The Longest Night (3 page)

“The Mongols were one civilization to recognize this trait,” he said as he strolled across the room, looking across the many faces that sat before him. “It usually took form in the cycles of their dynasties; when a new kingdom was established, they rose in power until they claimed the mandate of heaven, but eventually their power declined, and a new band of barbarians would take over and form a new dynasty. Then the cycle would start again.

“Other examples include the Greeks, the Romans, even all the way to the Aztecs, Incas and Mayans, to be more recent. They were all civilizations on the brink of greatness, each showing their advancement and domination over other civilizations. But obviously, as we’ve seen, they all fell apart. And the higher they went, the harder they fell.

“In the past few centuries, there hasn’t been such a firm example, other than the British Empire, but they certainly did not fall into oblivion. At least from an objective standpoint. But if we approach it from a bird’s eye view over a time line, the world could be considered one large civilization, and we’re still climbing the cycle. Perhaps we are climbing the cycle towards the mandate still, or perhaps we have overstayed our welcome. The fact is, our civilization is continuing to be more and more advanced, and the more we climb, the greater the damage will be if we fall.
When
we fall.

“Perhaps I am far too pessimistic for my own good. But it is an inevitable pattern we have seen through history; great civilizations are made and have a great leader at their pinnacle. Then they decline, slowly but surely. What goes up must come down. Nature.

“Here is another interesting concept: Let us consider humans from the beginning of time. Their nature, their advancement and innovations. Tell me what you think that was like.”

Quite a few students stood and walked across the hall to the exit. Once the door shut behind them, the girl sitting next to Catherine stuck up her hand. Black clothes, baggy pants, chains, multicoloured hair. He motioned to her.

“Probably the same it is now.”

“Interesting,” he said, a tinge of scepticism in his voice. “Elaborate.”

“Well, a lot of people in this room would probably want to preach about peaceful tribal society, imagining that life in the past was so much better and free of social construct, but it wasn’t. It was probably like how it is now – like, typically, the man is the provider, the woman is the hearth keeper, and people gather together in communities to make things more comfortable so they don’t have to do so much work. They might not have had the same technology as we do now, but essentially our basic form of society hasn’t progressed very much since we started practising agriculture in 10000 BCE.”

“Does everyone agree?” he asked, looking up across the blank faces of the class. “Is that all to human history?”

“No,” a guy said from behind, quite adamantly. “You can’t make such a broad statement as that. You can’t say we haven’t progressed. Humans have changed considerably since then. Politics, ethics, medicine—”

“But have we?” the girl questioned. “I mean, no matter how much knowledge we gain about our world, all it’s done is increased our population and our uncanny ability to survive in great numbers when we shouldn’t. Think about it,” she said emphatically, turning her body towards him and motioning with her hands. “If the world ended right now, and only two people were left, they could try to change the development of human culture as much as possible, to something more – I dunno,
error free
,
but it would probably end up the same, no matter what. Eventually we’d build civilizations again which would get our ‘mandate of heaven’ or whatever, and then we’d fall apart. It’s just hard-wired into humans to keep going further to destroy themselves, like he said.”

“You’re still making a pretty broad, ambiguous statement,” the other student countered, shaking his head. “Technology made a considerable change to how humans
do
live and operate. Lives across the world were altered considerably by the invention of the flushing toilet.” Laughter followed.

“Yeah, so, something like what I’m saying is poorly supported, toilets and TVs aside. I dunno. I’m thinking along the lines of Atlantis.”

“
Atlantis
,” their professor exclaimed, strolling across the floor to the board and sprawling the word over it. “
Atlantis
is my favourite story.”

He turned back to the class, shaking the whiteboard marker in his hand excitedly as he smiled to himself. “Atlantis was a place that was very advanced for its time, knowing more in medicine and technology than anyone would have ever hoped to know, but the gods were wary of their advances, and they finally decided to put an end to the civilization. Atlantis was essentially one giant volcano that erupted.”

