Don't Fear The Reaper (28 page)

Enraged by the shimmering neon green man’s compulsion for silence, Vince
took out his vexation and fury by taking long hikes across the mountains and
lifting boulders. He did repetitions with the smaller and lighter stones and
power lifts with the large rocks. Along with the ample amount of food and drink
the Reaper provided every few months upon whispering the three Latin words,
Vince had not only maintained his physique but improved it. His size, shape and
definition exceeded his expectations and desires greatly. He strode through the
Brecon Beacons at dusk like a Greek God.

Nevertheless, whenever he reluctantly returned to this sacred
amphitheatre and shared the cavern and provisions with the “green man”, the
lack of conversation irritated him. He wasn’t asking for this peculiar torch
dude to be a non-stop loquacious type. All he sought was mild companionship.

However, as time passed and the aftermath lingered from months to years,
Vince had grown accustomed to his acquaintance’s muteness. That’s not to say he
was content with it. Vince still felt the urge roil inside him, as though his
rage had fused a fireball ready to burst out of his snarling mouth and throttle
the green figure.

So, although the monolith rising from the deepest part of earth unnerved
Vince, he was also glad to have something new to break the monotony of this
caveman existence.

The foreign incantations rose to a crescendo then tapered off.

Vince had no idea if this was good or bad.

Then his heartbeat accelerated. The rushing of blood coursing through him
sounded like the mile-high waves rising from the oceans and crashing down on
the nearest land, obliterating houses, roads, parks and edifices as though they
were constructed from flimsy cardboard.

The “green man” ceased bouncing moronically on his toes and stood
unmoving. Vince whipped his head around and followed his unflinching stare to
the opening. The precipice sheltered them from gale force winds. But it wasn’t
the wind that had secured their undivided attention.

Vince jolted involuntarily at the distinct sounds of human voices,
nearing ever closer.

‘Nearly there, Dad. Just keep going steady, one step at a time. Don’t
look down. Keep moving forward. Few more meters and we’re there.’

If this wasn’t the world and a cartoon instead Vince’s eyes would have
leapt out of his skull and been yanked back by elasticised retinas. His heart
hammered in his throat, strangling him.

He staggered blindly, arms flailing at the sight of one leg followed by
another. Then the figure of a man donning ear muffs and a woolly fleece stood
beneath the stone arch and raised his head.

Vince and the man clad in winter clothing echoed each other’s cries.

The man born as Roland Goldsmith yawned and screamed as well. However,
his scream was much higher-pitched and came from another dimension, travelling
at the speed of sound through a vortex from another realm. Instinctively, the
man wearing ear muffs and Vince clapped their hands over their ears and
grimaced at the discomfort of the banshee cry.

Vince spun his arms windmill fashion as the ground rocked and swayed
beneath him. Inevitably he fell and landed on the seat of his pants. His teeth
snapped together doing an impressive impression of a great white shark.

When he squinted across the circular patch he saw another figure had
toppled over on top of the man who’d reached their residence. Blood poured out
of their nostrils over their lips, staining their teeth. Vince ran his serpent
tongue across his own lips and mouth.

Nothing. No blood.

Then he recalled the first time the monolith had risen out of the
aperture in the ground and the incantations booming in his head. His nose had
run tap-like. Twice only in his whole life he’d ever been inflicted with
nosebleeds prior to that time. One was when he was a toddler in nursery school.
He’d been doing some thorough excavating when blood rushed out. The second had
been when he’d been elbowed by a piss-artist who’d had too much to drink while
escorting him out of the nightclub to the gutter. He could still taste the
coppery scent on his top lip now.

The monolith’s aura was aberrant. Not ideal for humans or any other
living creatures to be around. The “green man” must have got closer to the
monolith or even touched it with his bare hands, Vince surmised.

What had befallen him was now affecting the two men.

Vince deduced that they were of the same bloodline. They both had similar
features. Average to tall, slender, dark woven hair and eyes of men filled with
acumen.

The Reaper had scrawled in its black ink-blood on a rock the birth name
of the “green man” when Vince had still been futilely wasting his time trying
to get the man to engage in conversation with him. He watched Roland bounce
slowly, fluidly past him towards the two men.

The two newcomers (uncle-nephew, father-son, for something closely linked
the two men together), lay beside each other, slipping between consciousness
and unconsciousness. Roland reached the younger man and took his wrists in his
hands, pulsating neon green. Then with unassuming strength, Roland dragged the
man across the dusty open area and loosened his hold when the man lay next to
the monolith. He repeated this procedure with the older man and sat, legs
folded and observed.

