01: George – Rude Awakening

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Before the world ended, those who knew where to look saw the clues. For regular folk, everyday distractions were circulated, drama that draw their eye, to keep plans running smooth and unscrutinized behind the scenes. But not every omen could be ignored.

That night was quiet, a rare treat in Shipyard Bay. No cats fought or upended the steel bins. No hobos raided them for food. The neighborhood drunk didn’t wail incoherent golden oldies no-one else but he could recognize. The only sound was the one locals paid a premium for; where the bottom of the street opened to the beachside promenade and luxuriated in the rhythmic waves breaking across the fine sands of the shore. And so the first sign the peace, and many an heirloom, would be broken, held no witness.

It started with a discarded can, crushed and tossed on the edge of the sidewalk. It vibrated, ringing faintly into a tinny jig, filtering into people’s dreams as it slid to the road to clang against an empty bottle. They rang together, as animated as the growing ripples in the nearest puddle.

Newspapers skirted past, loose masonry crumbled. Bikes chained to fences slid to the ground and bottles rolled downslope to the oceanside.

The rumble in the earth spread, rattling windows and doors, sweeping into apartments to knock small items off their perches. Glasses rang across tables and smashed on hardwood floors, tablets bounced on carpets, and in one bedroom, the framed picture of a family outing fell from its place above the headboard and landed square on the sleeping face below.

“Ow.” George said, batting the picture off. His eyes half opened. “Wha zat? Earthquake?”

He was answered by the grumble of the room. Makeup and brushes danced off the dresser. His phone spun on the sideboard and a bleary check confirmed it wasn’t ringing on silent, and the time was still pre-dawn.

A rattling window called his attention. He swung his feet from the bed, crunching the fallen picture with his heel as he steadied himself. A footprint shaped crease censored all three faces, yet the strobing lights outside piqued his curiosity, the well trained curiosity of a ground floor resident. When anything happened outside the action was close up, the risk of a busted window or tripped out intruder all the greater. Fights between gangs, a serenading lover, even a temperamental hydrant had caused its share of street level damage that year.

George opened it and stuck his head out. The flickers came from the street lamps. They swayed like palm trees in an unfelt breeze. No, they wobbled. And as the source of the disturbance grew closer, the wobble grew more pronounced. George turned to see it as it rounded the corner, and gave it a well deserved “Huh.”

A tank rolled past the window.

A tank, larger up close than any glimpse from the movies would have him believe, and followed by another. They filled the width of the road and marched forward, unstoppable walls of metal sweeping past the block, rousing more sleepers to their windows before they stopped at the end of the road. One aimed its turret left, the other right, defending both turnoffs, with nothing but ocean in front of them.

To the relief of the neighborhood, they cut their engines, a pause in the clamor that lasted a whole second before two army trucks joined them, stealthily camouflaged against all the greenery missing in an urban jungle. They screeched to a stop behind the tanks, followed by an armored black car. It stopped directly in front of George, reflecting his dull eyes and barely woken face in its mirror tint. Its engine rivalled both the tanks and trucks before it, and a second wave of both vehicles slowed to a stop behind it. A pair of trucks and a couple of tanks on each end of the street, and it was annexed.

The rumblings stopped proper as the procession came to a standstill, another second’s respite before it was replaced by a deep shout and the quake of numerous boots. Soldiers spilled from the trucks, running in organized lines to form two circles around the car, a tight ring standing directly around it. A larger ring crouched around them. All raised their rifles outward.

George froze, avoiding eyes with the closest private. The man’s gun was trained right on him, and more guns made tiny adjustments in their aim as more faces appeared at their windows. Half seemed curious while others held the same blank expression George wore. Most shook into double takes as clarification took hold.

A captain strode through the ranks to the black car and opened the back door. A somber-suited man eased out. He brushed the captain’s hand as he stood, and with a sneer, pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the offended sleeve, then crumpled it and tossed it into the captain’s waiting hand. If the captain had misgivings being used as a door wedge and trash can, he didn’t show it.

