35. George – Family Matters

The crowd gathered around the window in shared shock and a silence broken only by gasps when someone remembered to breathe. The remaining half of the bridge swung on frayed cables, it’s poles wrought out of shape and still burning in chemical fire. Despite the smoke stinging his eyes, George refused to face the eyes at his back. He kept his locked on the physical flames, unable to bring himself to watch the hope he’d kindled in others flicker out with it.

The snap of a cable snapped Holden’s eyes to the knots. He shook Cazz and Laura and Eddie, and clamped their hands around the last support line and told them to heave. They reeled the burning remains back up and slid it into the corridor. What was left sticking out the window spanned barely half it’s former reach and the metal had cracked into smoldering spines.

The crowd appraised what was left of their lifeline, wondering if it could be used again. Yet even those who’d worked in construction couldn’t picture it, and Holden’s outcry only sealed the facts. Their bridge was gone

One by one, they left it where it stood. The survivors filed back through the corridors, back to the atrium, away from the broken promise.

It took one kick, a single cry of frustration and a swift boot to the back of a lopsided chair. It sailed across the hole and splintered against the side before its plastic pieces rained out into the winds. Then another hand snatched up a plate of stone-encrusted food and breathed heavily before hurling it the same way. It shattered in the same spot and was joined by another chair, another plate and yells and screams and roars, then tables and whatever else people could get their hands on. They tore at everything. And when the room was empty, the last survivor threw their dead phone at the sky and slid to the ceiling, back to the wall and cried.

Cheppard’s inner circle watched from the edges. Only when he was sure it was safe to enter did he lead his flock to the other side. They followed him past the collapsed rioters, single file, each carrying a small fire in various containers. They left them close to the edge of the circle of sky, away from the angry lashings of feet, and congregated on the opposite side of the hole where Cheppard stood waiting.

“Please, take a seat.” he said.

His flock sat cross legged where they’d stood, looking up expectantly. The pastor stood framed against an arched window, body flickering between the dim light of the fires and a silhouette against the upturned city. He clasped his hands, and with nothing else to distract them or give them purpose, with nothing else to hope for, the rest of the room listened as he led the circle in prayer.

George followed Rhea as she made her way around the crowd and took a place by her father’s side. He kissed her forehead and she knelt beside him, a finger tracing her belly lightly. George stood on the side, in the shadows to give her space. The Cheppard tipped a slight nod in his direction before facing the expectant faces.

Only one man had stayed behind, and through the rebar, George saw Holden kneel as well, gripping the scaffold tight enough to turn his knuckles pale, and then hit it with the underside of his fists, before sagging back with a roar through equally clenched teeth and eyelids. Holden sat alone in the dark.

As the darkness deepened, what passed for the night wore on. Cheppard’s flock sat attentively at his feet, higher in number than the previous day. They listened as he preached the Good News of the Rapture, the pastor talking until the last little fire threatened to die. Only when he noted their recurring yawns did he wind down to a close.

“Our leaders have failed us,” he said. “The idea of building this highway through hell was heresy, but I believe it wasn’t a conscious lie. We all seek comfort, something to focus on to avoid looking Truth in the eye. And it’s understandable. Truth is scary. Truth is inconvenient. Discomforting. Sometimes the truth is painful. But it never stops being the Truth and you can try to escape it, build as many bridges as you can, but the lies will always burn themselves out.”

As if to add gravitas to his words, the final fire did just that. It dimmed and flickered and faded into smoke. In the following stillness, Cheppard stepped down and kissed his daughter’s hand before offering her back to George. His audience unfurled their inflatables and found corners to curl up in, his final words echoing in their minds. Within minutes, most were asleep.

Jamie nestled in his dinghy above Zeke and Cynthia’s lilos. Cheppard’s silhouette gave George a small nod and wandered off to wind down from his sermon. Rhea took George’s hand and pulled him the opposite way.

“Since we don’t have a bridge to maintain,” She said. “Can I have some time with you?”

He let himself be led around the darkened den, back out to explore their new surroundings. From the above corridor, Holden’s arm reached through the rebar. He’d collapsed in an exhausted heap next to his bridge. They ducked past it, taking measured steps to navigate the curve of support arches and light fixtures. Dim slices of daylight cut through from underfoot, leaving beams across otherwise blacked out walls. Twice, Rhea’s foot slipped through the spaces between the metal grids, but her determination paid off when they reached the other end of the corridor. A sign, still legible in the grime and twilight, rewarded them with their location. George bent over to read it from between his legs.

