How the World Ends (22 page)

“We are all that we have,” he begins. “We are all that we can rely on, from now on. We few are here, right now, and you all need to know what we are going to do to deal with whatever is going to happen from here on out.”

He raises his hands up before anyone else can speak. Many in the crowd look to Dan and Ted, usually the two who are the most outspoken, but they are silent, both standing with arms crossed.

“Now, I know that many of you don’t know who I am, that you came here thinking that Jonah would be here, and they he had some sort of plan for all of us. I am here to tell you that he does have a plan, but it isn’t what you expect – it won’t solve all the problems and it surely won’t be easy. But if tonight is any indication, all of you, and many more perhaps, are willing to work together to get a result that we can all be proud of. A good result in this case, as you may well know by now, is our very survival.”

Silence, again.

He continues, “My part in all of this, as I understand it, is to organize things so that we can all work together in a way that is mutually beneficial. Jonah already pledged his stockpile of fuel and the use of his land for crops and the barns for a common storage facility owned by the community. Ted and Don have already pledged their crops and livestock to the usage of the community as well.

“I have in my hand some pieces of paper. These are to be the tally of every resource we have available to us. It only has a few lines on it right now. Everyone here who wishes to share what they have, or their talents, within this community, may put their name and whatever they pledge on this list right now. Anyone who has only the shirt on their back will be provided for, so long as they agree to abide by the constitution of this community.”

“And what’s in this constitution?” asks Don, clearly surprised by this latest part of the announcement.

“Well, this part’s my idea,” says Herb. “It states that any and all activities done by an individual within this community must be done first for the family, then the community, then for the self. This means that any food you grow, and water you draw from the creek over there, or the river up the road, anything at all, must be made available first to your family, then to the community, then to yourself. It’s as simple as that, and we will all have enough to make it through the winter, I promise you.”

“That’s an easy promise to make at this time of the year,” someone grumbles from the darkness.

Herb blinks a couple of times, and his face flickers with the reflection of the campfire. “Trust me,” he says, and then more quietly, “I know all about long winters.” He raises his voice again, and says “My contribution to the community will be the management and tally of all available resources and labour at any given time. If anyone wants to sign onto the tally, I will be here tomorrow at first light.” And with that, he steps off the porch and comes down to us. Lucia embraces him instantly, wrapping him tight in the kind of hug I didn’t think she was capable of anymore – maybe not ever.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says to him. “I knew you could do it. I knew you could get them to listen.”

“I haven’t done anything yet. Wait till tomorrow, and then we’ll see what everyone says about this. It may not be pretty,” he drops his voice to a very low level, less than a whisper now, “Because I left one big part out of that little speech.”

“And what was that,” I ask, just as quietly, but with a sneaking suspicion that this might be something we will dwell upon in the coming days – especially those without Jonah here.

“I never said what would happen when someone breaks the constitution.”

…

Later, after the kids have gone to bed, and the people have returned home, after the fires have all been banked and the real darkness of the night falls upon us, five of us sit around the large kitchen table in the farmhouse. I have never had a conversation in this much darkness before, but it seems silly to waste the candles. I find, after a while in the darkness, that we are always finding ways to touch one another, so that eventually, we all sit with hands joined, Angie, Herb, Lucia, Aeron and myself.

We begin to say things that I would never have imagined we might tell each other in the daylight – things that we reserve for the darkness when the spirits seem so much closer, when death itself seems to be just a veil through which thoughts and feelings might drift freely from this world to that one, and back again.

“I feel my dad in this place,” this is Aeron speaking. “He’s here with us, right now.”

Silence for a moment, then Lucia says “Rachel, I never meant for all the years to pass like that. I should have told you...” Silence, again, almost as if the spirits themselves are compelling the words to come out from her open mouth. “I thought I knew what was going to happen, James made all these deals that put the city on a short list of some kind, and Phillip told me he was going to kill James and take me away from all of that madness, and I let him do it – even though I never loved him. I swear to you Herb, I never loved either one of them.”

“It’s alright, Lucy,” Herb’s voice is calm, soothing to my sister tension. “We all have the things that brought us here, to this point.”

“My dad had something to do with it,” says Aeron. “I know it. I can feel it. He knew something. He did something, something that got him killed.”

No one speaks for a while. There isn’t much to say, no answers that will bring us the truth we need.

Then a whisper, light as air, almost indistinguishable from the chirping of the crickets and the tree frogs:
“I love you too, son.”

Chapter Two – Voices in the Night, Strangers in the Morning

Bill

“Hear that, Bill?”

“Keep your voice down, Lewis.”

“Look, over there!”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure – I thought I heard the sound of... horses. Didn’t you hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s gone now.”

“Oh wait – I see it now – over there, just beyond those trees. Two horses, one rider – he must be leading the second horse to keep one fresh. “

“How do you know that, sarge?”

“Don’t call me sarge – we’re not in the army anymore.”

“Whatever you say, man, but you’ll always be Sergeant Thomas to me. And that rifle says as much. Even if you’re not in the army, you’re still fighting the war.”

“He moved off the ridge so nobody could see his outline on the horizon. He didn’t approach until he got into the trees. If we’d have been back another hundred feet we wouldn’t have seen him at all.”

“
We
didn’t see anything until I pointed him out.”

“That means he’s an experienced rider – knows what he’s doing.”

“What do you know about experienced horsemen?”

“Read a lot of westerns as a kid.”

“Sarge! I never figured you were ever a kid.”

