The Remaining (16 page)

A new group of strangers arrives in the church, and one of them carries scenes from the maelstrom outside. A man was able to save some videos he found online before the connection broke. Now a group surrounds the piano while the man’s tablet stands upon it and shows the video.

They play it again because it’s too unreal to take in the first time. It doesn’t look natural.

Tommy is in the middle of the group of strangers, watching. At first he was trying to figure out how they got an Internet connection when he’s been trying ever since getting here. But his phone is dead now anyway, so it doesn’t matter. The tablet’s owner says these videos were downloaded from YouTube just hours ago.

The first video reveals a stretch of beach. To Tommy it looks like the Atlantic. Then he realizes the person who posted this video is from California, so it has to be the West Coast. The shaky video shows the ocean, or where the ocean used to be, with its dried-up shore lined with dead sea life. Thousands of dead fish and sharks and dolphins cover the sand. The ocean seems to be receding and drying up.

Death is everywhere.

Not just in this video, but in this world.

Someone says the obvious. “It’s happening everywhere.”

Tommy doesn’t want to believe it. He thinks about this video and then realizes the importance of the video he’s taken.

I need to figure out a way to show it, too. To get it online. To help let people know . . .

But he can’t finish the rest of that thought.

Help them know what, Tommy? That the world is over? That they might as well wave the white flag and put a gun in their mouth and blow off their head?

A Radiohead song comes to mind. He wishes he could have his iPod and just crank it up and let everything else fade away. But it doesn’t work like that. Not here and now.

Separating like ripples on a black shore.

The separation has finally come and those ripples are everywhere. The shores are all black as the night. Tommy wonders what tomorrow will bring, if the sun will rise and if they will see some kind of daylight.

If we make it to tomorrow.

“There’s more,” the man says to them like someone announcing that the volcano has erupted and the lava is only seconds away.

A cell phone video plays. It’s a peewee basketball game with the young boys and girls running up and down the court, barely knowing which way to go. The person filming obviously has to be a proud parent zooming in on his boy.

Then it’s blurry and there’s rumbling and screaming.

“Oh no! No!” the adult voice screams.

The video zooms out and focuses back on the court. All the kids are now littering the court, dead and scattered like garbage. The screams magnify as more parents freak out.

All the kids
 
—every one is dead. Taken. Tossed about.

Then the video shows the stands, where a few adults lie dead as well.

Another video shows a park with corpses strewn throughout it. A mother lies dead behind a toddler swing, her newborn still swaying slightly in it, eyes white and gone.

And there’s more.

A police video where a man’s being cuffed until the cop collapses behind him.

A traffic-jam video that resembles the mess Tommy and Dan were just in.

There’s even a scene at a small diner where several patrons suddenly drop dead and a waitress crumples to the floor. Then it shows a cook resting on a searing grill, the
man’s hands and face and chest all grilling along with the burgers he was just cooking.

This is madness.

The group of strangers continue to talk but Tommy slips away. He’s seen enough. The videos are reminders.

Time is short. I might be gone tomorrow. Or tonight.

He needs to do something and do it fast. So he heads somewhere private. Goodness knows this church is big enough to find a room that’s not occupied.

So many rooms to house the dead. Wonder if it held this many living folks when they were around to come in through the doors.

The sound of his feet on the carpet seems too loud. The echoes of his steps seem too empty. Tommy’s mind keeps going back to the desolate seashore with all the dead fish everywhere.

So Jesus fed the five thousand but what about here what about now?

Anger rips inside of him. He sees a cross every ten feet he walks, it seems. It’s ridiculous. God is not here. He’s not in this building and he’s surely not outside. He’s not watching. If he’s up there, he’s shut the door and locked it.

We are all out there on that receding ocean in a tiny boat that’s leaking and sinking. We’re all sinking and we’re all forgotten.

He remembers another Radiohead lyric.

“I’m not here. This isn’t happening.”

But Tommy
is
here and this
definitely
is happening. No
going back. No turning around. No starting over again. No time for being a sissy.

No time. No time whatsoever.

So it’s time to do this one thing.

Moments later, he’s got everything set up. The room is upstairs and nobody is around. His video camera is on a desk while he’s sitting in a chair, eating peanut butter off a knife. The jar he found is on the floor.

He’s been interviewing everybody else today. Now it’s his turn.

The clock is ticking get it over with.

“My name is Tommy Covington,” he says directly into the camera. “If you’re watching this I’m probably dead.”

He takes a bite of the peanut butter. Strangely, it calms him a bit, not only eating something but doing something so natural. He looks at his watch, which does happen to still be working. At least for the time being.

“It’s been ten hours since it started. We’ve made it to a church and have found some help, but if something happens, Allie, I need to say this to you.”

