Don't Fear The Reaper (19 page)

THE CHAMBER
had been a sufficient home for the last few years. Sacasa and the three
followers of the Reaper had surfaced only for firewood and provisions. Time had
dragged. The events prior to the impact seemed a blur now. The Reaper was by no
means a figment of their imagination. However, due to its lack of presence
their days were filled with aimless errands.

In a local parking depot the men had found a row of five motorbikes all
still intact. The other floors above ground level had been destroyed by the
hellish blast. Chrome and metal had melted and buckled, resembling an Indian
tent on the hoods. Windows had disintegrated and speckled the filthy floor.
What the three found most arduous was not so much the discovering of the
vehicles but getting them over the endless rubble onto the road.

Buildings had collapsed like those of a Lego set having been destroyed.
The two Suzuki’s and Yamaha motorcycles needed oil and petrol. Sacasa had
provided these essentials. And apart from being covered in dust, the bikes
weren’t damaged in the slightest. Which was quite miraculous considering the
wreckage as far as they could see.

Furthermore, old man Sacasa was proving to be the chain that held them
together. Even Number 1, who was still and always would be wary of him,
acknowledged that. Sacasa knew the exact location of a local gun merchant’s
residence. Today, after servicing their motorbikes, checking the brakes worked
and the tyres had enough tread and there was nothing faulty that could induce
an accident, all four men straddled the bikes. Sacasa rode with Number 3 and
advised him to take it slow.

Naturally, Number 3 would take the lead as it was Sacasa who would be
giving directions. Number 1 and Number 2 kept a safe distance and trailed the
leading bike. All four men wore hooded sweaters and covered their mouths with
folded bandanas. The din of engines remained a constant growl as they
manoeuvred through the barren city. No life in any form was seen on their
travels. And although the men’s attention was strictly intent on the road in
front of them they noticed this. The journey was long and gruelling, zigzagging
between building segments and abandoned cars. Sporadic trees that were now
without leaves or colour lay sideways. On occasions they would have to dismount
and carry a lamppost or tree trunk so they could continue.

Dim sunlight aided them through the clouds of ash and dust that never
seemed to relent. The men had already been on the road for three hours and they
hadn’t travelled a mile yet. And although the sun made its presence known on
Earth after going AWOL for the last few years, it was by no means anywhere near
as radiant as it was before the aftermath.

Then as they reached a straight road where lampposts were propped up by
dilapidated buildings and fragments of glass crunched beneath their wheels a
silhouette in the shape of a tall, broad figure materialised through the
swirling ash and dust.

Number 3 released his hand from the throttle and applied the brake
gently. Sacasa squinted over his shoulder. He knew not by description but
through intuition.

‘Stop!’ the old man barked over the powerful engine.

Number 3 did as instructed and rolled the bike to a halt. He applied the
foot stand and dismounted, glad for the rest. The other two followed
obediently. Then they watched Sacasa moving around an overturned DHL lorry.
Bits of plaster and brick cascaded from the remaining facades. Posters and
flyers from the shops fluttered in the clogged air, twirling and seesawing.
Billboards that hung over the shops had fallen into the road. No longer did
they flash electric neon hues. The breeze coughed layers of thick dust up off
the terrain. The men had to cover their eyes. Serpentine crevices split the
road. For all they knew the chasm beneath would swallow them into the black
hole.

Nevertheless, in spite of the peril they found themselves, the men felt
an obligation, a duty, to back Sacasa up to whoever he’d seen. After all, had
it not been for Sacasa they’d have perished along with the vast majority of humankind.

As they neared the motionless silhouette the whirling dust cleared and
eddied at knee height. The figure before them was revealed. Yet the men didn’t
know whether they ought to be relieved or alarmed by its presence. None of them
had anticipated that the return of the Reaper would have taken so long.

A week or so prior to Christmas 2008 when they’d all been huddled
together in the chamber keeping warm, arguing and becoming increasingly sick of
the sight of each other, a pertinent discussion arose. One that reminded them
that as many gifts they’d been given by the one called the Reaper, how useless
they were stuck underground, all day every day, quietly going insane.

