shoulder.
‘Just remember,’ she said in a broken voice, ‘you’re not alone. I am here with
you.’

He forced a meek smile and patted her hand. Took a deep breath. ‘C’mon,
let’s go. Not much farther now.’

Again the display window to the gun shop had crumbled, but the security
bars that prevented looters from obtaining unlicensed weapons remained
steadfast. The top of the bars had bent but remained vertical. The
glass-panelled door with bars attached to it hung on its brass frame, ready to
fall off.

Sue followed the reverend inside. Years ago she recalled sitting in the
pews on frosty winter mornings waiting for Christmas, listening intently to Perkins’
sermons. The man in front of her sidling past the entrance door hadn’t mentioned
God in five years. Now here they were looting for guns and ammo.

‘I must confess, I know absolutely nothing about guns,’ she said.

Perkins didn’t glance back over his shoulder at her when he answered. ‘I
don’t really,’ he said. ‘But one of my foster parents – Nadine’s parents – had
a couple of Remington 12 gauge shotguns. I went shooting with Nadine’s father
one day up in the woods in Brecon. At first I was afraid. I’d seen enough TV
even then to know that guns cost people their lives. After half an hour
watching my foster dad shooting at targets he nailed to tree trunks and birds
and squirrels, I realised it was guns that killed people. Irresponsible people
with guns killed people.

‘He gave me a pistol that fired pellets. I vocally protested against him
shooting at the wildlife, so he stopped. I don’t know if he stopped permanently
or just for that day I was with him.

‘Anyway, the pellet gun was fun. We lined refuse food tins on a picket
fence. I was awful to start with. The weight of the pistol took some getting
used to. Then firing the damn thing and getting even remotely close to the
target was another matter. But eventually I started to get the hang of it.
About an hour later and I was firing right through the red dot at the centre
from fifty yards away.’

‘When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound all that bad,’ Sue said.

Perkins threw the latch back and folded the flap over to get behind the
oak counter. ‘Still, I believe guns and other weapons and bombs are the worst
creations of all kind. People use them for all kinds of things. The least of
which is to go up to the woods and fire at a target. Some shoot foxes, birds,
or other rodents. That’s bad. Unacceptable. But worse are folks who can obtain
a gun over a counter and take out their frustrations on innocent victims and
break hearts and ruin families. That’s why they should be banned. If there were
no guns or other types of arsenal to begin with crime rate would plummet.