The apartment complex across the street took their attention. The man in black stood at its doors and the captain pointed up, somewhere high or near the roof. More soldiers appeared from nowhere, this time clad in tactical gear with black face grease. Half took position on the pavement outside, aiming in through the windows to cover the lobby. The rest ran in to secure it while grunts held its doors and called the elevators, performing any menial task that kept the Suit in his bubble of protection.

Down the street, people hung from their windows, searching for a better view. George’s line of sight was perfect. He watched the lobby, saw the elevator open and a scout secure it, and watched the important man enter. The captain outside squawked into a radio and the soldiers stood like statues, only moving to respond to a call or chew gum in synchronized squelches.

But sandman grains still littered George’s eyes. Whatever floor they’d risen to was a blur on the counter above. The captain had pointed high, but the building’s exterior gave no clues.

A minute passed. And then a minute more. The soldiers didn’t move or show signs of growing tired. Their guns stayed steady and ready for action. Only the synchronous pop of gum marked any passing of time. The faces at the windows, however, did not share their militant commitment and with no action to hold their attention, disappeared one by one. Whatever the man in black was doing up there, he wasn’t about to share it with the world.

George reached back for his phone. A snap of the tanks would be enough for a lunchtime anecdote, and if he went back to bed now he could grab another hour’s sleep.

Unfortunately for him, that’s when the window exploded.

The boom was a shockwave, more physical than sound. George dropped the phone. A split second after, an arm-sized shard of glass crashed onto the ledge his palms had just been resting on.

Gunfire! Across the street. Another top floor window blew. Soldiers braced as shards rained down, smashing on tanks and trucks and helmets and ground, crystal splinters flying all directions.

George ducked, knocked his chin off the window frame and cursed.

“What was that?” a voice screamed behind him.

“Stay down!” He said over his shoulder.

Rhea slid out from her side of the bed and crept over. He pulled her down, arm around her waist, finger to his lips and pointed up as a fresh burst of gunfire shattered a third and final window. She ignored his finger and screamed and clutched his chest. George pulled her in tighter. Outside, soldiers shouted over an overbearing drumbeat. He couldn’t tell if it was his heart or hers.

They waited there, clutching each other for several minutes or seconds or hours. Then, slowly, daring to see, George let go and raised his eyes over the edge.

The entire neighborhood was awake. Lights flicked on and curtains parted, a gallery of wide-eyed portraits and angry busts.

Rhea’s own bust brushed his bare ribs and they froze. Shit. They didn’t have clothes on. George stepped behind her and wrapped his arms across her chest before someone started neighbor-spotting.

“Pinche Mierda. What’s happening?” she said. “Why is the army blowing up our neighbors?”

“Dunno.” he said. “They just woke me up. I’d ask but he keeps pointing a gun at me.”

He pointed at the nearest soldier, inadvertently uncovering a breast. She scowled and grabbed a curtain and covered her upper body.

Glass rained down around the phalanx of soldiers, who stood or knelt in indifference to it. Then the rain slowed, the tinkling ceased.

Silence.

Nobody moved, nobody talked. The gunfire didn’t return and no more glass fell. This time, however, nobody left their window.

Then a radio buzzed. The captain gave it a “Roger” and barked at the formations. The soldiers reshuffled to form a path between the lobby doors and the car. Whether it was a welcoming committee or someone’s final mile, George couldn’t tell. He nudged Rhea’s attention to the elevator as it opened and two grunts stepped out with the man in black in tow.

“I think that’s the guy in charge.” George said. “There’s someone else with them now. Those SWAT looking guys have guns trained on ’em.”

Rhea inhaled sharply. “How dangerous does someone need to be to get all this?”

An armed guard stepped aside to let his prisoner pass. She took a nervous step out into the street, into the spotlight and eyes of her neighbors, shaking hard enough she almost fell down the stairs. The man in black held out a hand to steady her and she gratefully accepted, allowing him to escort her to the car.

His prisoner was a little girl. She was hugging a teddy bear.

