23: George – Terra Firmament

George and Rhea left her room, treading carefully through the shattered memories of her rekt home. She took little. Her father’s photo album. Her hard drive. Warm clothes, “just in case,” and whatever could be salvaged from the fridge. George excavated the fichus from under the hallway carpet and left it by her window in the hopes it would get enough sun.

They slipped down the underside of the hallway stairs, averting their gaze from the splintered doors of her former neighbors. Neither wanted to see what lay beyond, and a rhythmic bang called them away. It echoed up from the attic, vibrating the metal banisters of the central stairwell. The rungs hung from above, ringing a gentle tone in the empty corridor, distracting enough that George tripped over the tangle of pipes and wires on the bare ceiling twice.

When they slid down the underside of the last set of stairs, they found half the survivors hanging out on the top floor. Some had stayed in the first apartment to keep watch on the bridge, while others had taken to exploring the rest of the condo. Cynthia sat on the lintel of the furthest door and refused anyone entry.

“What’s with standing sentry?” George asked.

“I think it’s best nobody else goes in.” She told them. “Your man Holden had to drag the guys who went in here down to the attic to work off what they’d seen.”

“Is it bad?”

Cynthia shook her head and pointed to a square hole leading down. “I ain’t going in to find out. Ask your man down there.”

Rhea stepped past three survivors spread out in the passage. They were draped over pipes and fittings, clearly uncomfortable, yet clearly lacking the motivation to do anything about it.

“What’s wrong with everyone?” she said “Altitude sickness?”

“Nah,” a man said. “Air pressure seems stable now, and we’ve been breathing it since the Rapture started. If it was altitude sickness, we’d have seen symptoms sooner.”

The man from the beach stepped over the top of an apartment door and shook her hand. He’d found some clothes. A red Hawaiian shirt with white dots and some loose jeans. He had no shoes, though, just a pair of black socks. He’d slicked his hair back.

“We never formally introduced. I’m Eddie.” Eddie said. “And I’m thinking the headaches and cotton mouth we’re all feeling are something a little more mundane. Withdrawal, most likely.”

“Withdrawal? I don’t take drugs?” Rhea said. “It could just be dehydration.”

“I was talking about regular drugs, babe, like sugar or caffeine. Do you have any idea how much is in everyday products? You’re an addict. We all are. It was just so readily available we didn’t notice we had a problem until our supply was cut off.”

“You don’t seem so withdrawal-ly.”

He thumbed back at the apartment. “Found peanut brittle in there. Had me a fix. Want some? I’m passing it round. Ladies first, of course.”

He offered Rhea the brittle and she took a snap. George took one, too, and knelt to peer into the attic. Unlike the rest of the building, there were no stairs leading into it. The attic entrance was just a hole in the ceiling. He dipped his head in.

The upside-down attic was cramped. The underside of the roof formed a pinched valley, the center of which was a mess of crates and boxes and discarded furniture from residents past. Dimly lit by a candle and someone’s phone flashlight, Cheppard stood at one end, arms folded, while Holden stood on a box, yelling at two men at the opposite end to kick harder.

“Put your backs into it!” he screeched. “Do you want to spend another second above the same roof as those bodies? That mangled flesh? All those crushed bones? I don’t know about you, my friends, but I’ll be having nightmares about that for hours.”

“Holden!” George called. “What are you doing?”

Holden looked up. “Well, well, well, Pastor. Your prodigal son in-law returns. And where have you two lovebirds been, consummating your marriage? If so, may I express my profound disappointment in the shortness of time you took, although given our circumstances, perhaps it’s understandable.”

“We consummated long before we got married.” Rhea said behind George, patting her belly. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Thank you,” her dad said. “I don’t need another graphic explanation of your predicament. Your husband’s was enough of one last time he was here.”

A cheer rose from the opposite side of the attic, as a man’s foot punched a small hole through the brickwork.

“Yes!” he said. “I did it!” I’m the best!”

“Congratulations.” Holden said.

“Someone help me get my foot out.”

Holden pulled on his arms and the other man pulled on the stuck foot.

“Fuckballs, my knees are starting to hurt.” He said.

“Then rotate out.” Holden told him. “Get your friend’s leg free, then call the next lot in there to start kicking to their heart’s content.”

Hurt Knees yanked Stuck Foot’s foot. With a grunt, both men fell backwards and landed on a dusty suitcase. The case cracked.