He hears the door squeak open and sees Sam entering the room. She’s holding her phone on him as if she’s filming. He stands up and shakes his head, going to turn off his camera for the moment.

Can’t a guy have a single private second around here?

“Uh-uh, turn it off,” he tells her, holding up a hand.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like people filming me.”

Sam smiles. “Says the guy filming everyone.”

He laughs, then shrugs and puts the knife back into the peanut butter jar to have one last bite. He doesn’t really want Sam knowing anything, so he’s going to play it off and be cool and calm in front of her.

Sam gives him a curious look. “So what’s so important you need to tell Allie?”

Tommy slides the knife back into his mouth. A full mouth is better than having to answer that question. Still, Sam doesn’t appear like she’s going to let him off the hook.

“It’s complicated,” he eventually tells her.

The Goth girl taps her phone off and stops aiming it at him. She gives him a cheerful, friendly smile. “Don’t you think fire and ice falling from the sky should uncomplicate things?”

Tommy moves his tongue around his mouth to get the remaining peanut butter unstuck. “Probably.”

Sam picks up his camera. “Then tell her what you wanted to say. I’ll get it to her if something happens.”

How come this young girl knows so much when Allie doesn’t have a clue?

He wonders if he’s said or done anything to make it obvious. He stands for a moment, contemplating taking his camera and his thoughts and keeping them all to himself. “I . . . I can’t, Sam. Not now.”

“You want her
never
to know?” Sam asks.

She turns on the video recorder and aims it at him. Tommy feels frozen for the moment.

She has a good point. I want her to know and I want her to know now.

He wonders what’s the worst thing that could happen. Hasn’t it already happened?

Okay, fine.

“Allie, if something happens to me I want you to know this,” he begins to say, each word feeling easier to say than the last. “When Jack gave that toast, my stomach twisted into a thousand knots.”

Tommy stares down at the floor for a moment, searching his thoughts. So many words to say and so not the way he wanted to say them.

“At first, it was because I felt bad for you,” Tommy continues, looking back up at the camera. “But then it was because I realized he was right.”

He moves closer to the camera, imagining that he’s talking to Allison and looking her directly in the eyes. He can see them. All he has to do is blink and they’re there.

“I know that because when I met you seven years ago, we just clicked, and over time I knew you were the one for me. I just knew.”

He pauses.

Don’t hold back because time isn’t on your side. Time was never on your side and it certainly isn’t anymore.

“Truth is, I’ve loved you every day since. And if it’s not me you’re meant to be with, I just want you to be happy.”

He looks away at Sam and then nods for her to stop filming.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a strange thing to say out loud something you’ve kept silent and tucked away for years. To articulate words you weren’t exactly sure about, to voice them and hear how they sound on your lips. Tommy knows that they were only spoken for the camera and not for Allison, but still, it’s something. It means something.

He glances at the empty peanut butter jar in his hand. “You hungry, Sam?”

She sees the snow all around her swirling and streaming. Going upward and sideways and every which way, surrounding her. Skylar holds out her hands with joy in her heart and a smile on her face until she realizes it’s not soft snow she’s touching. It’s locusts. Squirming, crackling little locusts that suddenly turn from white to black as they swarm around her, suffocating, strangling . . .

Skylar opens her eyes, yet the dream remains.

I have found you, my dear girl, and I will be coming to bring you back to my home because there’s no place in heaven for someone like you.

The white world that once was has now turned to black.
The solid ground has split and cracked and crumbled apart. She looks at the buildings around her
 
—this is the place she grew up, the city of her youth, the home she was going to make with Dan for possibly the rest of their lives
 
—and everything is broken and falling apart. Everything is gone.

All the grass and so many trees
 
—burned to the ground from the fire and the hail coming from the heavens.

I will survive and I will take you with me sweet child of mine.

The voice talking sounds friendly and familiar but it breathes cold air behind her ear and inside her soul.

She finds herself on the edge of a crimson sea with dead forms floating and washing up on shore. The charred remains of ships float on the water like drifting coffins.

This will pass just like it did when God wiped us all out with the Flood.

Skylar stands on a black hillside and sees a stream of water flowing over her bare feet. The water isn’t clear but the same color as the ocean. The same color as the dead on the streets and in the buildings, the same color as the blood on the cross.

That’s not real it was never real and you don’t have to keep thinking about it.

The voice is coming for her, waiting for her, wanting her. It has wanted her all her life and it’s finally going to take her to a place she can’t leave. A place where she’ll spend eternity. A place full of fear. A place full of pain.

The skies darken and the sun dims. But men and
women around her continue to suffer from the heat and the air and the sun breathing fire on their skin.

“Make it stop,” she begs God.

But it’s too late. Too late to ask for another chance. Too late to make the judgments stop.

