9: George – Shaky Foundation

9: George – Shaky Foundation

Syrcen Ragnarok

It was the waiting room that time forgot, devoid of chatter between patients and staff, sterile in emptiness rather than cleanliness. The reception desk sat unmanned. A large circle of unbleached paint stained the wall where an ostentatiously large clock no longer hung. Rhea stared out a window, shut in her head while George shook the bench opposite with a jostling knee and checked his phone for the upteenth time. Whatever the reason the clock was down, its absence of its ticking stretched their wait out to unbearable lengths.

“Weird traffic today.” he said. “Never seen the Promenade so full.”

“Mmm.” Rhea said.

“Side roads were surprisingly empty. Good though. We would have been late otherwise.”

“That’s why I wanted to leave early.”

“Still, a two hour trip? We could have walked here quicker. And you know I paid for the whole ride, right? Not asking for anything back, just want you to admit it was a responsible of me. More than just gentlemanly. You could even call it a dad move. Something you may want to consider before we head in.”

Rhea clenched her jaw.

George continued. “Speaking of which, you sure we’re meant to be here today? Only I haven’t seen a single person since we entered the building. Maybe it’s a sign we should reconsider everything, go back and talk like expectant parents.” He checked his phone again. “You know, that was an hour ago. In fact, the doctor’s the one who’s late now.”

“George?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Shut up.”

He shook his head.

“Sorry, no can do. Short of carrying you over my shoulder to drag you back to my cave, and I’d never do that in your condition, words are all I have to change your mind.”

Rhea twirled from her seat and pushed passed him. She hit the reception bell hard, then glared at him.

“Do you know what I was hoping when I called you earlier? I wanted you to talk me out of this. But you didn’t then, so why do it now?”

She smashed the bell again. George stood and stretched over to silence it.

“I told you. We just found out Chloe was alive. Good news, bad timing. But I’ve been thinking about us. Let’s do it, eh? Let’s have us a baby.”

 Rhea put her finger on the bell one more time.

“Let’s just see the consultant. I can’t make this choice alone.”

“You’re not. I’m here.”

“You panicked and left me in a power cut.”

 She pressed the button, this time gently, but there was still no reply. She rapped on the office door instead. When nobody answered that, George opened it. Then opened another.

“This place is empty.” He said.

Rhea peeked behind the desk. “Think they’re running late?”

George checked the consultant’s room. “Here’s empty, too. You sure this is where we’re meant to be?”

She held up her phone. “That’s what the text says. The appointment was an hour ago.”

“There’s literally no-one here. I’ve checked half the rooms. It’s all gone.”

“Maybe the fire alarm went off? You know, in another part of the building?”

“Aren’t you supposed to leave your belongings during a fire? It’s all gone.”

“Well, people don’t always follow the rules.”

“Yeah, but I can’t see them pocketing the desks and chairs. And filing cabinets? They’re heavy. Good luck stuffing those down your pants.”

Rhea checked another door. Sure enough, each room was bare. More unbleached paint held the imprint of furniture that had stood against walls or where pictures had hung. They tried the rest, opening each door in turn. Only the last room contained anything.

While the cabinets had been taken away, the files they’d previously held were piled unceremoniously in the men’s toilets.

“Next time,” George said. “We go to a more reputable consultant.”

Rhea’s file lay open near the top. Her appointment time, now lapsed, had been filed just that morning.

“George, I have a bad feeling about this.” she said. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not the only one. I’ve been asking that since yesterday.”

They held hands in the silent washroom, staring at the mound of papers with too many thoughts racing to form logical connections. Rhea shook in denial, breathing hard and fast. George squeezed her fingers. She didn’t pull away.

The wail of a guitar made her jump. George apologized and fished out his phone.

“Just Holden.” He told her, and answered. “Hey, bud, it’s not a good—”

Holden screamed at him. The muffled words echoed in the bathroom.