“As far as you’re concerned, I wasn’t. And keep your voice down, Private.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. Go wake up Chapin and take him over that ridge and try to come up behind those horses – and stay downwind so you don’t spook them. Find out who the rider is and get back here asap.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

“Bill, wake up.”

“Hmmph?! What? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Bill.”

“Jonah? Where the hell did you come from? I told Chapin and Lewis to tail you.”

“They’re still out there – I didn’t want to alert anyone to my presence by acknowledging them, so I led them off into some thick brush and doubled back here.”

“Damn it, Jonah! You can’t just leave my men out in the bush like that. What if they get hurt?”

“By whom, Bill?”

“Damned if I know. We’ve been sitting outside this town for days waiting to catch anyone coming or going, and nothing – just the wind.”

“Well then why would you be afraid of your men being out there?”

“I’m responsible for them, they’re here because of me, for a decision I made.”

“They had a choice, too. They follow you because you lead them, and sometimes it’s as simple as that.”

“Easy to say from the top of a horse. You haven’t been out here with us, man. It’s bad. Every town is the same – it’s either empty, or it might as well be. Nobody shows themselves and there’s been no coming and going.”

“Maybe they’re stuck.”

“Like back in the city? No. That was different – I told you before – that mission was a search and retrieve.”

“For me.”

“Or a part of you. The one that drips out red.”

“Nice. Well, I guess this is my search and retrieve – we’re going back to my parents’ farm. There’s food and shelter there, and we can make a stand if we need to. Anywhere else it’s just turned to chaos.”

“What have you seen?”

“Farms, villages, towns – much like you were saying. Everything is either gone or melted away to nothing. Nobody is left.”

“I doubt that. There has to be survivors. They can’t just kill
everyone.
”

“I saw piles, Bill. Little piles of flesh that used to be bodies, all melted and nothing left. There’s no life left anywhere that the mist has been through.”

“Don’t, Jonah. I have to believe that’s not true – not here anyways.”

“Why?”

“This is the kid’s town. Your friend Steven – he says his family’s down there – lots of little kids.”

“Steven! Where is he?”

“Little bugger wouldn’t stay put – he’s trying to find out what’s happening down there. He’s the best scout you could ask for, though – silent, patient – reminds me of myself, ten years ago.”

“It’s almost dawn. Let’s go down there.”

“Just like that?”

“What else are we supposed to do? We have to get down there.”

“No, we have to wait, see what happens.”

“How long have you been out here?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I don’t have time to spare, Bill. We have to swing back east and pick up the others in a few days. That’s a long way to travel.”

“Calm down. You’ve been riding hard and you’re anxious. Let’s just wait a few more hours and we’ll see what happens.”

“I didn’t ride all night to sit around and wait. You stay here if you want – I’m going into town to see what’s up.”

“Your funeral.”

…

Steven

The light is dim, not yet morning, not yet day

The town is dark, the lights put out, the people hidden behind their eyes

I stand and spy, behind a wall, at my family and what they have become

I wander, invisible, to the house where my childhood was fostered

Where my urge to grow overcame my urge to dissolve

Where my thoughts of escape first became known to me

Where the only inescapable thing was my need to be free

And this is in the mind, really, really, in the mind of the slave

In the thoughts of the ones who can envision themselves elsewhere

And my parents, who brought me in and left me behind all those years ago

But the children, my brothers and sisters, orphans all, they are poised

They are hiding behind their eyes as they sit and watch for danger, for me

This is their chance, what they have been eager to dream for

Yet hesitant to achieve

To escape

But they must

They must come with us

The dawn is almost here

The sun is on the brink of the world

Ready to flood the daylight into this scene of squalor

Ready to show me, and Michael beside me, that we have not been mistaken

Behind the window, the eyes of children shine like beacons

From house to house from building to building from place to place

Their weakness has prepared them to be strong

Their keepers need them more than they know, for this strength is not known to them

To them, to them, I only say “let me in”

To the children, I say, “Come, brothers and sisters,” and they follow

Starting with my own house, and then to the next and the next

And I feel the relief of the sun’s first rays, as the smiles of recognition erupt from faces I know

And on and on until many join us on the street, amidst the abandonment and in spite of it

They show me their courage; they have backpacks and shopping bags, satchels and shovel handles

And Michael is there, at the edge of town, looking outward with his blind eyes searching the landscape

The shadows stretch across our paths as the parents stand, unwilling to follow us outside

Their eyes reflect only the darkness, they hide within themselves and stand in doorways

Only a few a few a few and a few more, drawn to the innocence of the need for freedom

From this, from them, from what they know will happen

When the water bottles are empty and the tin cans have all been opened and there are no others

What then?
They think.
What will we do?

What we can we do, that is all the children ask of them

To try to feel the pull of daylight over darkness

To see the hope of tomorrow against the void of today

To hear the word of silent witness to their callings

I walk at their front, I raise my hand to the horseman

And Michael points his gnarled hands skyward

A shout goes up and a ragged cheer can be heard

From those who long to hope and whose hopes will not keep them chained

To the future they cling, to the thought that something better can be found

If only we look. If only we step outside. If only, if only.

…

Jonah kicks his feet from the stirrups and hops to the ground beside me. His smile is ear to ear and I can’t help but smile back, much as I try not to look too childish. He throws his arms around me and tears slide out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

“It’s good to see you, Steven. I figured you’d find your family.”

I can’t answer. I can’t tell him that I’m an orphan, and that my family is only my hope of a family that I have dreamed of since I was a child. And that only in the last few weeks have I stopped trying to forget that dream as I have chased it back home.