How the World Ends (14 page)

Jonah takes the bag offered to him, and moves to pull open the drawstring. Gabriel reaches out a hand to stop him, “Not yet! Follow me.” He leads Jonah back to the front door.

They stand together, looking out at the bright clear spring day. “Now you can open the bag, Jonah,” says Gabriel. “But make sure you are prepared for whatever might come out of there.”

Jonah turns to look at Gabriel, wondering what might be in this little bag, but when he turns his head, the white-robed figure has gone. With a start, Jonah feels warm blood from his hands start to make the leather bag slippery, the white bandages gone from his arms.

He turns the little bag in his fingers, feeling the indentations of an engraving. He sees the letters
RT
carved into the side of the leather. Feeling a rush of excitement, he unties the drawstring and, his fingers shaking, slips the cord from the opening of the bag. His fingers twitch a bit, and a few ounces of white powder trickle onto the sidewalk, followed by three acorns.

Without thinking, Jonah reaches down to scoop up the powder and the nuts in his hands. Before he realizes what he has done, his blood and the powder are smeared liberally over the outside of the acorns. He stops abruptly.
RT. Ruben Truth. What have I done!

He looks furtively up and down the street, wondering where Gabe could have got to, or perhaps how he came to possess his brother’s prototype mixture.
Minus one ingredient – until now.
Jonah watches the white powder change color as it reacts with the blood and begins to hiss and fizz.

The sound of a thunderous explosion causes Jonah to rock back on his feet and lean against the frame of the church doorway. He sees an office building collapse with the force of the implosion. No people roam the streets; all are huddled away in the holes of their choosing. Jonah feels hot tears stream down his face as the memories of his brother and the guilt of his passing wash over him with the force that matches the aftershocks of the explosions. The ground shakes again as another building has its windows blasted out, but does not fall down.

With a surge of anger Jonah Truth squeezes the three acorns in his two hands together and feels the shells crack slightly under the pressure. He looks at them sitting there in his hands for a moment, three talismans, signifying both his brother’s genius and his own shortcomings.
Not anymore.
He pulls back and throws the three small, cracked spheres into the air as far as he can away from the church. He watches them rise up for a moment before he swirls back though the doorway of the now-empty church.

He does not see the rapid fission of the seeds in mid-air as they change from a few small nuts to a veritable rainfall of seeds that immediately duplicate over and over and over again as they tap along the pavement and eventually roll to a stop in various positions up to several hundred metres from the pool of blood that marks their birth into this world.

Chapter Sixteen – Trees

Sgt Thomas

The city sits silently, mourning its populace that has disappeared. The buildings stand stoically, some solid, some tattered by various explosions and shockwaves, in the shadows of their peers, whilst bits of garbage and debris are blown haphazardly by the wind through the vast canyons of their realm.

As if on some unseen timer, thousands upon thousands of small red-tinted acorns begin to wiggle and twitch like so many uncomfortable children in their seats. As one they immediately sprout, roots shooting downwards through the various cracks and small crevices in the pavement or cement upon which they have fallen. As one they shoot their great impassive trunks skyward and try their best to rival their neighbours, the skyscrapers. As one they bloom great bursts of green leaves, each with a little poof of pollen, creating an almost misty effect as it is joined together.

A few pairs of eyes pierce the darkness of those shadows – though no sound of breathing can be heard save for the rush of the breezes through green leaves and shattered windows. The discourse of nature with its surroundings is not witnessed to any significance; only a few linger long enough to take it in.

In the soft light of the newly grown forest, a squad of 6 men stand watch while a grey-coated individual attempts to communicate with the central command.

Sergeant William Thomas looks out of the corner of his eye at the civilian in the overcoat as he puts his radiophone away and attempts to take a sample of the bark from one of new oak trees. Sergeant Thomas knows now why they have come. He knows now why they bombed the hell out of the roads into and out of this city.

