The Man Who Watched the World End (7 page)

The journey down to the southern states created one of the enduring images of my life. The very last issue of
Time
magazine ever produced had a cover image of a caravan leaving Winnipeg as it made its way down to Omaha, with the caption: ‘Picture of the century: the beginning of the end.’

Each time a group community moved further south they took
their Block relatives with them. News reports showed thousands of Blocks being transported in a line of buses stretching for miles on their way to new homes.

Only Philadelphia reacted differently. The people there let their fears get the best of them, or just didn’t want to be burdened by people they reasoned weren’t really people at all
, people who never understood their surroundings or contributed to the efforts going on around them. Some of these people tried to claim the Blocks might get them sick even though the condition development. other wasn’t something you could be infected with. They also claimed it was too much of a burden on the outnumbered regular adults to take care of them all.

So instead of taking them to Washington when Philade
lphia was abandoned, the Blocks were loaded into a stadium that was then burned to the ground. The evening news provided footage of the fire. The smoke cloud, impossibly big, continued skyward as if it would go right into outer space. The smell of burning flesh was so great that even people ten city blocks away from the stadium were vomiting in the middle of the street.

The anchorman
took his reading glasses off before telling his audience: “Reports say that as many as 100,000 Blocks were burned alive in that fire.”

No firemen rushed to put out the
blaze. Smoke was still pouring into the sky days later when the buses were loaded and the Philadelphians finally departed for Washington. The stench of burned remains seemed to travel with the caravan as it made its way toward the capital. As the long line of buses approached their new home, they were greeted by a blockade and by protestors holding up signs. One of the messages read:
Make love, not fires
. Another said:
You can’t drive away from your shame
. Refused shelter, the Philadelphians were forced to return to the city they had left. A news crew was waiting for them. Footage on that night’s broadcast showed men and women crying, not because they were happy to be back home, but because smoke was still rising from the remnants of the fire. And these people could do nothing but look at it and remember what they had let happen.

The anchorman stared into the camera before saying, “Like you all, I am truly saddene
d to witness a group of people who thought genocide was a better alternative to the burden of unfortunate souls.”

As these reports played on the news each night,
I thought about Andrew being one of the people in that stadium, packed shoulder to shoulder with strangers he had never seen before. And even though he couldn’t smell the gasoline, wouldn’t be afraid, wouldn’t even understand the simple concept that he was in jeopardy, he was a human being and the last family I had. If he was going to burn in some gigantic man-made structure, I didn’t deserve any better. I would have been there with him if it came to that.

I know Andrew can’t hear me. I know he has no idea who I am or even that I exist. B
ut on that day, seeing the footage of the smoke rising from the Philadelphia stadium, I sat on the sofa next to him and wrapped him in my arms. I found myself apologizing for all a nice, quiet neighborhoodgeother the times I cursed the hassle of taking care of him. I apologized for thinking life might be easier sometimes if he wasn’t here. Without him I would be just another man living my final days in New Orleans or Miami without someone next to me that I love.

I’m able, most days, to make it through the waking hours without going to the window to see if the Johnsons have returned. It’s taking a while for it to sink in
to this old man’s skull, but I’m finally realizing they are truly gone. I still hope they return, however, I no longer expect they will.

Until they left, the Johnsons had been doing the exact same thing with their two Block sisters that I’m doing with Andrew. Mark and Mindy were always taking care of their helpless twin sister
s. It was a comfort to know they understood exactly what I was going through: changing Andrew’s diapers, giving him baths, inspecting each bug bite to make sure it wasn’t the beginning of some infection.

In some ways I think I’m the lucky one for not having another regular family member around to see what life
has come to in these final times. The other part of me, the part that talks to myself for hours on end, the part that wakes up in the morning wishing for nothing more than another person with the power of speech to converse with, wishes dearly for someone who could answer my questions, laugh with me, recount stories of the old days, and explain the ending of
2001: A Space Odyssey
. Nothing would make me happier at this moment than for someone to appear and begin talking to me. Their words would be better than the best Christmas present I have ever received, each sentence better than the lasagna I had the other night (there I go again, always mentioning the lasagna!). The Johnson’s departure must be affecting me more than I thought.

In my defense, though, they
lived next to me for the last four decades years, from their forties to their eighties, so having them here one day and not the next should be hard to get adjusted to. For forty years their house was a venue for parties and cookouts. Now it’s just as silent as the other houses on the street. They probably decided that a group community was their only option to ensure they were all taken care of if something happened to one of them. Mindy would be overwhelmed if Mark died and she was left to take care of her two Block sisters by herself. If Mindy died and Mark was left to take care of them, he would lose his patience or make a dumb mistake and their house would burn to the ground. moved further southspspjo

I’ve considered a shared community too—considered it so many times I might as well have gone—but something
has always kept me here with Andrew where we’ve spent most of our adult lives. This is the home we’ve made for ourselves. Maybe that’s enough of a reason. It’s entirely possible that at this point in my life I’m not thinking altogether clearly. I accept that possibility too.