The locusts come again, but this time they’re not tiny but huge, hulking beasts emerging out of the pit to reign with terror.

Come to me, my child, take my hand and let me lead you to a place where you won’t have questions.

But she fights. Skylar clenches hands that burn and opens eyes that wince and holds on to a hope.

“Please, God, please,” she cries out.

But this dream and nightmare and horror are all real. This is not a movie and it’s not a story and it’s not a sign of things to come. It’s arrived. Her life is like the lone fish in the dark ocean of blood and she’s barely hanging on.

“Help me,” she says as liquid fills her mouth and her lungs and she coughs up the blood.

The beasts are coming to get them. Coming to kill more. Coming to do as much damage as they can before their fate is once and for all sealed by their Maker, the one they turned their backs on, the one they chose to revolt against.

War has arrived and the world is now paying for its sins.

For
all
their sins.

They find a kitchen with a fridge and an oven and a sink in it. The only thing it doesn’t seem to have is anything to eat. Tommy goes through some of the cupboards but finds them empty except for paper cups and plates.

“So where are your parents?” Tommy asks Sam while still looking.

“Killed. Or taken. Whatever they’re calling it.”

Tommy eventually spots a lone jar of peanut butter. He tosses it to her. Sam catches it without looking surprised.

“Hope you don’t mind crunchy,” he says.

For a second she studies the jar, then laughs.

“I don’t want to add anaphylactic shock to our day. I’m allergic.”

She tosses it back to Tommy. He nods and places it on the counter so he can dig into it later. It’ll be his second jar of the day.

There are some cans of different types of fruits in the next cabinet. He picks out a can of peaches and tosses it her way, then begins looking for some kind of utensil. “Here, I got a spoon for you.”

As he brings it over to her, Tommy sees she can’t open the can. He takes it from her and pops off the top. She thanks him and quickly takes a bite.

“Bet you’re hungry,” he says.

“I haven’t even thought about food until now,” she says with a full mouth. “But yeah. I’m sorta starving.”

He considers what she said about her parents, then wonders if his are gone too. All he wants to do is head back up to Chicago to see if they’re there. To see if they survived.

A part of him believes they’re still there. But that’s just a hunch.

“So you believe that this is the Rapture?” he asks Sam.

“That’s what everyone is saying.”

“Not everyone.”

She takes another bite and remains silent. Tommy realizes his reply probably sounded a bit biting, a bit aggressive.

“I don’t know my Bible that well but I just have a hard time thinking this is something that came straight out of it,” he says.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think anybody knows. You see all those people out there? You think any of them know?”

“But isn’t that because . . .” She pauses for a moment. “Because they’re the unbelievers?”

Tommy shakes his head. He has no idea and it’s frustrating not knowing. Not being able to do anything. Not being able to have any sort of comeback or witty statement on any of this.

“So why are you still here?” he asks her. “You’re obviously a good person.”

Sam finishes the jar of peaches. “I
am
a good person. Just not a
churchy
good person.”

“You never went?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really a sit-in-the-pew sorta girl. I don’t like rules.” She thinks for a moment. “Guess I blew that one.”

He notices the look on her face. “Yeah, guess I blew that one too.”

They stand in silence as Tommy notices his camera sitting on the kitchen counter. “I always hear people saying, ‘Where was God?’ when this or that happened,” he says. “Do people really think God could do all of this to the world? Do you?”

“He destroyed the world with the Flood. Right? Noah and his family and the animals were the only ones left.”

“That’s a kids’ story,” Tommy says.

“Not quite. Not when most of the world dies. Does
this
feel like a kids’ story?”

“It feels like I’m in a horror movie.”

This doesn’t make her smile, though he’s not exactly trying for any kind of laughter anymore. He’s just being honest.

“I think I’m past the point of looking for some kind of scientific explanation or something,” Tommy says. “But God and judgments and believing and not believing. It all just feels so made-up and so . . . so corny. The burning buildings and the dead people out there
 
—that’s real. But even now
 
—where’s God? Where is he? That still doesn’t seem real. And I just . . . I don’t know if it ever will be.”

He sees her giving him a strange look. “What?” Tommy asks.

“Are you this comforting all the time?”

He smiles. “Nah. Just when the world’s ending.”

Maybe it’s seeing the video of the ocean receding and the dead sea life strewn all over its shores that’s making him want to start filming again. Or maybe it’s what he filmed half an hour ago with Sam and the words he uttered while looking into the camera. The spark to the fire inside doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it’s time to continue the job he was supposed to do today. There’s a reason he was asked to start filming and there’s a reason he’s going to keep doing it.

The world needs to know.

The world . . . or at least some of the people in the world.

Maybe some of the few remaining souls left in this world.