“I know it’s always is the last person you’d expect,” George said. “But I wasn’t expecting that.”

Behind the girl was a grown man and woman. All three were Asian, somewhat oriental. A family. They shivered on the sidewalk in their night clothes, each carrying a hastily packed suitcase. The girl cried and her father took her bag. Her mother hoisted her up on a hip.

“That’s David Yao.” Rhea said. “I was just talking to him the other day.”

George squinted at him, hard. “Did he mention there was a warrant for his arrest?”

“He was talking to everyone. His daughter just got into some genius school. Full scholarship, everything.”

The captain held the car door open and ushered the Yao family in while a grunt placed their bags in the trunk. David turned to the suit.

“You don’t want my help,” he said. “You got a hundred people down here and they’re all covered in glass.”

The man in black whispered into David’s ear.

“You’re right, you’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.” David said, and handed over a shotgun before entering the vehicle.

The car doors closed and the soldier aiming at George relaxed his weapon. George let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Maybe she cheated on the entry test.” he said. “Or maybe this is genius school transport. You know how public schools get the old yellow bus? She gets a limo with armed escort.”

Rhea nudged his arm with her head. Outside, the captain shouted and his soldiers filed back into the trucks. The tanks at the fore turned their guns forward and churned right along the promenade, followed by the trucks, armored car, and the other two tanks. Their departure caused significantly less damage than their arrival. There was nothing left to break.

“Well that was fun.” George said. “Me go sleep now.”

He kissed Rhea’s forehead and plucked his phone from the floor. It was half five. If he slept now, there’d be a whole hour before he needed to rise. Rhea flopped onto her side of the bed with a bewildered expression, then sat up and furrowed her brow.

“What was all that about?”

George shrugged. It was too early for speculation and theory. The nocturnal activities of the military could wait until he was awake enough to process it. Until then, he was content to slip a hand around her waist, guide her to a soft pillow and into a softer embrace. An hour was all he needed. One hour to snooze with the woman he loved in his arms.

“I can’t sleep now.” Rhea said.

George sighed. “C’mon. Gizza try.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Mmmportant?”

“Just, just stuff I need off my chest.”

George took his hand off her breast.

She flicked his arm. “I know lately I’ve been more, what’s the word? Clingy? Maybe needy.”

“Nah clnggie. You fine. Shleep.”

“And I don’t want you feeling smothered.”

He pushed her onto her own pillow and turned away. “Nahh smurghhh.”

Rhea reached round and flicked his nose. He batted her hand away and she laughed. Then stroked his hair.

“Joder, you pulled me down when the guns went off.” She said. “That means a lot. Everything, actually. Thank you.”

“Yuh…walcumnn. Muah.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. You don’t make me feel coddled while at the same time you make me feel safe. If papi had his way, I’d be on a mantle like a, like a porcelain doll, but you never treat me like I’m fragile.”

“Me big hero. You safe…no is porcupine doll.”

“George, please listen to me. Something’s going to change.”

He groaned and forced an eye open. She turned away from his gaze.

“Either you’re fishing for a proposal or you’re about to dump me,” he said. “And after getting that rude awakening, either’s fine if it means I don’t need to worry about sleep deprivation. But could we maybe do it at a more civilized hour? Preferably after a double dose of caffeine.”

She smiled softly. “No, you silly ape. It’s not that. It’s just I want to stop doing this, you know?”

“Talking? Good idea. If we stop now we can catch another fifty minute’s sleep. That’s forty whole winks and ten. I’ll start.”

She pulled the bedcover off him. “Be honest, don’t you think we’d be better off not sneaking around all the time? Wouldn’t you love to be able to come through my front door instead of the window each night?”

“And ruin all the mystery and romance?”

“I’m serious. I want to tell papi about us.”

George opened his other eye and sat up. “Oh, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Hi, Mr. Cheppard! I mean, Pastor. I’m dating your daughter. How long has this been going on? Ooh, over a year and a half, now. We would’ve told you sooner, but secret relationships, full of distractions and all that. But don’t you go losing any sleep or any more of your hair over this. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, at least in public, and my intentions are almost noble.”

