The Days and Months We Were First Born- the Unraveling (13 page)

“After that, muthafuckas broke out. Some headed north, others headed west and south. Then when that power shit went out, more people left…. Only a few of us still stayed.”

He paused, somewhat exhausted. He took another pull from his cigarette. Then he gave me a suspicious look.

“By the way, who the fuck is you? And what you doin’ here?”

“I’m passing through,” I said.

“Well, it is mighty lucky you passed through when you did—’cause you’d be a dead muthafucka you came through here any other time. Fuck is wrong with you, boy? Walkin’ up in here like you Billy the Baddest Ass…shit…you just missed a whole gang of muthafuckas from earlier this mornin’. Said they was goin’ to New York to fuck up some soldiers and eggheads…I told ’em they could have that shit. I’m too tired…I stayed here.”

While he was talking, he reached into his back pocket and took out another cigarette. He used the old one to light the new one.

“My gang went to fight the scientists in New York, too,” I said.

The old man was intrigued as he exhaled his smoke.

“Won’t you say it….Where the hell you from, boy? What’s your set?”

“Last Standers. We were a militia in Manhattan.”

This brought a smirk to the old man’s face.

“Hmm…I don’t know who the fuck they is….What you doin’ out here by yourself?”

“They kicked me out,” I said, with sudden self-righteousness. “I don’t know who’s in that building in New York. I don’t know how they got there or what they’re doing there, but they had nothing
to do with the virus
. I know they didn’t. They just couldn’t have. I told the leader how I felt, and I was kicked out.”

“Well, shit…you went against the pack. These is fucked up times, boy. You got to go with your clique even if you think it’s some fucked up shit. You’d still be around your peoples.

“I’ma tell you the straight. You been lucky today. You lucky right now. But your ass had better find some more peoples, or you ’bout to get caught out there.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “I will be on the lookout for some more
peoples…
and I hope to find them soon.”

The old man started coughing again, and this time it was more severe. I watched as he hacked away. I was helpless and caught by surprise. After a while, the old man doubled over and collapsed to the ground. The cigarette fell from his lips and dark, purplish blood oozed from his nostrils and mouth.

The old man was perfectly still on the ground, as if he was dead already. I stood there watching him, thinking,
Damn, did this really just happen?

Then suddenly, he stirred to life again. Slowly, he lifted off the ground and rose to his knees, and with great effort, wiped his face with his arm. After adjusting to seeing this, I snapped to and walked over to him. I put a hand to his back, grabbed his clean arm, and helped him to his feet. His legs were as wobbly as a newborn calf at first step. He leaned heavily on my right shoulder.

We made it to a bench. Then I reached into one of the bags, took out one of my bottles of water, and offered it to him. He took it and tried opening the top, but didn’t have the strength, so I opened it for him. He held it with both hands as if it weighed several kilograms. Once he had balance he drunk appreciatively.

When he had had enough, he handed it back to me. I put the top back on and placed it down in between us. He paused to rest for a few seconds. His breathing was strained.

“What’s your name, boy?” He sounded terrible. His voice was fighting through a gauntlet of phlegm and blood inside his throat.

“Martin. My name is Martin Jacob, sir.”

“I’m Tory. They call me Old Toots.”

He offered his hand. I shook it tentatively.

“Look here, Martin. I’m telling you the straight…You need to head west, because there ain’t shit happening in these cities….Not anymore.”

He paused for a moment. Every sentence was hard work for poor Tory.

“I had seven kids, eleven grand-babies, and three grand-grand-babies…. And I had to see damn near every one of them in Elizabeth die. One by one…sixteen members of my flesh and blood, Martin…. I got one daughter and two grand-babies that didn’t catch this shit…. They left for Pennsylvania…and I pray to Jesus that they make it.

“If you want a future, Martin, get you some peoples and head west…. It’s too late for an old-head like me. But you…you got to live, Martin…. Do what you got to do to live…. Walking through these cities by yourself ain’t where it’s happenin’.”