“What was that?”

A blinding beam shot through from under the case. Hurt Knees hopped over his friend to grab onto the hole, while Freed Foot floundered and scrambled to get up. He put a steadying hand on the case, and it cracked again, this time crunching through the thin crust of the roof. Splinters of thinned tiles fell away into the sky, and Freed Foot fell with it.

“Hold me!” he screamed.

Knees grabbed him and held on, and Holden barreled through the rest of the junk to join them. Together, both men pulled their comrade back up.

“You guys go back up.” Holden said. “Take a break. You did a great job, but you’re getting tired, and I think we need to clear this path if we’re going to get any of this done safely.”

Foot and Knees agreed, and climbed up the fallen crates. With the extra light from the hole, George could see they’d stacked the crates to form large, crude stairs back up to the lower floor. He offered a hand through the hole and passed them on to Rhea for counseling.

“I’ll volunteer.” Eddie said. My legs can handle a few rounds.”

He went down and joined Holden, kicking the looser bricks to widen the hole. George dropped in and gave the Pastor a nod, but got no reply. Another crack and Holden cheered as the kicked wall finally gave, and a large section, the height of a man, fell away, revealing another, almost identical attic beyond.

“Aha!” Holden said. “We’ve progressed to level two. Perhaps I can persuade young George here to take the next turn?”

“Sure.” George said. “But I’m gonna suggest we drop everything in here out that hole first. It’s kinda a hazard being cramped in here.”

“Good idea. Fireman style?”

George tossed him a dusty suitcase. “Down the hatch.”

George pointed to a box by Eddie’s feet. He tossed it over and George tosses it at Holden, who in turn tossed it down the hole. With the attic cleared, they entered the next one and repeated the process. Rhea dropped in to help, as well, along with two more volunteers. Together, they formed a chain throwing everything out the hole.

“You might wish to be more careful, doing that.” Cheppard said. “You’ve been chipping the edges of that hole with each throw. If you keep that up, we’ll soon have more hole than roof.”

As if to emphasize his words, a blast of sunlight seared into the attic as a patch of weakened roof crumbled away. Rhea screamed a loud “Fuck!” and the line of volunteers shouted and pushed past each other to reach the crate stairs.

They clawed and crawled up and over each other, and George shoving them up faster to get Rhea up next, practically throwing her through the attic entrance while Eddie clambered up after him. Only Holden and Cheppard stood their ground in the middle of the attic roof.

“You claim to be able to save us, Mr. Crayson.” Cheppard said. “But it seems your acolytes have their doubts.”

“And very sensible of them all to have said doubts.” Holden said. “I claimed to have a plan. Unforeseen circumstances, however, I defer to the individual’s survival instincts.”

Cheppard scoffed. “How convenient. You might as well have said management takes no responsibility for any lives lost during this performance of yours.”

Holden stomped on the roof’s central beam.

“These houses were old when the stone melted, and the wood was dry enough to soak up the liquid tiles. That makes them stronger now, like welded steel. See?”

He grinned at Cheppard, a near triumph ruined only by the widening hole underfoot. The crack crackled and grew, and the smirk on Cheppard’s face rose while Holden’s dropped. In a rush of wind and dust, the entire roof around them dropped as well. It fell away in two sheets of planed stone, leaving Holden and Cheppard standing on nothing but a thin wooden girder suspended over exposed sky.

Cheppard didn’t even blink. “Like welded steel, Mr. Crayson?”

Holden wedged himself between a triangle of wooden struts, the only structural support the central beam had left. He hyperventilated as he processed the transformation of the seemingly safe cocoon into a thin bridge hanging miles above the clouds. Holden looked up at Cheppard.

“I suppose you expect me to take that as a sign from below?” he said.

“Only if you admit three times is a pattern.”

“Well, it’s a little different from the world ending. This is local. Not a global event at all. If three’s a pattern, this is just the first to watch out for.”

“Ugh. None are so blind as those who refuse to see. What will it take to make you see, Mr. Crayson?”

“Three’s a pattern, eh? And two’s a coincidence. I haven’t even seen that yet.”

Behind Holden, the next door roof peeled off as well, following the Cheppard’s into the sky. It took the rest of the street’s with it. Cheppard simply raised his eyebrows.

“I believe that was your second example.”

Holden nodded. “Still just coincidence.”