Rhea punched him in the thigh.

“Stop it. I’m not like you. I can’t just accept what’s around me. I need to know we’re going somewhere.” She sighed and buried her face in her hands. “George. The fun’s stopped being fun. It stopped being fun months ago. It’s work now. I mean, you’ve never even seen what’s outside my bedroom door.”

He stroked her chin with a single finger and pulled her face up to meet his. Her eyes glistened and he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her in tight and kissed the top of her head. Then rested his chin there.

“That’s not true.” he said. “I’ve seen your bathroom.”

“This is you being serious, is it?”

“Okay, seriously, I never saw your bathroom. I peed in that fichus or whatever you have growing in that pot in the hallway. You have a lot of doors out there and they were all closed. What if I chose the wrong one? How’d it look if I burst in on your dad? And how’d it look if my bladder burst straight after?”

A soft knock on the door interrupted before she could respond.

George winced. “Speak of the devil.”

He sprang from the sheets and gathered his clothes, eyes wide, vision still blurred. He held the bundle and looked for a hiding spot. His backpack lay against the bed, and he shoved his belongings and boots inside.

“Why does the Cheppard always check on his lamb at the most ridiculous times?”

Rhea’s face was pale in the dark. “This is not how I wanted him to find out.”

“Darling?” Cheppard called from the hallway. “Are you awake?”

Rhea slapped her forehead.

“No? No dad.” she said. “Try again later.”

“I need to see you.”

“Why? It’s too early.”

“It’s important.”

George stuck his head out the window. Shards of glass littered the drive and splinters lay on the ledge. He needed shoes and realized he’d buried them in his bag. There was no time to change.

“What are you doing in there?” Cheppard called.

Rhea’s head spun. “Hang on. I’m just looking for my dressing gown.”

George looked around.

“Hiding spot?” he hissed.

Rhea pointed to the closet. He jumped over the bed and opened the door. Then closed it again.

“There’s no room in there! How many clothes do you own?”

“Under the bed, then!”

He flattened himself on the floor and slid his bag in. A second later he stood, one hand clenched and the other pinching between his eyes.

“You have more shoes down there than my entire family own.”

Rhea’s dad knocked again. “Darling, I’m afraid this can’t wait. I’m coming in.”

The doorknob turned. Rhea and George froze. Its rotation passed fast and took forever. Her dad was about to walk in on her and her lover. His innocent daughter and the naked boyfriend he didn’t know existed. Naked together. In his house. In the nude.

Rhea hid her face behind her hands. She couldn’t meet her father’s face. She couldn’t face what it would say.

The door creaked open, long and loud. She squeezed her eyes tight as her dad walked in, his footsteps somehow heavy on the soft carpet, muffled thumps matched by her heart. He stood at the edge of her bed and glowered.

“I thought you were looking for a dressing gown?”

She splayed her fingers and peaked out between them. Her father loomed over her, looking concerned, looking at her. Looking…alone. George was nowhere to be seen.

Rhea felt a laugh bubble up inside, swallowed it back and pulled her covers across her shoulders, doing her best to look like someone who’d just been woken from a deep sleep.

“You just woke me from a deep sleep,” she said.

“It couldn’t have been that deep,” her dad said. “I could have sworn I heard talking.”

Rhea tried to smile. “Everyone talks in their sleep sometimes. Especially when they have very conversational dreams. I dreamt I worked in telemarketing.”

Her dad glanced down at the foot of her bed and reached for something drooping out from her duvet.

“Why are there boxer shorts in your bed?”

He held it out between two fingers and dropped it on the floor next to her. Rhea stared at George’s underwear as her dad nudged it with a slipper.

“Those aren’t boxers?” Rhea said.

“Yes they are.” Cheppard said. “I know men’s underwear when I see them, young lady. I’ve been wearing them all my life.”

She leaned down and pulled them under her covers.

“These are actually after-bathing, pre-sleep comfort loungers. Actually.”

He frowned. “After what loungers?”

