The noise came as a high burning whine. It started as a faint whisper but soon became a banshee's wail. Dave had heard this before. He was nervous but not altogether interested in what it meant. Probably a storm warning or at worst another earthquake. The last quake had occurred about 6 years ago and had been a bitch, killing about 600 people but then the warning had given plenty of time to evacuate, about half an hour, and Dave just had to save this last chapter or his novel would be lost for ever. It was what he described as his difficult second book but in truth the humour in that statement had drowned about three years ago. Since his runaway success with his first story he had been plagued by writers block or the shit wall as he eloquently put it. This in turn after 8 months of trying had manifested itself in a darker problem that Dave had with the bottle. As a teenager David Buckie had been introduced to the wonders of alcohol and over the years Whisky had become his exclusive tipple. Only he had always been able to control it up until he started his second book. However sowing the blackest seed often leads to a rich crop and Dave had found that through his drunken sessions he had been freed from the shit wall and everything became so much easier. No more cluttered memories only a clear fluid train of thought. Of course it came at a price and his wife left him 5 months ago but he could survive without that parasite. He'd even tried a bit of the old Heroin to try and reach new plains of invention but that stuff was dangerous so he stuck to his 2 bottles a day and continued writing. However on occasion even he overdid it and had managed to wipe two earlier chapters which no matter how much he drank he could never replicate. That's why he had to get this saved so that he could be done with the book and get on with his life.
The only problem being that the fucking emergency warning alarm had sounded from the old Sony radio he liked to listen to when he came out of his coma. No matter, probably just a storm but he had to reach the scene of last nights indulgence and make sure in the cold light of day that the damned deal was done. Creeping over as transparent as his empty glass Dave squinted to read the last line. He thought there'd be more glory at this time but not even relief came, just a dull head ache and a dry sweet taste . Reaching for the mouse of his old CPC 464, which probably shouldn't be working especially after he had dropped that full fiery glassful on it in rage, he suddenly withdrew his hand. What was that dark shape? What was creeping down there beside his empty bottle? What foul monsters lurk in the dark recesses waiting to sting and kill. Was it a scorpion or perhaps the devil himself come to torture another soul. Neither it was another damned roach. Picking up a copy of his critically acclaimed first smash ( Which Dave had grown to hate just as a man who walks across a dry salt desert hates himself for thinking of water ), Dave took a few seconds to collect his body from last night s rigours and then brought the book down on to the hard case of the bug. He was bringing the book up for another swipe when two things happened. Firstly Dave looked at the poor creature and found some kind of inexplicable pleasure at seeing the squirming body writhing in what he supposed was agony. Then he heard the message on the radio.
The street was awash with the sound of white noise. Bodies were running, colliding and most of all screaming. Samuel sat unable to take it all in. He had been in to the clinic today for his weekly check-up with Dr Mcallister. It was there that the problem had started. He had been sitting, waiting and hating the waiting even though he knew that was BAD. The pretty blonde nurse was stretching and he was watching her even though he knew that that was BAD. Then a man ran in screaming something about clear war. Samuel had seen this stuff before and supposed it was another of the Dr's patients but this was a BAD patient. But why was everyone running away from the clinic. What were they afraid of? Samuel had promised to GOD that he would not do those things again so it certainly wasn't him that was the problem. After a while he had followed the people into the street which is where he was now again sitting watching. He was unsure what had happened but found himself intrigued by the outcome. People were running around most of them shouting. It reminded Samuel of the time he spent in the special hotel. Some people in there had been like this. Sometimes Samuel wondered why people thought he was special and it was at moments like this when people were acting BAD that he thought maybe it was the rest of the world that should sit and wait on Dr Mcallister. To the left he saw a pretty young girl emerging from the bushes. She looked rough. There was blood streaming from her mouth and her clothes were torn. It reminded Samuel of the BAD things. When he did the BAD things women used to be scared of him but this women seemed afraid of something else as if the BAD thing didn't matter. Amongst the crowd Samuel saw an overturned pram with a screaming baby lying face down beside it. Samuel didn't care much for babies and hoped that maybe someone might tread on it. The crowds became thicker like a forest of limbs. Still he sat and watched and dreamed of the pretty nurse.