“What? Who shot you?” George said. “Why aren’t you at the cops? What? Seriously? Shit. Look, go to the Cheppard’s. A pastor has to give sanctuary. I’m sure! I dunno, heard it a movie. We’ll meet you there… Hello?”

The line died with a wince-inducing screech, its signal bars replaced by a small X. No dial tone waited when George called back.

“Right, we’re heading back to yours.” He told Rhea.

He led her from the toilets back to the waiting room.

“What’s happening?” she said. “Why does Holden need my dad to keep him safe? Did you say he was shot?”

“Yeah.” George said. “Something weird is going on today. Been going on all week.”

He kicked the doors open and pulled her outside.

“But the doctor?”

He gestured at the empty clinic. “I don’t think the doctor’s coming in.”

Placing a hand on her lower back, he gently nudged her until she kept pace. Two turns from the clinic took them to the Promenade, but the seaside arcade was unrecognizable, flooded with people screaming and fighting each other.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.” George said.

“Wait,” Rhea said. “If Holden’s hurt, I need to let dad know. He can help.”

“Something tells me ambulances aren’t making house calls today.”

“He knows first aid.”

She hit her dad’s name. Like George’s phone, she was met with no dial tone and an X’d out signal.

“I can’t reach him.” She said, then gestured at the crowd. “How are getting through this?”

“I’ll get us there,” George said. “Just follow my lead.”

He stood in front of her and placed her hands on his hips. Rhea kept a tight grip as he wormed his way through the crowd. Around them, black credit cards were waved and their owners screamed for the right to enter the overstuffed stores.

Lines of security guards pushed back against the tide of crazed shoppers. Some gave up waiting and smashed the windows, surging in to snatch anything on display.

Rhea swore as the flow of bodies threatened to tear her away. George shoved two looters aside to give her space, guiding her to an alcove between the back of a metal bench and a wall. He bounced back the worst of the crowd as they tore at each other for a few inches of progress while she texted her dad. When it didn’t go through, she tried messenger apps and the parish site. The apps didn’t load and the site was gone.

A young boy with a box fell at George’s feet. Three kittens mewled inside and George helped him up. The kid was missing his shoes. Before George could comment, a sneaker zipped past his nose and smashed against the wall, falling on Rhea. She cried out and covered her belly. The kid looked back and paled.

Two older boys pushed out from the crowd and hurled the second sneaker. George caught it, unwilling to let it hit close a second time. Patience gone, he grabbed the thrower’s collar, smacked his head into his friend’s and slapped him with the shoe. The child with the kittens thanked him and ran, collecting it and the one Rhea held on the way.

The first bully flicked out a knife.

“Don’t try that shit on me, kid,” George said. “I’ve been having the crappiest week of my life and I’ll still press charges after I wipe the floor with your ass.”

“Press charges? Fool ain’t heard!” the second boy said. “Cops are gone. Police were shut down last night.”

The first slashed at George, a scare tactic with no real force. George caught his wrist and pried the knife from his fingers.

“I just told you I’m having a bad fucking day,” George growled. “And if there’s no police, there’s nothing stopping me taking it out on you.”

He didn’t let go, twisted the guy’s arm and jammed the knife into the exposed bicep. The bully screamed and tried to pry it out. George twisted his arm back.

“Oh, my god!” screamed Rhea. “What are you doing?”

“What? He said there’s no police.”

“And you believe him!?”

“Of course I do. Look around.” George said, and smiled gently at the kid. “Leave it in ’til you find someone to treat it, ’cos guess what? The doctors are gone, too.”

He let the kid go and his friend pulled him back. They retreated into crowd, screaming threats and calling reinforcements. George weighed his odds against the number of heads answering and hoisted Rhea from the alcove, slipping her hands into his belt again.

“Alright, we’re going fast.” He said. “Do not let go.”

 He roared and charged through the crowd, Rhea screaming as he bulldozed a path through the shoppers and rioters, dragged along in the wake of his demented mini conga.

“What’s happening?” she said.