‘The Grim Reaper is the symbol of Death or Death itself, right?’ Number 1
snapped at Sacasa.

All men had been drinking throughout the day and although it was hard to
tell, it felt like night.

After some time sipping his bottle of whisky, Sacasa nodded confirmation
that what Number 1 had said was in fact true.

‘The Reaper’s goal was to bring death on a global scale, here on Earth,
right?’

Sacasa said that was the case.

‘Then what if it’s achieved its goal and forsaken us?’ Number 1 said,
glancing around at the other two scarlet-eyed men. ‘It wouldn’t need us then,
would it? How do we know that the two infants have survived the impact?’

Sacasa didn’t – or couldn’t – answer that question.

Number 2 who rarely got involved with the debates spoke up then. ‘Before
we all came down here and the end of the world as we used to know it ended, I
kept my ear to the ground. Listened intently to all the special news programmes
and watched all the in-depth documentaries. Just out of curiosity. Also, there
were also some excellent tips on how to survive the comet strikes. I learned
quite a lot about holocausts. And according to some experts, they said one of
the worst things folks could do was take refuge in a nuclear shelter built by
the governments.’

Number 3 appeared perplexed by this statement and voiced his opinion. ‘I
thought that’d be the best thing to do. I mean, had we not known about this
place then that’s what I would’ve been doing, had I been selected.’

‘And you wouldn’t have been alone in assuming that, Number 3,’ Number 2
said. ‘But the more I listened to this programme the more I found out some
startling facts. I can’t remember what channel it was on. Even the channels
that didn’t broadcast news or documentaries aired identical shows. It was a
Science based channel anyway. You know the ones that always aired programmes
about classified UFO accounts?’

All the men nodded in unison.

‘Anyway, it said that after the initial motherfucker explosions and
impact had subsided, the masses of people kept in close proximity would start
to become restless. Sure they’d still be afraid, but humans and even pets have
incredible recuperating abilities. They need to be able to cope with their
troubles. Once the initial fear and anxiety wore off like all primal creatures
they’d think of their survival. That means food, water, and so on…

‘Imagine lots of people. Thousands all eating and drinking the limited
supplies brought into the shelter. What do you think will happen? Soon – a lot
sooner than most would’ve anticipated – the food and water would diminish until
they’d have to select folks to venture outside and go hunting.’

‘Yeah… And?’ Number 1 said, impatient.

‘Remember when we went outside with our gas masks on after two weeks,’
Number 2 went on. ‘Even with the gas masks and heavy duty clothing and
protection it felt like someone had rammed a vacuum hose down my throat and all
the oxygen was being sucked out of my lungs. We all said the same thing, and
gladly returned indoors. Remember?’

The men concurred that what Number 2 was saying was fact.

‘How long were we out there?’

The men regarded each other, not certain of how long exactly.

‘About an hour?’ Number 2 prompted.

Sacasa coughed into his fist. ‘Less than that.’

Number 2 shrugged. ‘Half hour?’

‘Somethin’ like that,’ Number 3 said.

‘Okay. Let’s say it was between half an hour and sixty minutes, for
argument sake,’ Number 2 continued. ‘How far did we travel? Or rather how far
could we travel?’

‘We didn’t go further than the alley,’ Number 3 said. ‘And that was only ’cause
we had the wall as our guide.’

‘So about twenty to thirty yards, if that. And what about visibility?’

‘There wasn’t any. Black and white mist was all I could see anyway,’
Number 1 said.

‘The nuclear shelter in this unknown location would be crammed with
people, and other animal life. Famous people, professionally qualified people
and Royals. But they’re still people, gentlemen. And under great strain even
the most civilised of people snap. Especially when food and water is passed out
in rations. I don’t think the government would have supplied nearly enough food
and water and other essentials like medicine. And that’s another thing, when
you see your loved ones dying in front of you, once the grieving is done then
the anger takes over. A couple of weeks wouldn’t have nourished them. No way.
Then they’d have no choice but to take the plunge. Take a leap of faith into
the impenetrable, oxygen-deprived air.