EXHIBITIONS ⬆️ TOILETS
⬅️ GIFT STORE – CAFÉ ➡️

“Wait, this is the Museum.” George said. “You used to drag me here all the time. Didn’t they have vending machines on the other side?”

“Think it’d be bad if we got some snacks?” Rhea said. “I haven’t had anything to eat but stale chips.”

“I had some stale bread.”

“Oh, and one piece of candy from the witch with the cat boy.”

“We can have first refusals, like a reward for bringing food back to the others.”

“That makes sense. We need to eat before everyone else so we have the energy to bring the food to them.”

They scurried along the edges of the hallway, dodging loose mason gloop and the larger holes. They made their way through the gift store. Any hopes they had of finding something worth saving there was buried along with the merchandise. A coating of melted concrete covered everything.

Beyond the gift store, the building had been climate controlled, a regulated interior shell of metal beneath a stone façade. Its shape had kept for the most part, and they walked the pathways of the iron support structure. The bronzed lattice of pipework and columns and rigid triangles bore them over missing spans of blacked lead, outlined against the red glow of clouds below. George looked away from the drop and whistled at the overhead.

“Hey, look up there.” He said. “All the exhibits cases are empty.”

Rhea wrapped her arm around a pillar and swung across a small gantry before looking up. “Aww, the Iguanodon skeleton’s gone. It always looked so majestic.”

“You know, I don’t think it fell. Didn’t it sit above the main desk? There’s no hole under it. Or dinosaur bones.” He pointed to the ceiling. It was smooth and clear of debris. “Think they stashed it in a vault for safekeeping?”

“I bet it was the Kinsley Foundation.” Rhea said. “They took it all the treasures with ‘em.”

The achievements of Shipyard Bay’s past were gone, leaving bare platforms, most of which had melted and fused to the floor. As with the island’s classic efficacy, the rows where they hung at first looked like a maze, but on closer inspection, were simple loops, linear pathways leading back to the main hub.

“These are heretical writings.”

Cheppard’s voice echoed from across the room. “This whole place is a shrine to heretics.”

He stepped out from the darkness holding a warped sign, a display explaining the simplified origins of the universe. The piece was titled Let There Be Light.

“Hey dad.” Rhea said.

George gave a half wave. “Padre, didn’t see you there.”

Cheppard dropped the board through a hole and strode down a support beam with the confidence of a man on solid ground. He opened his arms and patted both his daughter’s shoulders simultaneously. “Out for a romantic stroll, are you?”

Rhea actually blushed. “This is more a stroll down memory lane.”

Cheppard put a hand on George’s shoulder as well. “I see you kept your end of our understanding. When my daughter took her place at my side, you took your place by hers. That’s honorable. I won’t forget that.”

George gave him a dismissive nod. “Well, when you’ve hit rock bottom.”

“What understanding?” Rhea said.

“Your husband here promised he’d take care of my little girl in every way possible, and I count the spiritual among that. And when it came down to it, he didn’t disappoint, otherwise I might be asking why he’s leading my daughter across a bunch of metal sticks in the middle of the night, but since he showed I can trust him, I’m just going to leave you two to continue whatever it is you’re doing.”

Cheppard walked past, humming a hymn to himself. George called after him before he disappeared back into the shadows.

“Hey, padre, Did you see any vending machines?”

. . .

There was something to be said for having no hope. Expectation rarely bested reality, but without any, reality was easier to manage. For the first night that week, the survivors slept. No nightmares plagued their dreams, no fits of despair threatened to drown them in tears, and nobody woke without a full night’s rest. After their exodus through twisted steel and winds of fire and ice, a night bugged out on an inflatable mattress held all the luxuries their former lives had been, and all they needed to match it now was a source of food.

When Jamie opened his eyes that morning, he fell straight into his routine. He checked his box and cuddled each kitten, letting them know he was still there, still providing. Only this time, they didn’t believe him.

“Ow!” he said, as Rover bit him. The fang drew blood and the cat immediately lapped it up. Jamie pulled his hand away and rummaged in his bag. “There’s no food for you.”

Across the room, Cazz and Laura shared a bar of chocolate. He picked up the box and made his way over.