Oh he had been smug when the announcement came on the T.V. Only half an hour left for his stupid neighbours. Would they be laughing at him in these last moments, he didn't think so. He remembered the day he had that thing in the back garden installed and how the girl next door had laughed at him and said he was wasting his money. There was no room for her in there now, only space for him and Goldy his only true friend. How often had he told Goldy that he would show them and now look who was laughing. He was laughing when she came to the door screaming for his help. He was laughing when he picked up the shovel which the workmen had used during the installation of his sanctuary. And he was hysterical when he had hit her with it. His stomach had cramped when he had hit her again and again but he was not so happy with the mess she made of the kitchen linoleum. Still he supposed that would not matter.
Ralph was running now. He'd been in the office when the president made the announcement. It had taken a few minutes to settle in after all nuclear war doesn't happen every day. After that his only thought was to get home to his family. He had stupidly first tried using the car but didn't even get half way out of the parking lot. Since then he had been running, his mind focused on one thing, to make it back. During his travels he had seen the darker side of humanity. Raping, looting and murder. None made any sense now with twenty minutes left. He had to get back. Ever since he had been fighting for his promotion he hadn't spent nearly enough time at home and he didn't want to die without saying goodbye. He had to get back. The sweat ran from his forehead into his eyes giving him a blurry vision which provided some relief from the darkness around him. It had been in these last furtive moments that Ralph, or Mr Gerard as Suzie his receptionist always called him, had begun to understand how life had passed him by. Here he was, a man with a beautiful wife and two daughters, one 8 and the other at the wonderful age of 4, with a reasonably well paid job, no make that a damn well paid job but yet what had he really ever done. He was a weekend father at best and the girls probably saw the tennis coach more often than him. His wife had almost certainly got bored of waiting on him and had most likely had at least one affair, meanwhile he was brown nosing his way to a bigger office with a slight wage increase. Now he would trade all his business contacts and nice grey suits for one more minute to spend with his priority. He had to get back.
I must get some. I can't get through this without some. Please Christ I need some. Sheila left her cheap one room apartment and set out on her last journey.
The dank warehouses at the edge of town where Bill and Joe's (Joseph to his mother) favourite work places. In the middle of the wet floor was a solitary wooden chair and strapped to it bound by heavy grey insulating tape was Richard Bishop. Apparently Mr Bishop had not only been unable to pay back the money he owed Mr Pesci, Bill and Joe's employer, but had also paid some low life fuck to try and deal with Mr Pesci. However this small time piece of shit had been unable to carry out his well paid request and was at present slowly travelling through Mr Pesci's prize dogs intestinal tracts. It had been earlier that day that Bill and Joe had caught up with Bishop and being the quiet types had brought him to this warehouse to try and negotiate a deal. After about an hour of fist talking the two professionals had determined that Bishop did not have the money Mr Pesci required but also was unable to buy himself out of this situation.
Bill stretched to his full 5 foot eight and asked for the last time, " Bishop, you stupid fuck, not only have you pissed off Mr Pesci but I know for sure that You got his money"
Bishop mumbled back. " What was that fuck brain" screamed Joe while ripping the tape from Bishop's mouth. This was the best bit about the job- this and the girls.
" I don't have your money" slurred a bleeding Bishop.
" Are you a faggot or what. I know you got that money and you ain't leaving here till we get it" Joe responded before sending a punch into Bishops lower stomach. It was OK to do that because the guy had already puked his ring.