It has nothing to do with the nation-wide fuel shortage that has frozen the nation in its tracks: that is only an imperative that has justified this punitive action against a city that housed the mind that created this technology. It was all to find Ruben Truth’s formula for playing god.
This man wants that power
, thinks Sgt Thomas. It is evident in his manner as he shouts into the handset, and how he digs away at the flesh of the tree, and when he follows the faint trail that remains of the ruined roads to the destroyed church where only little over an hour before the whole thing had, literally sprouted. Digging around in the newly turned soil, the man pulls out a chunk of red-coated cement. Blood.

Sergeant Thomas feels a small stab of panic, but doesn’t know why, and immediately tightens his grip on his weapon. The civilian lets out a cry of obvious joy and pulls a small syringe from his pocket, squirting a few drops of clear liquid onto the surface of the rock before drawing it back up into the tube, now quite saturated with blood. Then, with obvious glee, then man reaches down and pulls another container from his pack. Inside is a small insect making a chirruping noise: a cricket. The insect looks strange, covered in a sort of powder.

The stab of panic becomes a white-hot flame of anger as Bill Thomas sees, for one brief second, the future. He sees himself not moving while the civilian man squeezes one drop of blood-infused chemical over the body of the insect and they all watch as it multiplies thousands and thousands of times to dominate its surroundings, just as these gallant oaks had done not long ago.

On one hand, a miracle – on the other, a plague.

Bill steps back to the present for a moment, and feels his trigger finger depress calmly and the weapon buck slightly as the bullets track upwards from the stranger’s stomach to his neck. The plastic container holding the cricket drops to the forest floor and is cradled in the soft black earth, recently overturned.

As one, the other members of Sergeant Thomas’ squad turn to look at him, each with their weapons smoking, each amazed at the lack of surprise on each other faces as they see that each one of them has simultaneously emptied their magazines into the body of the civilian. As one they turn away from the body and re-sling their rifles over their shoulders after reloading them.

In single file behind Sgt Thomas – now just Bill – they walk over the ruins of the church in the direction of the river.

Behind them, from the lake, a fine mist descends upon the city like a cloud.

Chapter Seventeen – The Journey Begins

Rachel

Rachel Truth walks. She alternates carrying Gwyn and Jewel on her back. After nearly twenty miles of walking north, she turns eastward to follow a paved road, hoping to find someone that will give them some food and water.

Soon both children are beyond their normal levels of exhaustion, and Rachel has to stop. She moves off from the road a little ways and flattens an area of green grass to rest in. The children immediately fall asleep, cuddling with each other much as they were last night. Rachel keeps a silent watch, wondering whether she would have the energy to make it to Jonah’s parents’ old place.

She knows that he will try to go there, although she can’t be certain that he won’t try to find them at their own house first. She hopes not. She has a bad feeling about what was about to happen to the world, as if it has been turned upside down.

All the things we rely upon are being taken away,
she thinks to herself.

A car approaches on the road, travelling east. Rachel freezes for a moment, torn between an urge to hide and the need to get food. She ducks her head down as the car crests a low rise and comes into view. It is travelling fairly slowly, probably trying to conserve fuel. She lays down flat in the grass, using her body to hide the children from view.

The car stops and two men get out. Through the grass, Rachel can see them go to the front of the car and open the hood. Steam is rolling off the engine. She turns slightly, struggling to remain silent while manoeuvring her body into a position where she can see the men more clearly. They seem to be completely absorbed by their attempts to repair the vehicle.

She feels movement behind her, and two small hands on her back. Gwyn stands up and calls out at the top of his lungs, “Want my bottle!”

Immediately the two men swing their heads over to the family lying in the grass.

“Mummy, I want my bottle,” Gwyn says again, a little quieter now.

The men start to walk towards Rachel and the children. Rachel stands and tries to place herself in front of Gwyn, but the little boy playfully ducks around her knee and tries to run towards the men. He falls flat on his face as he trips over a clump of grass and begins to cry. Behind Rachel, Jewel raises her head and also starts to cry, frightened from awakening so suddenly in a strange place.