“Do you guys mind giving a bit to the cats?” he said.

“Sorry kid,” Laura said. “Chocolate’s poison to kitties.”

He asked others, including the Cheppard, and when Cynthia woke, he asked for breakfast.

“Sorry, son.” She said. “All the food’s gone now.”

“But Fido and Rover will die. Nobody wants to give them food.”

Zeke tapped him on the head. “I found a dead seagull. Looks like it drowned in crap. Someone must have squatted over a hole while it was perched under, but we can pluck the feathers and cook it.”

Zeke lit a fire in one of the flock’s containers and ripped the feathers from the bird by the handful. When he tossed them in the fire, they burned hot and when the gull was bare, he roasted it by throwing it on the flames. Noses crinkled as the meat popped and its skin blackened. Zeke timed the roast to five hits from Shipyard Island’s answer to eighties power ballads, a former local band named RockSling, and fished the meat out with the heel of his shoe. Despite the cacophony of stomach rumblings, nobody took his offer for the first bite. The kittens, on the other hand, welcomed the meal, and Jamie hand fed them strips as soon as they were cool enough to touch.

“You saved them.” he said. “Thanks, Mr. Travers.”

“Y’know, you can call me Zeke.”

Cynthia leaned in to Zeke’s ear. “I think he’s imprinting on you. That’s impressive.”

As dawn grew into the overlong light of days and the emptiness of bellies rang for appeasement, the scent of Zeke’s charred, shit-soaked seagull became less repellent and soon lips were being licked as their owners gravitated towards him.
Zeke lifted the half gull left to his lips and made a show of biting into its juicy flesh. He murmured a soft “Mmmm…” with closed eyes, relishing every chew on the succulent, dripping meat that…

…spluttered out his lips and dribbled down his beard. He spat the mouthful out and dry heaved in front of his audience, then rummaged in his suitcase for something to remove what was left.

“Gyargh!” he said after swishing with a gin, then downed three mouthfuls. “Urgh! That tastes like shit. That tastes like shit actually smells.”

“I guess nobody would know that better than you, right dad?” George said, from the archway.

He’d taken off his top and tied the sleeves to form a makeshift sack. Rhea followed with his t-shirt tied in the same way. Both were bulging. She took one side of the chamber and George took the other, throwing what they’d found at each person. Zeke caught the small bag and read the label.

“Peanuts? Better than chips again, I suppose.”

George and Rhea dispensed the feast and passed each other, still with half a bag full. When they met up at the entrance again, every person present had a bag of peanuts and a can of soda.

Cheppard stood and clasped his hands together. “Since we have a decent meal this morning, perhaps we should take a moment to show our appreciation…”
Unlike the previous night, nobody paid him attention. In the light of day, sugary drinks and packs of salty goodness were all anyone could see or hear or taste or fixate on. The pastor’s words were drowned out by the crinkling of fingers in plastic packets and the gulping and burping of carbonated pop. He put in a token effort though, and then resigned to fill his stomach as well.

“Pastor, why not sit with us?” Cynthia said.

She ushered Cheppard to their fire and offered him a couple of candies from her stash.

You found more sweets, I see.” Cheppard said. “I thought they’d all been eaten.”
Cynthia waved off the comment. “Those are the last ones. I found them in the lining of my bag.”

“Well at least you had the sense to look. Most of us are running on fumes. I’m finding it harder to concentrate every day.”

“You trying to imply something there, preach?” Zeke said.

Cheppard shook his head. “Miss Benet has been a proud member of my congregation for years, Mr. Travers. I’m just glad to see her doing well.”

George and Rhea sat with Wendy, who practically drank the peanuts from the bag as easily as she did the cola.

“You two aren’t eating?” she said.

“We, uh, ate ours on the way back.” Rhea said.

“And we only had one each, just like all of you.” George said. “There were supposed to be fifty packs in the vending machines, but someone must have already eaten twenty of them.”

Rhea elbowed him in the ribs. Wendy chewed the larger nuts and gulped down the last of her can.

“Right. Well nobody’s gonna blame you if you wanted to take advantage. After all, you could’ve kept this all to yourselves and we’d be none the wiser.”

“George cocked a nod. “But we were busy thinking of all you guys.”

“And that’s why you went straight to your best friend first, right?”

“Who?”