Tory became silent. He only concentrated on breathing. He really
had
to concentrate to do so. He didn’t have much longer. I have seen so many deaths since that Saturday in late July, 2068. I have seen many people take their last breaths. And it never gets easier. It just never does.

“Do you need help getting somewhere?” I said.

He just sat there, panting, like a mortally wounded dog. His body was shaking ever so slightly. His will to hold on was collapsing. He looked to the cluster of project towers where he must have lived.

“No,” he said. He paused for a few seconds. “I’m right where I want to be…but before you go, can you do me a favor?”

“Yes?” I asked.

In slow motion, Tory reached into his back pocket. It took everything he had to tilt his body so he could reach into it. He retrieved a cigarette, and then put it to his mouth. It trembled in the grasp of his lips. He fixed his gaze back to the towers with tear-filled, hazy eyes.

“Can you give me a light?”

End of Transcript

7:40pm Transcript of Dr. Albert Peacock via
SciDOC-SJ

Dr. Peacock is in front of the camera. He is in the middle of yet another coughing fit. The dark veins of his neck and temples are visible through his skin. Each breath he takes is a painful and loud wheeze. Many of his colleagues sound just as bad. The two ladies in the background are working at the decompression chamber. After fifteen seconds, Dr. Peacock has enough strength to speak.

Dr. Peacock:

This is Dr. Albert Peacock….The time is now 7:40pm, September third, the year twenty sixty-eight. This will be my last entry….The cancer has come to the final stages with me. I am certain that I am within my last hour.…Dr. Gates will record our story at the end of this session and going forward.

My two fellow colleagues are preparing to remove the final string cluster for decompression. The process should take another ten hours by their labor…and then our task shall be done…My colleagues on the outside have fought valiantly…It is my hope that they are able to hold off for the time necessary…Though they are deprived of…

Dr. Peacock pauses. Then he abruptly starts coughing again. As he coughs, he spits up a dark, thick trail of blood. It oozes down the left side of his mouth. He rests for a moment. Other colleagues are coughing as well, though not as severe as Dr. Peacock.

Dr. Jones:

My God…ten hours is a long time.

Dr. Nevins:

Ten hours? I’ll be lucky if I last another ten minutes...

Dr. Leshay:

We made it this far.…We might as well see it through.

Dr. Farziah:

But we will not see it through…We will not make it out of here alive. Those bastards out there have been trying to kill us all this time…They cannot even comprehend that we have been trying to…save them. They have no idea what we have done to save them!

The coughing is steady throughout the colleagues. Dr. Peacock is leaning to his right side with barely enough stamina to sit upright. Someone is injecting a hydro-caffeine shot. The ladies are still at work in the background.

Dr. Peacock:

I would like to thank you…thank you all. You have sacrificed so much. We have been through so much…I do not regret dying with such a fine family as this…I love you all…I really do.

Dr. Bertrand:

Ah, come on, Albert! Hold it together. We still have ten hours. We shouldn’t be saying our goodbyes just yet. Who knows…we may be able to walk out of here. It’s slim, but it can happen.

Dr. Jones:

What the hell are you talking about, Phil? You still have hope of making it out of here, after all of
this
? Man…I don’t want to hear it.

Dr. Bertrand:

It’s not impossible, Steve! Maybe, just maybe…we can sneak out of here. They haven’t seen our faces. Not up close. Maybe somehow, we can blend in with the crowd.

Dr. Farziah:

This is bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit! We are surrounded! How the hell…do we get out of here when we have killed so many?! We have killed thousands of them out there…They want nothing more than to get their hands on us…They will string us up by our necks and burn us alive!

Dr Nevins:

Damn, Isam…

Dr. Gunter:

Isam is right…It’s better to die shooting than to get caught up in some silly scheme…I’m not going out there.

Dr. Jones:

I’ll tell you what I think of the matter. Just let me sleep on it.

Four of the scientists laugh. It hurts for the ones who are cancerous. They cough and wince, and their laughter ends shortly after it begins. There is a faint noise from the crowd below. They are singing an indeterminable song in unison.

Dr. Leshay:

What are they up to now?