“After-bathing, pre-sleep comfort loungers. You wear them between the bath and bedtime. Honestly, do men not know anything about fashion at all?”

A creak interrupted her dad’s reply and his eyes narrowed, darting to her closet. The door was slightly ajar. He pulled it open, gave her a grimace and rummaged through her clothes. Behind him, between the door he’d just come through and the wall it opened onto, George’s head slid out. Rhea’s eyes widened. Her dad had walked past him in the dark. If he turned, George was dead.

“Um, was there any particular reason you wanted to talk so early? It’s…” she lifted her phone off the side and checked, suddenly aware George’s was still lying next to it. “It’s not even six yet, dad.”

Cheppard stopped rummaging. Behind him, George slid out from his hiding place, still nude and mouthing praise to the carpet makers for its sound absorbing plushness as he tiptoed around the door to the hall.

Cheppard pointed out the window. “I was in the chapel when some soldiers burst in and demanded nobody leave. At gunpoint! They wouldn’t even let me across the alley, back to here. And there were tanks outside. Tanks! We might be being invaded. Don’t tell me you slept through all that?”

“I may have felt some faint rumblings filter into my dreams,” Rhea said. “But then I’ve also had that happen when you snore. From the other side of the house. That’s two doors down on the left, opposite side to the bathroom.”

George turned round to go the right way. He gave her a thumbs up as he snuck back across her door.

“My snoring never did this.” Cheppard said, pointing to the mess of fallen possessions. He looked out the window. “They were shooting as well. Oh, look what’s happened to our photograph. This was the last we took as a family before your mother passed. All our faces are squished. Leave it for now, there’s broken glass on the window ledge. Are you sure no shards flew in? No stray bullets?”

Rhea checked her body. Then she checked the floor.

“I’ll watch my step in the morning,” she said. “And as for bullets, I’d probably be screaming for an ambulance if I’d been hit.”

“You could have been killed.”

“And then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now papa, I’m fine. Can you please let me sleep. There’s less than an hour left before I have to get up and I really want some peace and quiet. I’ve been answering calls all night, you know.”

“You’re quite sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing dangerous in here. No tanks, no bullets, no monsters in my closet. Good night.”

Cheppard’s expression was unreadable in the dark, but he shook his head and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, darling. Sorry I woke you. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Go back to sleep.”

“Thank you, papi. And can you please shut the curtains on the way out?”

“Of course.”

He kissed her forehead and reached for the curtain, then stopped to poke his head out the window.

“I think there’s a hobo climbing on our bins.” he said. “I can’t see his face but, good god, I think he’s naked!”

He banged on the pane. The figure outside froze.

“You, there! Get lost!” Cheppard said. “I’ll call the police!”

He latched the window and drew the curtains tight, then checked the hallway.

“Oh, god, I left the back door open. He could have gotten in!”

As soon as he left her room, Rhea rolled out of bed to grab George’s bag and darted to her window. She opened it again and leaned out.

“El jefe’s coming!” she hissed, and threw the backpack. “I think he’s really calling the cops.”

George caught the bag and blew her a kiss, and ran without a word back. Bemused smokers still at their windows caught sight of the nude man hopping between clear patches on a road frosted with glass shards. He avoided eye contact with them, not that he needed to. None of their eyes were on his face.

“Stop him!” came a scream, and George glanced back. Rhea’s dad stood at his door, shaking a fist or a phone at him. “Stop that man, he’s a deviant!”

George muttered under his breath. “What a way to start the day.”

He cleared the spill of glass and hit the promenade road, clutching his backpack to his crotch and hopped the seawall to the hopefully dry beach below. Rhea doubled over in laughter at her window as the man she loved disappeared from sight, naked as the day he was born, save for the sack covering the last of his shriveling dignity, and as her dad screamed from the backdoor between their house and his chapel, and her neighbors gave up any attempt to salvage one last hour in bed, she joined them in cheering George’s latest escape.

And in the distance, as if to remind her their luck wouldn’t always last, sirens began to wail.