He returned to the board, scribbling a sloppy picture of a volcano with stick people standing atop it. “The sheer size of the volcano and its activity caused earthquakes to spread out far out into the ocean, which in turn sent tsunamis storming the island from every direction. So if the lava or the earthquakes didn’t kill them, the water would.”

The class continued to be silent as they watched him. “This story was purely allegorical on Plato’s part. In fact,
Atlantis
’s key message might have been that humans always strive to discover more, to advance higher and higher, but doing so will only result in our demise, for the farther you reach, the harder it is to keep your balance.

“And therefore, class, humans were designed to destroy themselves.”

2: NOW I AM BECOME DEATH

“You should read this,” Brittany had told her. “It’s actually very good. My boyfriend got me in to it. I’m not usually in to these kinds of stories, but…I dunno. I thought it was good.”

“What is it?”

“A…post-apocalyptic zombie novella.”

“You’re right, that doesn’t sound like something you’d be in to.”

“Hey, I’m not a total drag. I’m open-minded.”

Next Catherine pictured Brittany watching war movies about fire fights and bromance. She was the kind of girl that couldn’t possibly put down her cell phone and who would never dream of going to the corner store for milk without fixing her hair and at least one application of lip gloss. Zombie stories?

“I promise, Catherine,” Brittany said pleadingly, “it’s actually really good. You’d like it.” In reality, Brittany had no idea if Catherine would like it or not. They’d been acquaintances in high school, but they were never as close as Brittany seemed to want to believe. But Catherine looked between the little booklet and Brittany’s wide eyes and tight, small smile, and decided to humour her.

“Okay.”

So she read it. Every morning as she stood on the platform waiting for the train, she read a little bit of the story at a time. It was different from anything she’d read before. The sentences were blunt and some half-finished, leaving her abandoned, like she was in the story herself. Sharp, harsh imagery and frightening themes held her by the throat. In several instances within the first few pages, she had to stop and look around the platform just to make sure she was standing safe in reality.

Trees even looked dead. Crooked bones sticking up from the ground like hands trying to claw out of a grave. Everything died and came back.

Catherine had finished that influential story half a year ago. Brittany wasn’t lying when she said it was very good. That particular passage sprung to mind as she read an article in the morning paper:

Wood Buffalo National Park Closed To Public: Federal government funding epidemic research in national parks

She had just started wearing her mask like everyone else. For a few weeks, SAVS-1 was only an issue in Northern Ontario. Cases appeared in their own city and everyone had become plagued with fear. A lot of students stopped coming to her classes, most going back home in other towns, provinces, countries. According to the article, signs of the virus were appearing in the States.

Passengers began to descend the stairs to the station, and Catherine looked up inconspicuously. She’d formed a habit of only tilting her head enough so that her eyes could just scan the crowd. As usual, at the very end of the line was
him
. She looked away quickly. Her eyes were on her paper but focused on him as he descended the stairs and strode across the platform.

He was wearing his usual winter regalia: a long black pea coat, dark grey slacks, and polished black loafers. He carried his briefcase and wore his aged leather gloves. She gnawed her lip and shifted her feet. She still felt embarrassed about the incident with his glove. But he was wearing a mask too. It was an ill confirmation.

He took his usual spot by the heat lamp and the train schedule, looked up, and sighed. He usually did this every morning, but it was only in the past few weeks that he had started.
He scanned the ads on the wall opposite him, then gazed down the platform, faraway. Then he stared in her direction. And stared.

Her heart skipped a beat. She had always been the one watching him. She squirmed, gnawed at her lip some more, and re-gripped the paper in her hands.

Does he know?

After what seemed to be an hour, she summed up all her courage, took in a deep (but unnoticeable) breath, and looked up. She flicked her eyes from him to her paper and back again out of self-preservation and uncertainty. As she looked at his face closely, she realized it wasn’t her he was staring at, but at the newspaper she held in her hands.