Dr. Nevins:

At least they’ve stopped shooting…

Dr. Jones:

After all this time, they should get the point. How many of those people have we killed already? I can’t believe this…we were supposed to improve lives, not take them. I hope God can forgive us for what we have done.

Dr. Peacock suddenly opens his eyes. He is animated in his response to Dr. Jones’s comment.

Dr. Peacock:

We are doing God’s work! If the world blew up because some misguided person…took a bat to our device, then what would your
God
say to that? Hmm? This plague has killed billions, but it has not killed us all…Though greatly reduced, humanity will remain. And even though we had put everything at risk, we have been given a chance to make that wrong a right before we go.…For that, I am grateful….We should all be grateful…

Dr. Peacock starts coughing again. After a few seconds, he falls to the floor out of the camera’s view. He is making a gurgling noise. His colleagues are silent with horror. Dr. Gates breaks from her work and rushes to his side.
The gurgling stops.
After a few seconds, we hear sobs from Dr. Gates.

Dr. Gates:

He’s dead.

A round of anguished sighs passes through the colleagues. After half a minute, Dr. Gates returns to the decompression chamber. No one says a word. There is only the occasional cough, the sounds of Dr. Dawar punching commands on the monitor, and the faint noise from the crowd below. This lasts for another minute. Then Dr. Bertrand speaks.

Dr. Bertrand:

What’s that?

Dr. Gunter:

What do you see?

Dr. Bertrand:

It’s a…it’s another hovercopter. I don’t believe it’s with the news. Computer, magnify and identify the craft in sector six dash eighty degrees.

The computerized voice immediately responds:
Government Aircraft. Warrior Class. F67 Dragon. Designed for urban combat
.

Dr. Bertrand:

Someone is still out there…they’ve come back for us… They’ve come to save us!

Dr. Gunter and Dr. Leshay yelp for joy with Dr. Bertrand. Dr. Farziah whispers prayers of thanks. Dr. Nevins murmurs thank you over and over. The two scientists in the chamber continue their work unaffected. Only Dr. Jones remains silent. After a moment, he speaks.

Dr. Jones:

We can’t be too certain of that. Contact them, Phil.

Dr. Bertrand:

Are you kidding me? Someone has come back for us! What else could it be? Computer, contact the F67.

The F67 is now close. It is
hovering in one place, less than forty meters from the building. The engines of the craft are loud through Dr. Bertrand’s microphone.

Dr. Jones:

What on Earth is he doing?

There is a ping.

Dr. Bertrand:

This is Dr. Philippe Bertrand, participating scientist of the East American project, S.E.E.D. With whom am I speaking?

There is silence on the other line.

Dr. Nevins:

I don’t like this….I don’t like this at all.

Dr. Bertrand:

I repeat. This is Dr. Philippe Bertrand. My colleagues and I are of the East American project, S.E.E.D. With whom am I speaking? Are you friend or are you foe?

There are anxious murmurs as well as coughing throughout the colleagues. Dr. Gates and Dr. Dawar pause from their work in anticipation of the stranger’s response. The only noise from the F67 is the blaring of its engines. After ten seconds, a male voice replies.

Pilot:

Foe

Dr. Bertrand:

Oh my…

Before Dr. Bertrand could finish his phrase, there is a loud screech. Defensive fire kick in from Dr. Bertrand’s gunning station.
Then,
a loud explosion.

Dr. Jones:

Oh shit! We’re under attack! Everybody fire at will! Fire at will!
All-out blitz! All-out b
litz!

There is non-stop weapon fire, both defensive and offensive. The chamber is flooded with red light. A loud alarm rings throughout. Dr. Bertrand’s gunning station crashes to the ground. The crowd below roars with excitement. They are closing in on the building.

Dr. Jones:

Mark! We need you up top, Mark! We’ll fight them off as long as we can. You have to take that thing out!

There are screams of panic from Dr. Gates and Dr. Dawar. They are no longer concerned with their work. Their helmets are removed, they are standing next to each other, and both are listening intently.