“Holden. Your best friend. You helped him build the damn bridge to this place, dumb ass.”

Rhea’s face dropped. “We forget Holden.”

Wendy stood. “Hey, daddy-snatcher, gimme those candies.”

She stomped over to Cynthia and snatched the two candies from her and Cheppard.

“Excuse me, that was a gift.” Cheppard said. “You can’t take my present just because you want it.”

“You already ate. We got a malnourished engineer up there who needs food too.”

“Oh, him.”

Wendy whistled through her fingers and pointed a thumb at her dad. “George, bring Rhea over here. We’re having a family meal.”

She didn’t wait for any replies, just sauntered from the room and worked her way up to the lower floor. By the time she found her footing in the corridor of rebar and crust, Holden was up and waiting, having been woken by her shrill blast.

“Hey, you up?” Wendy said. “We’re having breakfast. I got a pair of right here just for you.”

Holden rubbed his eyes. “Tits?”

“Candy, numb-nuts.”

Holden shrugged. “Well, I had better plans, but then the world ended, so I suppose I could settle for you.”

She held up the candy pieces, two jawbreakers of bright, artificial berry flavor and colorings. She dangled them threateningly between her open lips.

“You settling for who now?” she said.

Holden put his hands up. “Don’t. Don’t eat them. I’m too weak to argue. You got me. You got me by my big blue balls.”

Back with the others, Zeke drained his gin and threw the bottle down the hole. He then reached into his case and unscrewed a whisky.

“Dad, we’re around company.” Wendy said.

“Oh, sorry.” Zeke said, and held it out. “Did you all want some?”

“Tell me, when did you start drinking?” Cheppard said.

Rhea rolled her eyes.

“Can’t rightly remember. Don’t want to.”

“I do.” Cynthia said. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Organizes your thoughts.”

“It ain’t a pretty story.”

“Let it out anyway. Make peace with your past.”

Zeke stared through the glass. “Ah, what the hell. It ain’t like we got much time left anyway.” He took a swig. “See, I always drank. Wasn’t ‘cos of problems, I just liked the buzz. But then I drove my wife out.”

George and Wendy perked their ears. They’d caught glimpses of their father’s past growing up, seen flickers break through his drunken hazes, but never the whole picture. It hadn’t occurred to them to ever ask.

“We had a rough argument over some trivial stuff like finances and a lack of sleep. We just had this new baby, see? My little Wendy here. Named after my wife’s maid of honor, not that we ever saw her again after the wedding. Ugh, she just wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Um, sorry?” Wendy said.

“So the first night I got some freedom back, my best friend’s bachelor party. His name was George. And I went all out. Who knew when I was gonna have a night out again? So I drank.”

“And what happened?”

“Nine months later, I found out he killed himself before the wedding. I learned it from his fiancée when she cornered me at the funeral to introduce me to my second born.”

“Jesus H Christ.” Holden said. Cheppard shushed him.

“I don’t remember much. Old George found me and his missus fooling around, went speeding off a hundred times over the limit, and then she had the great idea of naming this bastard after him. And what was I supposed to do? She was in no fit state to look after a baby. And it was all I had left of my best friend.”

Everybody turned to face George. He visibly trembled, knuckles white, staring straight into his dad’s face.

“I took the kid home, explained it all to my Carolina. She didn’t say anything, just locked me out of the bedroom. So I had a drink or six and when I woke up, her and the kids were gone.”

“You never told us.” Wendy said. “I don’t even remember mom, why didn’t you tell us? How the hell did we end up back with you again?”

“I was alone for almost two years. Almost got over it. But then she dumped you both at my doorstep and left to get remarried. Start again without any reminders of her mistakes. Of me. ‘cos that’s what my life is, y’know? A mistake. It’s all I make, it’s all I am. That’s why I drink.”

Rhea squeezed George’s arm, but he shrugged her off and stood and punched his dad in the side of the head and stormed off.

Wendy got up to follow her brother. “You’re a grade-A cunt, dad.”

“To screwing up bad.” Zeke said, and downed the bottle.

Holden and Rhea trailed the Travers siblings to the back of the café, hovering at the door as heated hisses spat within. When Wendy stormed out, she tagged Rhea on the chest and told her “Your turn,” and marched Holden off to work out her frustrations on.

He was led to another room and used as her personal sounding board. Rhea took a deep breath and ducked into the café. George stood at the edge of a window, leaning out.