Vince heaved himself up off his knees and dusted himself down.

His muscles flexed and became taut. A tingling sensation coursed through
his veins as if they were guitar strings being plucked at high voltage. Every
nerve buzzed and jangled. The sensation was far superior to that of pumping
iron in the gym or reaching an intense orgasm. An invisible firework or
lightening bolt shot through him. It ebbed as he took two backward steps away
from the monolith and realised the buzzing sound didn’t reverberate in his mind
but around the amphitheatre.

Vince raised his hands that were knotted with flushed veins, which gave
the impression the back of his hands were intricate roads on a map. What he saw
banished the amazing feel-good sensation faster than a blink of an eye. Fear
replaced all other emotions with paramount dominance. The invisible firework or
lightening bolt seared through his veins. A hundred jagged knives sliced
through his nerves over and over again – pulsing through his veins altering
from their usual indigo hue to the shimmering radiant green.

Vince emitted a bloodcurdling scream that never died.

He screamed… and screamed… and screamed…

When his lungs burned lasciviously and his throat was unable to produce
any sound the screaming continued in the valley of his fragmented mind and
hollow heart… evermore…

JANE SNAPPED
AWAKE
. Her head whipped to and fro in the dimness and it took half a minute
for her to catch her bearings. She recalled a time prior to the aftermath when
she’d travelled to many places and had awoken after deep sleep with the same
disorientation. Only this time she hadn’t been sleeping soundly. On the
contrary, she’d had a terrible dream or vision.

She’d rolled off the sofa cushions in the stone-walled vicarage. Jonesy
stirred in the recliner but did not awake. Jane wondered if he too was having a
bad dream. This topic had been discussed at length in the living room
throughout the past couple of weeks after Sapphire and his adorable cat,
Smokey, had retired to bed. What Jane found most unnerving was the letter
written in hasty scrawl by Sapphire’s mother, Nadine.

Reverend Perkins also depicted the dream/vision he’d had of the dark
hooded figure that had to be the Grim Reaper and a man in black following. The
young man revealed he had no notions of what it all meant precisely. However,
as the vision of the nuclear holocaust induced by the asteroids entering the
atmosphere was accurate then his visions had to be taken as truth. The same
could be said for Nadine who’d prophesised her own death could not be ignored.

Still half-awake, Jane replayed what she’d witnessed.

Death had walked the earth ever since the dawn of man. For every living
creature that was born naturally into the world through God’s will, they too
would surely die. That fact itself was grim. The Reaper although frightening by
appearance alone was considered the one entity that could help make souls pass
over into the next life without difficulty.

A movie titled
The Muppets Christmas Carol
came to mind. Jane
recalled the ghost of Death had visited Scrooge and had taken him to his grave.
The image in her dream depicted a very similar picture, as it did with Perkins’
peculiar vision.

In her vision Jane had seen Death gesticulating with its skeleton hands
this way and that, sending vehicles coated in so much dust it looked like heavy
snow had fallen off the motorways. They plummeted into ditches and charcoal
pastures, crashing into each other where they lay forgotten, rust turning their
bodywork orange and flaking.

She wondered why it would waste time doing this if there were no living
souls. Then she saw the three figures that had not so long ago been human, but
had transformed into demons. Their faces shimmered in the daylight. However, as
night had fallen they fluxed in gleaming metallic hues, eyes beaming violent red
from the core. Their faces rippled the way a lake does after a stone breaks the
surface.

Worst of all was that they revved their powerful motorcycle engines, bore
down on the handlebars and howled and laughed maniacally. They too had powers
beyond human capability and human comprehension.

They stopped, occasionally, demonstrating their developing powers. One
saw the blue sign to the left of the road indicating it was the M4 and ran and
punched it. Instead of bouncing back or crying out in pain the sturdy metal
sign buckled and caved inwardly from the impact.

Jane noticed that the sign was not at all nebulous but one that was real.
It stated there was an off-ramp 1 mile ahead leading into the city of Bristol. There were rest stops and Drive-Thru restaurants such as McDonald’s, KFC, Burger
King, a Texaco filling station and a shopping precinct.

One of the evolving demons rode his Yamaha leaning back and using his
feet to steer. This stunt was virtually impossible. Yet this figure that had
once been as mortal as Jane herself cut across lanes effortlessly with his
hands behind his head.