On the
days that joining a group community does seem like a good idea, it’s usually because I have Andrew in mind. I want someone to be there for him if I die first. The one time I actually put serious thought to leaving the neighborhood, I got stuck trying to make a list of what to take with us. It can’t be easy for anyone to choose which possessions they would rank as the most valuable; not many will fit into a car. The rest will be left behind to deteriorate into nothing. Would I be able to leave the family photo albums, even though they provide no practical value for our survival? I already know the answer. That’s probably why I’m still here; there’s no way I could drive away from this house knowing an album full of pictures of my parents getting married, bringing me home from the hospital, bringing Andrew home from the hospital, would sit in the dank basement until the end of time. And if I did want to take the pictures, something else, something of actual value, would have to be substituted in its place. Maybe one less container of food, one less gallon of water. It’s a decision that makes the romantic in me smile. My mother would be proud. But it’s also how I know I’m not capable of making decisions by myself. At least not the decisions that really matter.

The Johnsons and I took turns
saying that our decision to stay or leave was made for us in large part by the roads that are no longer suitable to drive on. It was amazing how fast the highways deteriorated once the first cracks and potholes started appearing. One of the provisions in the Survival Bill was supposed to ensure the roads would last as long as people were around to drive on them. This was the least effective part of the government’s plan. The resurfaced roads wore down within a decade, quickly becoming too deteriorated to allow most cars to travel safely. The Johnsons were fortunate to have an SUV. My little car wouldn’t make it two miles on the old beat-up highways.

The last time I tried to survey the local area I
got a mile before making a U-turn. I realized then that was the last time I would ever leave Camelot unless I was a passenger in the Johnsons’ SUV. However, instead of sitting down and weighing the advantages and disadvantages of leaving, I did my daily chores until it was time to go to sleep. And then I did the same thing the next day and the day after that. It took a while, but eventually the decision was out of my hands. Life had decided for me.

If Andrew
was alert, if he could have spoken to me, surely I would have discussed the options with him. The advantage goes to Andrew in that rega“It’s just tough some times,” I do rd. If something happens to me, or if it doesn’t, his life stays the same. He has no idea if I made the right decision or the wrong decision or if I made any decision at all. He stays on the sofa without talking or hearing, unaware of where he is, or even that he has a brother engaging in a daily struggle to keep going on day after day. All of this goes on around him and he never knows. It would be nice if I could be like Andrew and not have to worry about whether or not every decision I make is the right one.

Part of me says, I’ve stayed this
long, I might as well stay to the very end. And anyway, what’s the point of going to the last communities, since they too will be extinct in the coming months? The other part of me envisions Andrew starving to death after I’ve passed away. That’s not something I can let happen.

And that
’s why I’m ready, finally, to leave Camelot. I’ve always assumed I’m the only living person around for miles, but that might not be the case. If the Johnson
s just now decided to head south, maybe there are still others here too. The travelers don’t seem to be stopping in Camelot the way they used to, but if I can signal one of them, maybe with a fire, they might come check on me, might see if Andrew and I would like to join them on their way south. If they’re attempting the drive, they’ll have at least an SUV or over-sized pickup truck, maybe even a tractor trailer. Surely, they will have enough room for two more people. The mild weather has kept me from needing to use my chimney, but I’ll use it tomorrow to signal whoever may be around. I don’t even care if we end up in New Orleans or Miami. I’m just happy to know someone will be there to take care of Andrew if I’m the one who goes first. Everything will be okay.

People held out hope for a long time that a cure might be found for the Blocks. This was part
ly because it was fairly easy for the scientists to determine why the Blocks’ brains shut down. They were able to pinpoint the cause within two months of the Great De-evolution being spotted. Year after year, rumors of a new cure gave people hope. Each supposed cure was tested while everyone held their breath. Each solution failed. The scientists slowly got older until they began passing away too.

It’s possible that there’s still a man somewhere with a microscope and
a set of test tubes who refuses to give up hope—that wouldn’t surprise me—but I haven’t heard of any such person, and even if he does exist, the cure is too late to do any good. We are simply counting down the days. raging teenage hormonesinget sp

I can still log on to the
internet and see how people are doing in Los Angeles or Dallas, but the news depresses me too much and I haven’t bothered to do so in months. Unlike their work with the roads, the government’s plan to ensure communications would be available has worked perfectly. The last time I checked there were still small communities located in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas, Houston, New Orleans, and Miami; although, before they left, the Johnsons hinted that no one had seen or heard from the Houston community since October. They are probably gone, another vacant city returned to the wildlife. I’m not sure what kind of wildlife there is in Houston, maybe armadillos, but whatever it is, I’m sure they are thriving.

Each country handled the Great De-evolution differently. All reports indicate that Myanmar refused to acknowledge what was happening and had no resources in place when the population began to decline. The state-run hospitals were crammed with Blocks
who outnumbered those willing to take care of them. Riots led to all of the hospitals being burned to the ground. The few hospital workers who managed to escape the flames whispered to reporters that the fires had been started by men wearing government uniforms.

A
year after the Blocks started appearing, China changed its one baby law to a zero baby law. The Chinese government soothed tensions by promising the law would only stay in effect until a cure was found. The reassurances didn’t prevent protests, but the law did result in a country without a population of Blocks outnumbering the regular adults. One country had managed to avert the crisis that every other country had fallen into. They still have a dying population, that can’t be stopped, but the last regular adults aren’t worried about taking care of their Block siblings. They aren’t wondering who will die first and who will be left until the end.

In Norway and Sweden, Blocks were given every right afforded to regular people. They were allowed to vote, get driver’s licenses, and sue
whoever they liked. None of this ever happened, but the people there liked knowing their Block relatives had the right to do these things anyway. In Mexico, a drug cartel used the Blocks as drug mules, cutting them open and stuffing them with bags of cocaine.