“Sweetie,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re feeling right now.”

“Fuck off, Rhea.”

“George…”

“I mean it. Get the fuck out. Nothing you can say is gonna make me feel better so what the hell are you even gonna try? Give up now.”

“George!”

He punched a menu board on the side of the window. The wood split in half.
“Fuck. Off.”

Rhea fled. She stumbled backwards out of the room and tripped over Eddie and a girl he was talking with.

“Hey, watch it!” the girl said.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, Rhea?” Eddie said. He stood and steadied her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” She said, and walked away. Her foot caught on the dress of the girl and her hands windmilled as she fell towards the hole. Eddie caught her again.

“Hey, Ursula, wait for me here.” He told the girl. “I just want to make sure she gets back in one piece.”

He took Rhea around the hole, back to her dad’s side where Wendy and Holden had already returned. Eddie sat her down and handed her the last sip from his soda. He didn’t leave until she stopped shaking.

“Thanks for breakfast.” He told her. “Best meal I’ve had in days.”

She nodded a numb response and laid back against the wall. Only when Jamie spoke the third time did his words sink through.

“I said,” he said. “Do you think that means your boyfriend’s dad won’t like me?”

“What?” Rhea said. “No. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Mr. George isn’t his son and he hates him.”

Rhea brushed her hair from her eyes. “Who, Zeke? George is his son. It’s just he’s a reminder of some painful memories.”

“But he didn’t want to be George’s dad.”

“Do you want him to be yours?”

Jamie showed her the two kittens asleep in the box. “He made sure Fido and Rover ate when nobody else would. I bet he would have taken care of Rex, too.”

“Look, kid. I don’t want to talk bad about anybody, but Zeke Travers isn’t exactly the kind of man who puts taking care of others high on his priorities list. Would your real parents want you raised by some borracho?”

“I’m scared they’ll hate me. They might think I’m replacing them.”

Before Rhea could answer, her dad stood and screamed at Cynthia.

“What’s going on now?” she said.

“She’s been hording food.” Cheppard said. “While the rest of us are starving, she’s been hiding whole meals for herself.”

He kicked over her case and out fell over a dozen microwave meals, candy bars and soft drinks.

“Oh, my god.” someone said. “You bitch!”

“We’ve been starving and you had all that?”

“Do you know what I’ve had to do for just six mouthfuls of protein these past few days?”

The breakfast of salt and glucose after a full night’s sleep gave the people sufficient energy to rise. They turned on Cynthia, lurching around the hole with outstretched arms, snatching and grabbing and fighting for her stash. Twice she was spat on and someone kicked her in the ribs. The rest cast her death glares and stole what they could, with Cheppard baying for order. Zeke pulled Cynthia from their reach and barred her from attack with his body. His body odor did the rest.

George watched from the darkness as the survivors turned on themselves. A meal after a few days without real food was all it took to divide them. He gave them an unabashed sneer, let them know what he thought of them, and stomped down the hallway to find Holden.

The window where Holden had sulked was empty. The man was gone. So was the scaffold. George left the wing of the museum and crossed the support beams of the main building. With daylight streaming up, the path was clear, and a familiar clanging and scraping caught his ear from the opposite wing where the vending machines lay.

Holden sat on the flat metal ceiling with the remains of the bridge laid out in a line. Holden himself was dragging rolls of cables to add to the pile. Plaster caked the lengths of the wires and grooves in the walls showed where he’d dug them out. George watched him string the pipes together and swear at the mess for a while before stepping out to talk.

“It was a good plan while it lasted.” George said. “But maybe it’s time we give the padre his dues.”

Holden didn’t give George a glance. “Get me ropes. Anything like a rope. Get me that right now.”

“Holden, it’s over.”

“Do you hear Cynthia singing? Have you ever heard Cynthia even whistle? Or hum?”

“I heard her scream. And cry. What’s she got to do with anything?”

“She’s fat. She’s a fat lady, George, but she ain’t singing. So it ain’t over yet. Now. Get. Me. Some. Ropes.”

George left Holden to his ramblings but did as he asked. The sooner Holden saw it was pointless, the sooner they could all just curl up and starve to death. Maybe he’d even take Cheppard up in his offer. A plunge into the sky would be one hell of a way out. Instead, he returned with all the rope-like finds he could to the sight of Holden on a makeshift scaffold platform, unscrewing the bolts of an overhead staircase.

