How the World Ends (6 page)

Michael: he hadn’t even waited for his answer.
Will you serve?
It’s not the kind of question you get asked these days; it’s too open ended, too much room for misinterpretation, although, in this case, and in this place, it doesn’t seem to matter. I know exactly what he means by
serve,
I just don’t know what I am supposed to do.

I sit down on the steps that lead down into the rows of pews. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. I wonder if I have been imagining voices in my head – whether it be guilt, or stress, or some innate need to right a wrong, I don’t know. I am guilty, I think.
I am guilty.

I close my eyes and wonder what it is that I could possibly do to help sort out the wrongs I have caused. But all the time, I can’t really believe that it is my fault.
What could I have done differently? Where did I make a choice that could have been different? Why am I guilty?

When the article with Ruben’s research was first published, we were hit with a deluge of phone calls and reporters asking for quotes, or offering money for a “scoop.” The research that I had published brought the world tantalizing close to God-like powers of biological dominion – close but not quite. And there was a key element to the research that I felt had been left out, purposefully, so that the work could be validated, but not implemented.

Ruben’s son Aeron had come back to stay with us at the time following his father’s death. The change in him from kind, gentle and easy-going, to cold, distant and hard had been nearly instantaneous. It had been a switch that flipped in him – a decision, I am sure, that he felt compelled to make in order to justify his own place in a world that would take his father from him. With all the hype and press coverage, it seemed best for him to get away for a time.

Aeron went from my place back to boarding school. It seemed the best thing to do at the time. What he was doing now, I don’t know. I have put the matter as far from my mind as I can. The passing of time and the creation of space was supposed to help us to heal, but all it seemed to do was insulate me temporarily from the ills I had caused. It was my fault that Ruben’s work had been squandered – my fault that his son had been pushed away from the family that was meant to help him through his difficult times. What could I have done differently? Everything.

I close my eyes against the tears that won’t come.

“We sink into guilt sometimes, Jonah,” a voice says from the back of the church. “It’s like a quagmire that waits for us when we are weak in the spirit. It sits there, restless but silent, until we stumble blindly into its depths. Usually we need help to get us out of a place like that.”

I look up, blinking into the beams of sunlight that sweep impossibly through the frosted windows – giving the place an other-worldly feel.

“Who are you?” I say, wondering why my solitude can be so complete on a crowded train, yet I can’t seem to get a moment to myself in an empty church.

“I’m Jim Black,” he says, and looking closer I can see that he is the minister here. His presence is a reassurance that the place is just empty of people, not abandoned. “Michael asked me to have a word with you. He’s worried about Gabe.”

This isn’t what I expected to hear at this moment. Any chance for further introspection is gone as Jim approaches me. His earnest eyebrows are the only shield for his bright blue eyes, which are his most prominent feature. Plain clothes, grey hair and a medium build complete the picture of a man whose strength emanates from inside, as if the confidence in his bearing comes from knowing that he is on the right path. I see instantly in him what I am lacking.

He stands before me and holds out a gnarled, strong-looking hand that both contradicts and compliments the gentle nature of his manner. I take his hand and rise to stand. I am a full head taller than this old man, but I seem to be standing in his shadow, and the light seems to shift behind him for a moment, causing a glowing effect above and around him.

“Guilt is a trap we make for ourselves, and you simply don’t have time to go in that direction now.” Jim’s eyes are kind, but hard, and he gives me a sense of understanding and forgiveness at the same time that his eyes expect something more.

“Alright,” I say. “What do I need to do?”

Jim smiles a crooked, lopsided smile that reaches all the way to his eyebrows. This time he manages to look slightly mischievous while being completely joyful. “You just need to look after your family.”

“Oh. Well that doesn’t seem so hard.”

“You haven’t read your bible lately, have you?”

“Not really,” I say. “What does that have to do with my family?”

“That depends,” he says. “On where you go and who you take with you. Those who follow will become your family. And they’ll follow you because they can’t stay here. Neither can you.”