‘How, gentlemen, I ask you, could anyone see or know where to go through
this black and white dense mist, searching for essentials that may or may not
be there?’

You could hear a pin drop it was so still.

‘And before you start making comments about how technologically advanced
they are that wouldn’t have made an iota of a difference. Even if the
technology did work they’d still have to go out and find the food and drink at
some point. And when or if they did, rest assured there wouldn’t be enough to
sustain a small group never mind phalanxes.’

The realisation of Number 2’s point struck the men like a baseball
soaring into the stratosphere at Fenway Park.

‘Are you saying all the government leaders and other members of the
hierarchy have died?’ Number 1 asked.

‘I can’t say who or how many,’ Number 2 said. ‘What I can say is this,
they didn’t all survive.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Number 3 wanted to know.

‘If they had we’d have heard some official news bulletin by now. Even
without TV, the internet and radio, don’t you think we would’ve seen a single
soul by now?’

The men allowed that notion to circle their minds, not knowing if this
was to be considered good news or bad.

Sacasa was the one who broke the stillness.

‘We all have the power of second sight and can read each other’s life
stories by merely gazing into each other’s eyes.’ As he said this he turned and
focused on Number 1, recalling him staring into his eyes, seeing his past. ‘If
either child had died from the time of the impact to this present day we
would’ve had a vision. The same as we did of the Reaper. The same as we did as
knowing without knowing to come here and take refuge while the world burned.’

No one said anything.

‘The Reaper shall make its presence known when the time is right. It
shall also keep us alive for as long as necessary.’

The three felt comforted by old man Sacasa’s words, believing them to be
the truth. Hoping they were the truth.

Not one of them dared ask what would befall them once the Reaper no
longer required their services though.

Sacasa glanced back at the three men amidst the destruction. ‘Stay where
you are,’ he said. Then he clambered over a taxi and hopped over a growing
crack. Tufts of grass sprouted from webbed fissures. Nature had seized the
opportunity to take back the Earth now civilisation was incapacitated.

The three watched standing, side by side, the frail figure getting
smaller. And when Sacasa reached the tall, dark figure it was then that the
sheer size and dominance of the Reaper hit home. Sacasa’s head came to the
Reaper’s waist. The scythe in its grasp wouldn’t be necessary if it chose to do
the old man harm. It could raise its foot high and bring it down with the force
of a compressor machine. Or it could wrap its skeletal claw around the old
man’s head and squeeze it like a tangerine.

In the depths of the baggy hood the darkness was absolute. Had there not
been so much ash, dust and other debris from the destruction the three still
wouldn’t have penetrated the blackness to what lay beyond. Neither did they
want to. As ominous as the blackness was it was far preferable than the hideous
visage.

After several minutes Sacasa returned to them on rubbery legs. His brow
dripped sweat and his skin took on a pasty appearance. His leathery lips were
bone dry. When he spoke it didn’t sound like his usual tone at all. ‘It wants
to see you.’

‘What about?’ Number 1 asked, speaking for the other two as well.

Sacasa refused to meet his stare and simply shook his head.

Aware that no information would be forthcoming until they plucked up the
fortitude, the three men headed to the supernatural entity that awaited their
arrival. No one uttered a word.

The Reaper turned its concealed head and eyed them all for a couple of seconds,
singularly. Then it focused on the man named Number 1 and beckoned him forward.

Refusing wasn’t an option. Nevertheless, Number 1 feared the Reaper and
did what was asked of him. His entire anatomy, from head to toe, was assailed
by tremors. He despised himself for it. But all the willing himself to overcome
this fear was futile.

The Reaper gave no indication that it had noticed this human emotion. Yet
it must have seen the palpable signs as it stared fixedly at him.

Number 1 lowered his head, not out of respect or obedience, but because
he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing what was beyond the hood. The Reaper
glided forward and with the hand that wasn’t clutching the long-handled scythe
rested it on the trip-hammer heart of its faithful follower. At first nothing
appeared to be happening. Then a guttural croak emanated the gaping mouth of
Number 1. His head snapped back and rested on the top of his spine. His body
went into convulsions, but he remained standing motionless, arms down by his
side, taut, flexing.