“If we loosen the bannisters of this staircase,” he said. “We’ll have replacement scaffold in a pinch. They’re virtually identical.”

“Our scaffold’s modern. Steel.” George said. “This stuff’s from a hundred years ago. Those are just basically iron bars painted to hide the rust.”

“Well it’s all I have. I am not letting that bastard win.”

Holden worked feverishly, grunting and muttering as he slid the thinner iron into the wider steel and lashed them together to make a flat platform. He extended it backwards, back across the length of the museum, over the supports and holes. Only when the sunlight was at its harshest and he reached the back of the café wing did he finally collapse.

“You take it from here.” He said.

George tapped the set of parallel rails Holden had assembled and stuck his head out the window. It was certainly long enough, but nothing more than a glorified ladder. He picked up the end and pulled. Only half the ladder moved.
Holden pried an eye open to assess the break. “I have something to tie those bits together.”

. . .

Holden hadn’t eaten. What limited sugar rush he’d gained from his jawbreakers had faded, leaving him running on fumes. He rested as long as he could, an entire half hour before he forced his adrenal glands into overtime. When he woke, George was issuing orders to Wendy, Eddie, Cazz and Laura. However, it seemed for every instruction he gave them, he got several conflicting arguments back.

Unlike the rigid style of their last bridge, their glorified stepladder waved in the wind and bent too far to aim properly. They held what they could of its shape with trio of cables hooked round an emergency exit on the ground above, while George and Eddie shoved the erection at their target. Holden staggered over and gave them a suggestion.

“Flip it in its side.” He said, swaying. “It’ll be stronger that way and easier to aim.”

He led them in rotating the stepladder, adjusting the slack in its support cables. Then with a push, they rammed it up the back door of a residential across the street.

“Well I’ll be the bitch of a son,” Wendy said. “You actually did it. Here’s me thinking you were all out of surprises.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Holden said. “It won’t be as strong as it has been, and the next road isn’t a back road. It’s one of the main circle streets. That’s why I had to make it so long.”

George crossed to the next block, reeling one cable at a time to secure them. When all three were anchored, he went back to round up the rest of the survivors while Eddie and the girls cleared a path through the residential block. They ignored the bodies sticking out from the walls and raided rooms for supplies. When a can of beans was found under a pile of broken wood, Wendy rummaged for the nearest can opener and returned across the street to pour it down Holden’s throat.

As he drank, all but the well deserved gulps Wendy awarded herself, George returned with Cheppard and Rhea in tow, and the rest of the survivors trailing behind.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Cheppard said. “That’s quite the tenacity you have there, Mr. Crayson.”

Holden stood, shaking at the knees but steadied by Wendy’s hand.

“Are we really going to do this again?” he said.

“Do what? You’ve given us yet another way forward, and we graciously thank you for it.”

Cheppard gestured to his flock, welcoming them to use it. One by one, they climbed the stepladder, leaving Holden, George and Wendy bewildered.

When it came to Jamie’s turn, Zeke took the cat box to free the kids hands. At first he scrambled across as fast as he could, but when the stepladder wobbled under his movements, Jamie froze, staring down through the rungs at the open sky.

After catching his breath, he took smaller, measured, controlled steps up the span of the street. If the previous bridge had been a frame for climbing, the stepladder was merely a stiff hammock. The others followed after, as quickly as the unsecure structure allowed. Rhea stayed until the end.

“This was the deal you made with my dad, right?” she said. “As long as you can keep us going forward, we will.”

“Funny.” George said. “He was quick to talk crap about us and what we were doing last night.”

“Last night he praised you for being honorable, remember? Now he’s trying to be the same. Why can’t you understand that?”

She shook her head at George and stepped onto the ladder. George grumbled under his breath and followed her up. As soon as they cleared the other side, Wendy pointed up and refused to budge until Holden was on the move.

Cazz and Laura had cleared a path through to the next building, creating their own short bridge out of a bedframe lodged between two back doors in a thin alleyway. The stepladder was dragged up and through the passage, out the alley and into the kitchen of a restaurant. The whole group was drafted into snaking it through the small gaps and out the restaurant’s front door. With everyone working to hold the cables and aim the ladder through the doors on the opposite side if the road, they were done in minutes.