Dr. Farziah is running to the northwest corner of the building to assist Dr. Nevins, who’s facing the F67 on his own. As the weapons screech, Dr. Nevins is saying his last prayers. Dr. Gunter is running. He is breathing heavily as he makes his way up the staircase.

Dr. Nevins lets out a scream, but it is cut short. Three loud explosions strike the building, and Dr. Nevins’s microphone crudely goes silent. The camera in the chamber shakes from the force of the explosions. Dr. Nevin’s gunning station, along with a chunk of the building’s corner, falls to York Avenue and the crowd below.

The noise of the F67’s engines grows louder in Dr. Jones’s microphone. Dr. Jones is yelling excitedly, beckoning the hostile craft to come closer. Defensive and offensive weapons begin to explode on contact. Dr. Farziah reverses course and heads to the southeast corner to help Dr. Jones. The F67’s engines blare as the craft shifts for protection while firing. Dr. Gunter is still racing up the stairs.

Dr. Jones:

Come on, you son of a bitch! Yeah…yeah you motherfuc…

A
nother
loud explosion strikes below Dr. Jones’s station. There is a creak of metal. The gunning station has been blown ajar from its axis. Undaunted, Dr. Jones continues to yell and fire away at the craft as it moves and fires above him. Then the final support beam gives way. Dr. Jones’s station falls and crashes to the ground below.

Dr. Farziah is firing his weapon and yelling. Dr. Leshay takes a shot when he has an angle. Dr. Gates and Dr. Dawar have not moved from where they are standing. Dr. Gunter is kicking through a door on the roof level. He coughs for
several
seconds, and then he speaks.

Dr. Gunter:

I’m…I’m up top…which way?

Dr. Leshay:

To the east! To the east!

There is sharp, rapid gunfire from the F67. Dr. Farziah yells in agony as bullets rip through his torso and stomach. His weapon hits the floor with a loud clank. He
follows it
to the floor, already dead.

Dr. Leshay:

Where the hell are you, Mark? I’m all that’s left!

The F67 backs away from the building. It has stopped firing. Dr. Leshay stops as well.

Dr. Leshay:

What the hell is he doing now? Wait a minute…what’s that? Computer, identify the performance of the enemy craft.

The computerized voice responds:
The F67 is launching a H61-OP54 missile. Aim is projected for levels 6 and 7. Calculation is total destruction. Calculation is total destruction…
Dr. Gunter is steadying his portable rocket launcher. Dr. Leshay frantically fires every weapon his station has.

Dr. Leshay:

Any day, Mark! You heard it like I heard it! He’s going to take us out!

Dr. Gunter:

I’m firing now!

There are three
shoomps
as the missiles drop below. Two miss their target and explode on the ground. The third missile strikes the F67’s right wing.

Dr. Gunter:

I got him! I got him!

The four surviving scientists yell in elation. The craft makes an awful hissing noise as it spins out of control toward the courtyard. People are scrambling out of its way below. Then there is one last screech from the craft.

Dr. Leshay:

Oh no…

Dr. Gunter:

It’s over.

Dr. Gates and Dr. Dawar:

AHHHH!

One large explosion is followed by a ripple of smaller explosions. Everything is shaking in the camera’s view. There is dust everywhere, and parts of the ceiling are falling to the floor. Dr. Gunter loses his balance as the building tilts. He screams while falling a hundred meters to his death. Dr. Leshay cries out a defiant yell until his microphone cuts off. In the S.E.E.D. chamber, there is a banging at the door outside. Intruders are in the hallway, desperately, madly trying get inside. Dr. Dawar is crying on Dr. Gates’s shoulder. Dr. Gates is saying her goodbyes into the camera. The floors are collapsing above them, one by one. The destruction is growing louder the closer it comes.

Dr. Gates:

Anthony and Tiffany, just know that mommy loves you so…

-End of Transcript-

***

7:40pm Transcript of Station 37, Transmission B

Terrence Green is in the middle of a discussion with his pilot, Ben Sanders. Their hovercopter is low on fuel. Ben argues that they should head to the fueling station at Bridgeport, Connecticut—immediately. Terrence, however, is not ready. While the two go back and forth,
the battle below is in a lull.