“We don’t want no trouble,” says the nearest, a large brown-haired fellow. He is wearing a red flannel shirt and a battered ball-cap. “We’re just trying to get our car started, is all, and we ain’t got any water.” He winces as both children erupt in fresh bouts of tears when their mother does not react to them quickly enough.

Rachel, ignoring the men, picks up Gwyn, and holding him on her hip, takes hold of Jewel’s arm with the same hand. Then, turning to face the two now-sheepish looking men, she holds a water bottle to Gwyn’s lips, allowing him to take a long drink. “We don’t have any water to spare,” she says. “You boys should probably head down the hill to the creek and get some there. And next time think about what you’re doing, instead of sneaking up on sleeping children.”

Gwyn, reacting to his mother’s tone of voice, points his finger at the nearest man and says vehemently, “You naughty boy!”

The first man winces and the one behind him gives a laugh, until the other turns his head at him with a scowl. They both head silently back to the car. One slams the hood down and the other pushes from behind. The car rolls slowly on its way forward, picking up a bit of speed as they turn it around and coast back down the long hill.

Rachel slides Jonah’s fish filleting knife out of its leather sheath in her waistband and looks at it. She feels foolish for letting herself be caught with both hands occupied. Without further hesitation she slides the knife back and picks up their few belongings. She continues walking, carrying the children, along the east road until they reach a gateway to a farmer’s field. She takes the children through the gate carefully, trying not to show any signs of their passing. Her faith in friendly travellers on the road having run thin, she keeps the knife close to hand.

…

Jonah

I feel my way forward in the blackness of the tunnel. The stink of so many sweaty people in a confined space begins to build up in my nostrils. As a group we grope in the darkness with no sense of our direction.

There are rumblings from above, and some dirt trickles down from the tunnel ceiling to the bare earth floor, but there is no evidence of collapse. We wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. It seems that darkness is our new destiny, and I am nearly resigned to this fact when a shaft of light appears from in front of us, throwing our shadows behind us as we turn our heads from the sudden brightness. We are in a tomb, or rather some kind of large underground crypt.

The cracks of light grow brighter as I push past everyone to the front, where Herb and Steven have held anyone from attempting to go any further. Their shadowy outlines are my only greeting; they both stand wordless beside a large stone door as I approach.

“Any idea where this leads?” I ask.

Steven crosses his arms, “Well, we were thinking you could be the one to tell us about that.”

I walk up to the door and give a slight push. Nothing. “I was hoping it would lead us up,” I say as I run my hands over the smooth surface. “And out.”

The door is completely featureless, with no hinges or handle to speak of. Not for the first time I feel a stab of panic. I can’t help thinking that this dark tunnel crypt will indeed be our tomb. It seems to be a human mind trick we play on ourselves: imagining the worst possible scenario, and then unconsciously refusing to ignore it. The darkness brings nothing but flashes of what we would look like hundreds of years from now, when our bodies are uncovered when someone excavates this ground to build a new skyscraper.

I shake my head a few times, trying to clear my thoughts. The crack of light grows a little bigger as the block of stone that must be the door shudders with an impact.

I reach my fingers around the end of the stone and pull with all my dwindling strength, and the whole slab starts to lean towards me. I quickly reverse my grip and start to push back with my shoulders firmly braced and my feet scrambling for purchase on the cement floor.

“Wait!” I call out to whoever is on the other side – the outside. “Stop pushing for a minute!” And then to Herb, Steve and the others who have started to crowd around the shaft of light, “Get back, everyone, I can’t hold it!”

Slowly, inexorably slowly, the giant cement slab slips backward as I bend lower, straining to release this weight from my back. The only vision I can see in my sparkled mind is the image of a giant hand of death pushing this monster rock onto me and killing me with its weight. But then the vision stops. Icy fear fades as I realize that I cannot hold this rock from falling. I don’t have the strength to reverse its slow momentum downwards as my knees sink closer and closer to the ground.