“Amazing.” Holden said. “Without my uncle’s naysayers, we got here in record time, even without a fully functioning bridge.”

“Yeah, but it took you all day to build it.” George said.

“And if everyone had chipped in, it could’ve taken all of an hour. Besides, you guys got to eat. I didn’t.”

“Don’t worry, I sent Cynthia to look for food while we were lining the end up with that other restaurant. We might be able to have an actual meal this time. With plates and forks and everything.”

“You sent Cynthia to look for food? The fat lady who’s been stealing everyone else’s? Did you at least send someone with her?”

“My dad. All he cares about is booze, and I don’t think they serve anything he likes here. It’s all Indian food.”

“This place looks like the Taj Mahal. It’s weird. We’ve lived here our whole lives and we’ve never actually eaten at any of these places.”

“Speak for yourself. Me and Rhea ate out at every restaurant on the island when we first got together.”

When Cynthia returned with sad news that nothing edible had survived the inferno or melted stone, her claims were scrutinized and several second opinions launched their own investigation. She didn’t react or scowl or acknowledge the distrust, and simply climbed down the ladder to the next restaurant where others were waiting. The stepladder barely reached the other side and bent noticeably under her weight. Holden refused to let anyone cross together after seeing that.

“We didn’t have enough clamps after the fire, “Holden said. “So we’ve secured the rungs in tight bindings with wires. It’ll get you across, but the downside is it’ll only be safe for one person at a time.”

“Are you trying to tell me this bridge is held together with string?” Wendy said as she climbed onto the end.

“No, of course not. It’s electrical wire.”

When she reached the other side, Jamie handed his box to Zeke again and followed her down the ladder.

“This bit in the middle is string!” he called up.

“Rope.” Holden shouted back. “It’s clearly rope.”

Jamie poked the string. “I can’t breathe.”

“Just put one leg behind the other.” Holden said. “One hand lower than the other. I’m holding the bridge securely.”

“That child is not going to make it.” Cheppard said. “Young man, you’re closer to us. Come back. We’ll look after you.”

Holden ducked in front of the Cheppard. “Ignore him, kid. You have to move forward. You already know what’s back there and it’ll kill you. Head that way, at least there’s a chance.”

“Mr. Crayson, as commendable as your sentiments are, this is too much of a risk. This boy’s life is on you when your bridge fails.”

“Then he better get over there before it does.”

Jamie gulped and backed away from the string. He didn’t take his eyes off of it until his foot touched ceiling. Wendy scooped him up in her arms and he cried into her chest, hyperventilating as he shuddered through the tension, gagging as her cleavage blocked his airways.

“Not jealous of you at all, kid.” Holden said.

Wendy took Jamie to a corner and sat him on her lap. “Hey, it’s okay, you did great. That was really brave of you. And look, we’re already at Round the World Avenue.”

“I like the Island Buffet.”

Eddie sat with them and offered Jamie a sugar cube from bag he’d found. “I’m not from here. What’s Round the World Avenue?”

“It’s one of the circular streets that go right around the island. Basically a whole bunch of restaurants. Each one is supposed to be an authentic dining experience from a different country.”

Eddie picked up a menu and scrutinized the choices. “Is this supposed to be Australia? We’re inside a replica of Ayer’s rock. Are these real kangaroo steaks?”

“Oh, yes.” Rhea said, sidling next to them. She took Jamie’s hand and gave him a squeeze. “George took me here when we first started dating. He got me to try an Ostrich burger. He thought it’d be funny.”

“Why?” Eddie said.

“Because my name’s Rhea. Apparently that’s a species of Ostrich. Then he gave me the oh, so romantic nicknamed of My Little Cannibal for the next three months.”

“What happened after the three months?”

“He realized a quarter of a year had passed without me putting out.”

When everyone had joined them and Jamie stopped crying, half the group searched the restaurant for food while the other half worked the ladder to its next location. When they returned, a dozen survivors were tearing into the furniture in anger.

“I can’t help it.” Eddie said. “I’m hungry, we’re wading through a restaurant. There’s food rotting all around us, not a bite to eat. I went to that Mexican place, y’know, the one shaped like a tortilla sombrero? You can see it a few doors down. It had a fountain that looks like guacamole round it. First night here. Loved that whole tacky theme they got going on. Except now it’s a giant tortilla hat I can’t eat!”