Then Jane found herself flying over the country. A long, straight
motorway cut through pastures, towns, cities, golf courses and valleys. She knew
not how this could even be possible. It was as if she were having the most
vivid dream of being Superman or Superwoman. It didn’t make her feel afraid.
Nevertheless, perplexed as to what the cause of this might be, the reason
behind it all plagued her mind.

This continued for what seemed like a lengthy amount of time until she
recognised the familiar terrain. Port Talbot flew by and then she ascended
higher. The white mist that was atmospheric dust blinded her until she felt
herself plummet and her stomach follow seconds later.

Her heart clamoured into her throat when she saw the small town. She was
flying above the main road out of the village past the junior school and into
the cemetery. Instead of being lowered to the front door of the vicarage she
drifted languidly over the cottage down the chimney flute, out of the hearth
and floated above herself.

Upon waking and sitting bolt-upright, Jane gasped.

She gasped because what she saw floating above her wasn’t her dream self
but the Grim Reaper staring down at her.

‘It knows where we are,’ she whimpered into the darkness.   

*

Perkins
blinked awake at the first chink of dull morning light shining through the
parted curtains. He sighed, bone-weary. Rolling over he consulted the alarm
clock ticking incessantly.

9:29

The night before he’d shaved and given himself a haircut. A number two on
the sides and tidied up on the top. He looked more like a human now than a
caveman who hasn’t been well. His eyes were dry and crusty. Spit and blood
stained the pillow he’d been resting on and some shredded hair. At times such
as waking to perfect silence Perkins honestly wished he’d perished with the
rest of the country, and perhaps, the world’s population. It would have been
easier anyway.

He shook his head. His mouth tasted like a garbage disposal. His entire
anatomy had been sleep-deprived for so long; like himself, it hoped that his
heart would eventually cease beating and his overworked brain would shut down.
Unfortunately, no such luck.

Committing suicide wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t be fair on the others or
Sapphire, whose company he enjoyed. If nothing else, the youngster had a
pleasant, cheerful character about himself. So did Smokey. The pair of them
knew not of all that had been lost and destroyed and savoured life for what it
was now. Of course, Perkins knew that as the boy got older and the innocence of
childhood paved the way for full understanding, Sapphire would feel the
soul-crushing effect of melancholy. The impact would be equivalent to the
asteroids on the earth.

Yet Perkins wanted to believe with all his heart that Nadine’s sincere
letter was unequivocally true. Already Sapphire lit up the darkness of the days
over the last few years in their close group. He was still innocent, free of
sin. If Perkins could just keep it that way until he was old enough to make the
right decisions for himself he’d be reassured that his own life hadn’t been for
nothing, after all.

He brushed his haggard visage with his hands then threw back the quilt.
‘Oh, here we fuckin’ go.’

Once dressed, he crossed the landing to the bathroom and went through his
mundane morning ritual. Quick shower, brush teeth, wash face and get some
water. That achieved he ambled into the kitchen and Natalie dropping tomatoes
into a salad bowl.

‘Morning,’ he grunted.

Natalie finished what she’d been doing before turning her attention to
the young man she considered the son she and John had never had. ‘Guess what?’
she beamed.

‘What?’

‘The tomato, strawberry and potato plants worked. The potatoes aren’t
quite ready yet, but there are strawberries in and tomatoes here. Do you know
what this means?’

Perkins shook his head.

‘The garden outside is fertile. We can grow those apples and other fruit
and veg now.’

Perkins was too weary to bounce up and down with elation. All he could
manage was a meek smile. ‘Well, that’s something, if nothing else.’

Smokey, the black cat, announced his arrival by a short welcoming cry and
trotted into the kitchen. He gazed up at Natalie expectantly.

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, knowing what he was thinking. ‘I’ll start a fire
and cook you some fish.’ She glanced at Perkins, who was bemused by this
two-way conversation between different species. ‘Little bugger.’

The young reverend laughed and coughed at the same time.

‘Where’s Jonesy? He still asleep?’

Natalie had turned back to the worktop and began washing the fruit with a
bowl of water. ‘Yeah. He drank half a bottle of whisky last night.’ She paused
in deep thought. ‘I know he’s your friend and everything, but is he all right
to be around? I mean, he’s always cussing and drinking.’