Enough’s enough, Tommy decides. He can sit around waiting and wondering and eating peanut butter all night or he can go ahead and do something.

Leaving the peanut butter on the counter, he goes out to find his friends. He wants to film them again, to hear from them, to get their thoughts. This is the something he’s going to do. He’s going to ask some questions and capture some moments.

He finds Allison and Jack in the room next to the triage. “How’s Skylar?”

“She’s still out,” Allison says. “Dan hasn’t left her side since coming back. She’s been having some terrible dreams. Mumbling about weird things. Blood and dead fish and all sorts of weird stuff.”

“I want to get you guys talking to the camera, okay?”

“Now?”

Tommy nods, turning the camera on. “Something we can show our children one day.”

Neither of them like his joke, but he doesn’t know what else to tell them.

“Come on
 
—what do you want to say to the camera?” he asks Allison.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Like a confession?”

After everything that has happened
 
—the chaos in the streets and the long night waiting and Skylar being sick and all of them being stranded here
 
—Allison still looks beautiful. She’s beautiful inside and out and always will be.

And I’m glad you’re still here. So very glad.

“Sure,” Tommy tells her. “Get something off your chest. It feels good.”

“I don’t have anything to confess.”

Of course you don’t.

Allison looks over at Jack, so Tommy follows that gaze with his camera.

Your turn, buddy.

“Anything you want to say, Jack?”

“Yeah. Why are you still filming?”

“If we don’t make it out of this, someone needs to know what happened to us.”

Jack doesn’t like that comment and makes a face at Tommy. “Don’t even say that. We’re gonna make it.”

Tommy keeps the camera pointed at him.

“What do I say?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you’re feeling.”

Jack sits up for a minute, nods, looks directly at the camera, clears his throat. “Fine. My name’s Jack Turner. I don’t know why this is happening
 
—but it’s not gonna beat me. I’m not ready to call it quits so I’m not sure why you are getting us to do last-minute confessionals.”

“Do you love Allison?”

Jack pauses for a moment. He can’t believe Tommy just asked that. Neither can Allison.

But I did and there. It’s out there. Time for some resolution. Time for something, at least.

“Of course,” Jack says, smiling and giving Tommy a shrug.

“It’s taken you seven years to figure that out?”

“What?”

Jack seems to be in disbelief
 
—confused and annoyed and also a bit embarrassed.

Good.

“I just want to know how you feel,” Tommy says.

Jack shakes his head, looks at Allison. Tommy can see the shocked look on Allison’s face.

“Tommy, what are you doing?” she asks.

“I almost lost her tonight,” Jack says in an angry and defensive tone. “How do you think that feels?”

“So it takes almost losing her to feel something? That’s not love, Jack.”

Jack curses. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

Tommy is still holding the camera, still looking at them and still demanding to know. It’s a loaded weapon he’s holding, full of questioning ammunition.

“I just think she deserves someone who really loves her. She’s a great girl. It’s been seven years. . . .”

Jack stands up, looking like he’s ready to pounce on Tommy. He’s more than annoyed. He looks furious. “You know what I think? I think you have a confession you need to make, Tommy.”

“I don’t have one,” Tommy says.

“Just say it. Say it!”

“Say what?”

Allison is standing and starting to move between the guys.

“You spend all your time with Allie. You don’t date.”

“Stop this, guys!” Allison shouts.

“Say it!”

A hand reaches and grabs Tommy’s camera, then aims it back at him. He’s not sure if Jack is going to film him or bash him on the head with the camera. Tommy tries to move out of the frame but Jack pushes him back, forcing him to be filmed.

Suddenly Tommy decides that if he’s going to be filmed, he might as well make the most of it. The only audience he ever wanted and dreamed about is watching and listening. He looks at the camera, then at Allison, then at the camera again and back at her.

“I love you, Allison.”
There. I said it. I confessed. It’s done.

“I knew it!” Jack seems more triumphant than furious.

“You’re saying this . . . now?” Allison asks. “Now, Tommy?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?” she asks.

“I’m really sorry. All those times
 
—I never had the courage to tell you even though I wanted to.”

That’s enough for Jack. He drops the camera and lunges at Tommy, slamming him to the floor and wrestling with him. Jack doesn’t punch him like Tommy might’ve expected. But he grabs at his throat and Tommy is forced to hold him off in a stalemate for a few moments while Allison tries to intervene.

“Stop it, guys!” Allison begs them.

Suddenly a voice ends the conversation. Not in a loud, booming curse but in a soft reflection. They all stop and look and see Dan at the doorway mumbling something.

It’s Skylar. Something’s happened. She’s gone.

Tommy listens and waits for the worst.

What he hears instead shocks him. It shocks all of them.