Bill wandered into the light and with his most sinister face delivered his Oscar winning De Niro line " I don't think you realise Mr Bishop but if you don't give us the money your going to be dead in half an hour and it won't be quick or pretty"
" You two fucks can go ahead and then go and fuck each other"
It was then the blows started to rain in. Bill and Joe knew fine well there was no money but they enjoyed the torture. However the time had come to close the deal. The guys had been at work since this morning and were not only starving but missing the big game on the T.V plus who wants to stay in a damp warehouse on a sunny day like this. Bill raised the gun and shot both of Bishops knee caps open. Bishop was losing consciousness but a quick punch to the nose kept him awake. It was a well practiced routine and Bill and Joe knew exactly how to get as much pain for their money as possible. Wrenching the tape from his arms and legs the two men forced Bishop onto his shattered knees. A white hot pain jarred through Bishops abdomen as his knees ground on the concrete.
" I guess you can have a few moments to pray or whatever" the ever generous Bill said,
" Wh...wha" sighed Bishop
" You know, say your piece, ask forgiveness, that kind of thing"
" I... I don... don't believ.."
" What! Man your going to die. Do you get that. Your going to die and there is no time for rational thought. You don't know what's on the other side. Sure it may be nothing but I for one don't like the idea of going to hell and if all it takes is a few words to some fucking God to ensure that that doesn't happen then I'll take that chance"
Bishop sat for a few moments in a mixture of pain, shock and bewilderment. Eventually he started " Our God who is in heave.."
It was then that Joe hit him on the head with the sledge hammer. He grinned, it always happened this way. Even the devil himself would pray but no-one ever expected the pain when it came. After all the more unprepared for the more it hurt. The hammers continued to rain done on the crimson form on the ground for at least another five minutes before Bill and Joe left to get a burger.
Samuel looked up. It was beautiful. It rippled silver and shone in the bright sun. It looked like an airplane but it had something missin' which Samuel couldn't pin down. Samuel was really enjoying the parade. He had managed to get hold of some beer and was sitting back watching the people. It had at first been small but eventually it had grown in his sight until he could see it clearly. He thought it was going to land in the middle of Fenway park but he was not allowed there, not after the BAD thing. He continued to stare. He'd never had so much fun in his whole life.
Sheila rested back. The feeling of the needle entering her arm was bliss. It wouldn't be long now .She sat back and watched the pretty colours start to form.
Ralph ran in through the front door and found his family crouched beneath the over turned settee. He jumped on top of them and hugged all three of them at once. Then he was no longer.
Bill and Joe were sitting outside the overcrowded church along with the other last minute believers. People were actually fighting each other to gain entrance to the chapel. It was difficult to hear yourself over the crying and screaming. Bill and Joe sat, eyes closed praying for forgiveness that deep down they knew couldn't be given. It had been a surprise when they had met the crowds of people running down the freeway screaming like some kind of primitive stampede. At first it had looked like another of those riots that hits this area from time to time. However when they turned on the radio to see if they could get some news on the riot things didn't seem so straight forward. So they made their way here and it was here were they would be erased and when it came it was quick and indiscriminate.
Oh no where's Goldy! For the last ten minutes he had been preparing the bunker for his stay and was about to enter when he realised Goldy was missing. He called her name but she wouldn't come. He searched the garden but she wasn't there. Christ there's only a few minutes. He rushed into the house knocking over his favourite vase on the way. Christ where is she? He stopped. He could hear movement in the kitchen. He ran to the door and screamed. There was Goldy. Her muzzle was dripping with red juice. The juice was all over the floor. Goldy was licking it, rolling in it. Goldy was licking that Bitches juice. In the juice there was small off white chunks but by the time he had noticed this the cold wind had already come.
The CPC 464's screen was smashed. It lay in a jumble amongst the rubble. Out of the empty whisky bottle crawled the small survivor. It had been stunned by a blow from that monster but when it was not looking it had crawled in to this sweet shelter. Its outer skeleton was not badly damaged and there seemed to be no sign of the monster. In the air it could taste food and lots of it. It sensed something was different but could not understand what. Anyway its thoughts were already centred on the food. Oh would it eat.
© Graeme Duff 1997