‘Jonesy is a good person, once you get to know him. I know to look at him
you’d assume he was another piss-artist you see staggering home on a Saturday
night, but he speaks his mind. And although that can sometimes be a bad thing,
he’s the type of guy that’ll tell you to your face if he doesn’t like you as
opposed to stabbing you in the back. He’s a bit silly sometimes. I mean, he’s
the type of person that would attend an AA meeting wearing a Budweiser T-shirt.
Cook for him and try to ignore the irksome quirks and you’ll not only gain a
friend but a guard for the rest of your life.’

Natalie nodded, trusting wholeheartedly Perkins’ opinion.

‘What about this Jane sort? I know they’ve both been here nearly five
weeks now, but I know next to nothing about them. That can go either way. I
mean, can we trust her?’

The troubled young man didn’t enjoy discussing other people when they
weren’t present. It seemed improper. Before the End of Days gossiping and
shit-stirring was rife all around the world. Cordial, benevolent folks would
whisper and discuss other friends, acquaintances and neighbours’ lifestyles.
They’d do worse than that though. They’d pass judgement, ignoring their flaws
and faults. Instead focusing on someone else.

John Hayes had once told Perkins a story about a young man who lived with
his elderly mother. She was deaf and needed her hearing aid to be able to have
a conversation, listen to the radio or watch TV. Without it the world was
without sound. In her old age she struggled to climb the staircase to bed each
night so much so that the son converted the living room into a bedroom for her
come nightfall.

When Perkins enquired who the man in question was, all John would say he
was a man who had no time to attend church services but always donated
generously when St Paul’s required a new roof to meet building standards and
regulations.

The man worked at the steelworks in Baglan and did the paper route on
Saturday morning. He dutifully drove his mother to the doctors’ and hospital
appointments.

One day while he’d been at work his mum and fallen heavily down the
stairs. A neighbour who had arranged to call that day heard the yelping of the
woman and the thudding of her deteriorating anatomy as it rolled down the
stairs. Peeking through the letterbox, the neighbour saw the crumpled form of
her friend and immediately dialled 999.

The elderly woman had been very fortunate according to the doctor. As
gravity had seized her in its ferocious grasp, one of her hands of a flailing
arm gripped the banister and twisted her but also slowed her fall considerably
from major to minor. Apart from some colourful contusions on her arms and legs
and hip, along with mild concussion, the woman would make a full recovery.

However, three days after she’d been signed off to leave the hospital and
recover fully at home, the lady died suddenly.

Rumours spread like wildfire around the local town. Neighbours gossiped
whenever they got the chance. They suspected and strongly believed that the
young man had finally snapped one evening and murdered his nagging mother one
way or another. They said that he wanted his mother to hurry up and die as she
was a burden on him for more than twelve years. Because of her he hadn’t been
able to hold down a steady relationship. Also, as soon as Mother died he’d be
able to inherit the house and her life savings which were a lot.

Of course none of that even closely resembled the truth. There was no
suffocation, strangulation, food poisoning or fatal blow to the head. No, the
elderly lady, the coroner deduced, had died of a nasty chest infection
circulating the hospital the time she’d been visiting. Her lungs at her old age
had been unable to shift it and eventually she’d succumbed.

That yarn of how the local townsfolk had wrongly accused and were forever
embarrassed when they saw the young man stayed with Perkins as a reminder. He
recalled the Bible stating “Judge not, lest he be judged”, and nodded in
agreement.

‘I already told you ’bout how we met her,’ he said to Natalie now. ‘And
yes, at first, I thought she was off-her-rocker. Then when she explained that
she’d had similar, if not identical visions, as myself and others then I knew
she was one of us.’

‘Where is she, anyway?’

Natalie shrugged. ‘I heard her in the wee hours of the morning. Someone
opened the front door from the inside. I could hear the chain being taken off
and the bolt being retracted. Surprised you or no one else heard it. Anyway, I
pulled the curtain away and saw her standing on the doorstep. She was hugging herself,
shivering. I kept thinking what a stupid girl she was and how she’d catch her
death if she wasn’t careful. Then I fell back asleep.

‘Jonesy said something about how she’d gone for a stroll, but I wasn’t
really listening. He babbled on about going down to the canal to “wash all that
shit off me”. His profanities are beginning to rub off on Sapphire, y’know?’

Perkins nodded, absentmindedly.

‘The day before Sapphire was playing outside saying, “Shit. Shit. Shit,”
over and over again.

‘Sue asked him this morning if he slept well. Guess what he said?’

Perkins’ mind was in two separate places. ‘I dunno. What’d he say?’