“What do mean?” I ask, feeling, as always, like I am missing something.

“You need to find a place where you can look after people. I can help you a little bit, but things are complicated right now. You have to find Gabe before he makes things more difficult than they already are.” He trails off a bit, looking down and to the side, as if there are a lot of things unspoken that I have missed.

“What on earth are you talking about? Gabe is just a child! Where is he?”

“Gabe is only
acting
like a child. That tends to happen when they try to overstep their bounds. You see, they are only meant to be messengers to this world, and rarely are they are allowed to seek out and influence those to whom they would speak.”

This is starting to sound less and less believable.

“What are you saying – that Gabe is trying to find someone?”

“It’s more than that – he is trying to
do
something. This is strictly forbidden, and we have to intervene so that – ” he cuts himself off in mid-sentence. “Rather,
you
have to intervene so that the damage is not irreparable.”

“What damage could a small child possibly cause that you need me to sort it out? Is this something to do with Ruben?”

Jim looks at me and his face is solemn. “You are quite possibly here because of what happened to Ruben, but that is not the cause. As I said with Gabe, some things that have transpired only cause other things to be a little more complicated.”

“You’re going to have to spell it out for me, then, because I’m not following you. All I know is that this fellow called Michael approached me with some sort of task that I have to do, because it’s my duty to serve, or some such thing, and Gabe is a troubled child that seems to have some kind of message he thinks he has to tell me about my family.” I stop talking and glare directly at Jim, this smiling minister who seems to have all the answers, who seems to know me, but who doesn’t think he needs to tell me anything but to get going.

“Yes!” he says. “You seem to understand precisely.” He shifts his eyes a little to the side, and then adds, “More or less.”

“But what does any of that have to do with the gas rationing or the riots that are starting out there?”

“It’s really quite simple, Jonah,” Jim says. “The world as we know it, at least in this place, is over. Everyone reacts to change differently. The people of this city, and I know more than a few of them, good and bad, need somebody to lead them out.”

“I don’t believe it,” I hear myself say, feeling slightly disembodied. “Why are you asking this of me?”

Jim smiles and looks at his feet. “When it’s already happening, it doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not - unless you want to live under a rock. And, for the record, it isn’t me asking. I’m just a poor dead preacher trying to get to heaven.” He looks up. “I can’t do anything out there, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back in here to talk to you once I’ve left. I have to close up shop, so to speak. Maybe you can still visit, though.”

I feel myself staring, squinting away the truth of what he is saying whilst behind my eyelids I know, deep down, that it is the truth.

“Is it my fault?” I ask. “The end, that is.”

“Did you have any other choice?”

Do I now?

Chapter Eight – What the End Might Be

Lucia

“The revolution is upon us, Lucia,” says the voice on the cellphone. “I won’t be able to contact you further until you are out of the city.”

“You were supposed to get me out last night.”

“That part of the plan didn’t work out. You know I tried to get to you, but we were unable to move as freely as we would have liked.”

“What with my husband getting murdered and all?” Lucia Hadly asks. “That’s no excuse. Now I can’t even step outside my front door. There streets are clogged with people, and I know we don’t have much longer before the power gets cut and all hell breaks loose. You have to do something
now.
”

“Or what, Lucia? You’ll tell on us? I am just following orders, and these come from way up the ladder. I might have a chance to get you out on a chopper once the depopulation process has begun. The streets should begin to clear up in a few days.”

“If I live that long.”

“I’m sorry, Lucia, I truly am. We won’t forget the work you’ve done. You’ve done your country a great service.” The voice is growing more and more patronizing. Lucia is reminded of the way James used to talk to her.

“I don’t see how it does the country any good to have its people wiped out like sick cattle with hoof-in-mouth,” she says, a small tingle of fear beginning to find an edge in her words. “I certainly didn’t plan on being here when this service was rendered.”