“The hell do I know? Its worse than Black Friday.” George shouted back. “Don’t lock your elbows but keep your arms tensed. I don’t want you squashing our baby into my ass.”

“For someone who doesn’t want to be a dad, you seem pretty protective of what I’m carrying!”

George shoved two men aside and kept running. “Says the woman who told me she wants rid of it? I never said I wasn’t gonna be a dad. I’m gonna do what’s right, but apparently that ain’t enough for you.”

Rhea screamed louder. “If I have a family, George, I want a family, not a, not a facsimile! If you’re doing this out of duty, that’s not love, it’s just chauvinistic tradition.”

“It’s keeping you alive, ain’t it?”

“Alive? You just made a knife toting gang wannabe want to kill us!”

“Well we’re not dead yet!”

He elbowed through the rows of people. Behind them, the looting grew more pronounced. The shoppers he bowled over focused their screams at their backs.

“They getting pretty angry.” she yelled.

“That’s the plan!”

They burst out from the crowd. Toppled shoppers swore and pulled themselves to their feet, their tangled limbs instantly filling the gap to make it impassable for anyone following. With their escape route self sealing with infighting, George pulled Rhea into a secluded alley to catch their breaths.

“Dunno about you, but it’s the sounds I don’t hear that worry me.”

“What sounds?” she said between hard breaths. 

He nodded at the chaos. “Sirens.”

 

 

The Cheppard paced in his chapel, unable to reach Rhea to warn her away from the promenade. When the first brick sailed through the window of a nearby store, he bolted his doors shut and stood sentinel, determined not to let his House fall. Then she screamed from the other side, pounding to be let in. He flung the doors wide and with her came Holden’s ward, the sensible young man he’d met the day before. They resealed the doors and he led them across the back alley, home, bolting that door as soon as they cleared the threshold. George collapsed on the carpet, wheezing while Cheppard pulled his daughter into a tight hug.

“Thank God you’re safe.” he cried. “When I saw the news, I tried to call you, but my blasted phone isn’t working.”

“I’m fine, daddy. I had George with me.”

Cheppard extended a hand to George.

“Thank you, young man.”

George hi-fived him.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Your girl watched my back the whole way. Did Holden make it?”

“He’s cleaning up.” Cheppard said. “I was going to call for an ambulance but there’s no dial tone.”

George shook his head. “All the doctors are gone. We were left in an empty clinic for an hour. Cops are gone, too.”

Holden appeared at the door, shoulders hunched. He looked rough.

“So are the prisons.” He said. “All the inmates were freed. City Hall’s been abandoned and our infrastructure’s gone.”

Cheppard led them to the lounge. The Curtains were drawn and they sat by the light of a candle. Rhea cracked a peek outside. Her dad pulled her back.

“Don’t draw attention.” He said. “It’s pandemonium out there. I don’t want any riffraff thinking our home is a target. Lord only knows what they’ll do to the chapel.”

“Maybe we should leave the island for a few days?” Rhea said. “See what happens?”

“Wouldn’t do any good, love.” Holden said. He flicked the TV on. “It’s everywhere. This is on every channel.”

He flicked through a dozen to emphasize the point. Each screen was identical, broadcasting a simple message in yellow on a black background.

*

*

*

All emergency and government services have been disbanded.

Tune in for further information July 27th, 15:00 local time.

*

*

*

Holden switched it off.

“The one who shot me was my cousin.” He said. “Until they were evicted from their cells yesterday, I was the only one in my family not serving time, and as soon as they were out they came looking for me. One found me today and tried to shoot me in the hospital. She almost got Chloe.”

His gaze went through the candle.

“How was she?” Rhea said. “Did you see her?”

“Chlo-Clo’s a tough bird. She’ll be fine. I took Cat’s advice and got O’Toole to press the Mayor for me. The ol’ lady got me in.”

“That’s good, what’d she say when she saw you?”

“Fuck off, Holden.”

George nodded. “Ah, affectionate as ever.”

“She’s getting top treatment, courtesy of the Kinsley Foundation. Docs wheeled her off when the shooting started.”