She let go of the breath she had been holding. No, he didn’t recognize her from the article. No, he must not know of the book. No, he must not know of her secret and powerful admiration for him. A
s she looked at the details of his eyes, she saw something she had never seen in him before. He was a handsome man, perhaps in his mid forties; lines of age and wisdom marked his face, his dark hair accented with grey. It was his eyes that darkened him the most. A heavy weight was carried there. Those features which always appeared unwelcoming and rough now held a look of sadness and a touch of fear. Catherine realized he was looking upon the front page of the newspaper that was in her hands, which read:

SAVS-1 Airborne: Pandemic?

When she looked up again, his eyes were on hers.

Her instincts told her to look away, to avoid his gaze, afraid to let him know anything about her. But she couldn’t bring herself to. His features remained unchanged, but along with the muted fear and worry was a look Catherine couldn’t place. What she could see of his face appeared to grow softer the longer their eyes were connected.

The southbound train suddenly pulled into the station. The PA system announcing its arrival had been broken for days, and so the train would appear unexpectedly. He didn’t turn to board immediately; he kept looking at her in that same, sad way. The doors opened and eventually he boarded.

Catherine stood alone in the middle of the concrete island, holding the newspaper in front of her like an uncertain shield, watching the train take him away. Air
whooshed
by quietly. She stared at the spot where the train slipped out of view. It was the first time she had ever made eye contact with him.

Over the next few days, Catherine waited anxiously on the platform, waiting for him to come back, waiting to look directly at him with no restraints. By Wednesday, Catherine’s last day of school, she solemnly admitted defeat to herself as she accepted that she would never see him again.

*

They roared. Howls like dogs with meat and blood in their jaws, calling to those nearby that they were there and nothing could be taken from them; they were the archangels and they were here to spread the word of God with a lasting fury that could not be forgotten, nor remembered.

Come back HERE!

Catherine woke with a slight gasp. Morning light spilled though her tent, lightly brushing her face with its fingers to wake her from her dream. That voice. Just a nightmare. She used to think “Judgement Day,” the story Brittany had given her, was only for the faithful and the fearful. But it had come true. That last night in Fort McMurray…the
screaming
…

It took a few minutes to wash away the fear before she could even think of moving.
No one’s here, no one can get you like that anymore
. She was a little girl whose night light died just after she saw a glimpse of the Boogeyman’s face. She shrugged off her paralysis, then climbed out of the tent reluctantly and started breaking camp.

Rigor mortis still had hold over the corpse. Though broken, it was slumped against a tree, rigid as wood. Trying to cut into it was like trying to cut into stone. Nothing could be done here, she would have to treat it at the cabin. It was of a shape convenient enough to still carry. Once she had everything packed away, she started on her long trek once again. It would take her another two or three days to make it back to the cabin. She had been living off the nearby land for nearly two years, and resources were starting to wear thin. She was reminded once more that she would have to relocate soon. It wasn’t likely she would find a new home before she froze or starved or succumbed to exposure.

She travelled for an hour in silence when a sudden distant wail stopped her short. She stumbled to a stop, looking up to the sky were the scream reverberated. It was from far off, maybe a kilometre. Rape, murder, hunting. She bowed her head. It was disconcerting to know she didn’t feel as horrified by those sounds as she should have been. Her empathy had been worn thin like the ocean tide wears out an ancient rock.

It was nearly two years ago now, when they went insane. The population was too great, law and order too unstable, and food too little, so the solution of the mad was to eat those less useful.

WELCOME TO FORT McMURRAY: WE HAVE THE ENERGY

The sign still stood. Everything here was untouched by the earthquake. A line of cars continued down the road as it had stretched across the entire highway; some empty, some with occupants. Drifters-by pounded on the windows of some of the cars, yelling incoherently and frantically for help from the people inside. Some people in the cars didn’t move anymore.

She shivered as she walked, wrapping her arms around herself. She was so tired, so hungry, so lost…she had wandered on through the night with the others; if she had stopped to fall asleep, she would have surely died from the cold.