“Good-bye Lucia,” says the voice. “I suggest you take the next few minutes to make any calls you need to.”

“No wait, don’t hang up!” Lucia screams into the phone as the connection is lost. She struggles to remain in control of herself.

Only a few minutes, who can I call?

Who is left?

She pulls out her old address book and finds the entry for her sister Rachel.

…

Jonah

Some worlds disappear when they are vacated.

I step from the church into an alley and a torrential downpour. Turning, I can just barely make out the solid brick of the office building behind me where the church should have been. I reach out to touch it, just to be sure. Of what, I can’t tell, but just knowing that something solid in this world is real seems to matter just now, but as I bring my hand up level, I hear shouts and a scuffle at the end of the alley.

“Don’t hurt me,” a voice cries out. “I’m just a guy, please don’t hurt me.”

I don’t think, I just turn and run towards the noise.

“
Hold his hands! Quick grab his gun! Get his vest, too! Come on, come on!”

“Hey!” I yell through the blinding rain. “Leave him alone!”

The piercing sound of a gunshot strikes through the night. As if in response, screams from the street beyond the narrow alley filter into earshot. Two thugs stand before me as I skid to a stop in front of the fallen man. The man on the ground is a uniformed police officer looking as ragged as I have ever seen one. He holds his chest and sobs in the crook of his arm. One man holds a gun in a shaking hand pointed at me; the other is holding his nightstick like a baseball bat. They wait for me to move. I don’t know what is stopping them from attacking me after they have downed the cop with seemingly little trouble.

“Get out of here!” I hear myself yelling with a unique ferocity I can’t remember ever having in my voice before. It is an almost primal feeling of rage and fear at the rapid change of situation I find myself in after the peace and quiet of the sanctuary.

I try to keep my emotions in check, though, as I say in my quietest, coldest, yet not quite cruel voice, “Put those things down and get out of here.” I try not to blink as the rainwater splashes down my face. I feel warm urine run down my leg and my knee starts to shake. I open my eyes wider at the effort it takes to stand there without cringing. I feel the coward deep inside me struggle to take control, pounding at the walls of darkness, looking for an exit into the oblivion of the night. “
Now
.”

They turn and run, leaving me there to wonder what I would have done if they hadn’t.

The screams from down the street at the end of the alley grow in intensity, and I help the fallen man to his feet. He looks at me, face to face in a hard frightened stare, for a few moments before throwing his arms around me.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, crying freely. “I lost radio contact with my dispatcher and I didn’t know where to go. The crowds are out of control and everyone is in a panic. The power’s out and there seems to be some sort of disturbance in some of the buildings.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” I say, trying to forget the fact that I have just wet myself with fear, trying to save a cop who was more frightened than I was. “What sort of disturbance?”

“Dynamite,” he says. “Explosions.” He steps away from me and brushes himself off. “They just seem to come from everywhere.”

“Who did this? What were they trying to destroy?”

“City hall, the hospital, the police station, the fire station,” he says. “All gone – totally gone.”

…

Rachel

Rachel hears the telephone ring just as she is getting Gwyn to sleep for his nap. “Jewel,” she says softly. “Can you get the phone for mummy, please?”

Jewel is in tune with her mother, and hears her from downstairs, where she is just getting ready to head back to school after lunch.

“Hello?” She says, her inquisitive voice softly echoing through the shaky wireless network to the cellphone at the other end.

“Who is this?” asks the voice, somewhat cruelly, but quietly, on the other end.

“It’s Jewel,” she replies, already feeling the beginnings of tears come to her eyes at the tone of this person. “I’m almost six.”

“Put your mother on the phone.”

“Alright,” she sighs, wondering why nobody seems to want to talk to her. It isn’t like Mummy has anything interesting to say anyways. All she does is look after Gwyn. She climbs the stairs with the slow, relentless pursuit of unhurriedness that only a child can capture. “Here you go mummy, it’s someone impatient on the phone who needs to learn better manners.”