“I went to that Island Buffet.” A familiar women said. “You could pick and mix between Hawaii, Japan, Britain, New Zealand, a whole bunch of islands you never heard of. Even Shipyard.”

“What did we ever make that people would want to eat?” Rhea said.

“Well, if you’re low on cash, they offered us something called the Shipyard Island Seamen Pie. It’s a puff pastry slit down the middle and pumped full of white fishy sauce. It’s kinda salty, but you get a lot of protein with each swallow.”

“You know what? I lost my appetite. You should tell that story to Cynthia.”

The woman waved a bottle of champagne she’d found in Eddie’s face. Rhea recalled her name was Ursula.

“Care to join me?”

Eddie tapped the bottle. “And exactly how did you find an intact glass bottle?”

“It was in the fridge. There’s more if anyone else wants some”

“Huh, the fridge must act as a sort of Faraday cage.” Eddie said. “Kept the glass from melting. I wondered how that drunk guys supply survived.”

Ursula leaned into his ear. “The champagne’s an excuse to get us some privacy.”

“Oh, right.” Eddie said. He gave Rhea an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go. Duty calls.”

Rhea was left alone, sitting in disgust while George and Holden unleashed the trove of drinks for the rest of the room.

“We got booze, we got pop, we got sparkling water and whatever this black stuff is.”

“That’s vinegar.”

“We even got vinegar if you want it!” George said. “Hey, you, camera kid, take a photograph of this Fanta.”

“Huh?” Jamie said. “Why?”

“I had a friend who’d appreciate the joke.”

“What joke?”

“It’s the last Fanta in the world. It’s the final Fanta, see? Hey? No? Don’t get it? Trust me, he’d have thought that was hilarious.”

Jamie photographed the distribution of the drinks stash and Cynthia found the only food unaffected by the world’s end.

Onions.

Cheppard relieved her of the stresses of organizing rations and distributed them evenly, He started with Zeke and Jamie, watching them scarf down the raw root veg, tears streaming down their faces, and when he was done, Cynthia was left with nothing.

“Why did you feed me first?” Zeke said through a running nose and streaming eyes. “I’d have shared my food with her.”

“I’m sorry. I assumed she’d hidden more.” Cheppard said.

George had half an onion left in his hand and offered it up, just as Eddie and Ursula rejoined the group.

“Did you two eat?” Cheppard said.

They hadn’t, and he took the remains of George’s onion for them to share. They thanked him after frowning at their ration and split it between them. The group was winding down and finding places to crash. When George lay next to Rhea, she stiffened under his touch and left to sleep alone.

They fell asleep exhausted. Wendy cradled Jamie while Rhea watched George accept half a quilt from Cazz and the last bite of Laura’s onion, before all three fell asleep snuggled up for warmth. Rhea sat beside Eddie and got a friendly hug in return.

“Your friend, Ursula, seems happy.” She said.

“I do my best.” Eddie said, without opening his eyes.

Back in their routine after the fire, the survivors washed their faces and hands with sparkling water and napkins, and fell asleep on bare mouthfuls of onion, stinking, crying and soon, snoring. They slept through a second peaceful night, finally able to get their work done without interference, ready for the oncoming days.

When they woke a few hours later, Zeke nudged Cynthia’s boob and stroked her hair. Without Jamie’s dinghy taking up the room between them, he pulled her in to a spooning embrace to show her exactly how he felt about her. When she didn’t reject his grinding, he dared to give her a kiss. She didn’t reject his lips on her cold skin, either. She didn’t react at all.

“Cythia?” Zeke whispered. He poked her, this time with a finger. “Hey, you awake?”

He shook her gently, then harder. When she didn’t wake, he shook her hard.

“Everybody get up!” he screamed. “I think she’s sick.”

A dozen heads snapped up from their lilos, eyes blinking, being rubbed as the minds behind them caught up with their body’s reactions.

“What?” George said. “Who’s sick?”

“Cynthia.” Zeke said. “I knew I should have fed her my onion.”

George and Cheppard stepped around the mess of half woken bodies and rolled her over. The smell of almonds and something sickly sweet wafted into their faces and stuck to the side of her face were three unmistakable wrappers.

“She’s dead.” Cheppard said.

“She ate Repose.” George said. “She swallowed some goddamn Repose.”