As Catherine and the other stranded souls approached the city limits, a blockade could be seen on the road, staffed by a short wall and officers. It was swarmed with survivors trying to get by.

“You see that?” a man said beside her. His voice was heavy with fatigue yet sharp with anger. “Fuckin’ nerve. Hundreds of stranded refugees, and they keep us clogged outside like a bunch of fuckin’ rats.” He was rugged, like he had just come from an oil rig. To bolster the image was his lined jean jacket with a plaid vest on top and a worn hoodie underneath, old black jeans, and scuffed steel-toed boots. His face was scruffy, streaked with silvery grey, just as his hair was. Bags were under his eyes and wrinkles creased his face. He was older and angrier, but when he looked at her there was a ghost of concern in his eyes.

“Where’s your mask?” she asked.

“That’s all bull. The virus or whatever the fuck it is isn’t airborne – it’s government shit. Your mask actually looks torn to shit. You should probably take it off.”

She reached up. It had been ripped and crumpled in various places. The airbag must have destroyed it. She gasped into her hand. Her mask had been her security blanket. This virus infected other people, not her. She wore it and became invincible. Now it was ruined, and she had no shield to protect herself. With a shaking hand, she slipped it off her face. It tore away without much effort. Her face crumpled.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said as soothingly as his sandpaper voice would allow. Catherine shook her head, then stopped walking. He stopped with her while others roamed past. “You’re not gonna get sick.”

“I can’t go.”
No no no no no.

“Come on, kid, they’ve got more masks for you, I bet. Hundreds. But you’re gonna starve and freeze if you stay back here.” He motioned forward. “Let’s go join the ranks and riot our way through.”

She peered down the road. A flood of stranded souls pressed against the barricade, their shouts stretching far. The man shuffled his feet impatiently while Catherine stared the mob in the near distance.

“I won’t bite, come on,” he said. He shuffled his feet again, then he stuck out his hand. “My name’s Dave.”

She locked eyes with him, but she didn’t reach for his hand. “Catherine,” she muttered weakly.

He stepped closer to her, then grabbed her shoulder, urging her along gently. She followed, her feet heavy.

“Let us inside!”

“Fucking murderers!”

“Please!”

“You’d let us die out here?”

“Hey, what’s up?” Dave asked a man standing nearby.

“The bastards are keeping us out,” he replied. “Were you in that earthquake?”

“Of course I fucking was.” Dave cocked his head at the blockade. “You’d think they’d be tryin’ to save us at least.”

“I saw the last of ’em go up the road. As soon as people came up on foot saying there were a bunch more survivors, the Mounties closed this off.”

She looked over the barricade. Two patrol trucks were parked longways across the highway, two off in the ditch. Standing about four feet apart from one another was a string of RCMP officers, hands hovering over their holstered guns. Cement medians were lined in front of them, and all the stranded people stood at the edges, barking madly into the faces of the police as they stood stony-faced.

“So, what, we just gonna stand here until they change their minds?” Dave said. “Everyone too scared to just charge ’em? Screw these cops. Fuckin’ pigs.”

Among the chaos were people standing, huddling, shivering, sobbing, collapsing. There were so many of them just sitting there. She couldn’t help but think that this is what poor countries looked like.

“How’s your face?” Dave asked. Catherine turned to him stiffly with glossed eyes.

“What?”

“Your face,” he said, wincing as he looked her over. “Looks like it was pretty banged up. Did that happen in the earthquake?”

She’d nearly forgotten. “Yes.”

Dave shook his head. “Unreal. This is just unreal.”

He stood by her looking furious beyond words for several moments more. Then he said, “Wait here a second, sweetheart. I’ll get these fuckers to do something.”

Catherine stood on the edge of the crowd as Dave dove in, shoving his way to the front. After a few feet, she lost sight of him, and stood alone at the foot of the mob a lost child. So many people, so much noise, yet so alone and silent.