“What about you?”

He parted his hair. “Just a graze. Luckily, Chloe was under guard. Some bratty soldier boy moved her. When I left, they had tanks patrolling the block. Thought it was for her. Then I saw it was to keep out the rest of the city, myself included. At least she’s safe.”

“How’d they even know you were there?”

“Clearly someone got paid to info dump, and I think it’s safe to say my witness protection just expired.”

“Why does your family want you dead?” Cheppard said.

Holden sighed. “My dad was shot in a dodgy deal. I saw him fall. Gave me nightmares for a year and I didn’t want to end up that way, so I gave evidence against my family in return for immunity and a way out. The whole lot were rounded up and I took the money. All the money. Used it to fund O’Toole’s outreach scheme and Chloe rigged it so I was an anonymous donor. The Junior Rehab funding was from me.”

Cheppard recoiled. “You used illegally obtained money to fund a charity?”

“They’d never look for it in anything philanthropic. O’Toole worked another five years to teach me what I needed, then retired early. He has enough undeclared cash to set him up forever and now the company’s mine on paper, I get his seat on the JRC, control of my funds and own a legitimate company that makes more. Anyone following the paper trail would be lost a hopeless expedition to find a pineapple plantation in Alaska.”

Cheppard rubbed his chin. “I can’t approve of ill-gotten gains, yet you did something right with it.” He turned to Rhea and George. “Speaking of hospitals, you two were at a clinic?”

Rhea avoided her dad’s gaze.

“Ugh, it’s no use trying to hide it.” George said. “We were at Family Planning.”

Cheppard’s eyes narrowed. “Young man, I do not approve of unnatural contraceptives, nor of intercourse before marriage! You’re lucky the doctors were gone. And why are you rushing into this? You two only met the other day.”

George and Rhea exchanged glances.

“Actually, daddy, we met almost two years ago. We’ve been seeing each other since then. In private. We like privacy.”

Cheppard stared at his daughter. Then at George. Then back again. “You had a boyfriend? For two years? Him? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We didn’t think you’d approve.”

“Shocking, isn’t it.” Holden said.

“Look, Pastor, I’m sorry we kept it a secret.” George said. He took Rhea’s hand. “Two years ago I was just a thug with a court order to work off my debts. I know it’s not much of an excuse, but I really didn’t know better and I didn’t trust people in authority. Even men of the cloth.”

“Do you love my daughter?”

“Well I keep telling her I do but she doesn’t believe me.”

Rhea squeezed his fingers. “I believe you.”

“What, even after the last three days?”

Holden scoffed. “And here I honestly thought you two were over.”

“Why,” Cheppard said. “What happened in the last three days?”

Holden nodded at George. Rhea kissed the side of his head. George stood up.

“I might have reacted a little selfish.” He said. “When Rhea told me she was pregnant.”

Cheppard’s eyes bulged and he locked them on his daughter’s belly.

“How?” he screamed.

 “Well…” George said. He made a ring with his thumb and forefinger, and inserted his opposite middle finger through it.

“I know how!” Cheppard screeched, and tore to his feet. “How dare you do this to my daughter! Do you have no respect for the sanctity of marriage? I ought to—”

“Hey, hey, I’m marrying her, all right!” George said. “What, you think I’m gonna hide from this? That I’m not gonna be responsible for the kid?”

Cheppard jabbed George’s chest. “You hid like cowards for two years! Don’t talk to me about facing responsibilities! You were here that night, weren’t you? That naked man was you!”

George nodded. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Joe, take a breath.” Holden said. “They’re young. They’re still figuring out how life works. He loves Rhea and Rhea loves him. There’s nothing wrong with any of this, just the way they broke the news.”

Cheppard’s arm lowered, although his seething didn’t quite. George sagged in relief. Then Cheppard raised his finger again, this time at Holden.

“You.” He said. “You said you thought they were over. You knew! And you kept this from me?”

“Yes, on the surface it might seem that way.” Holden said. “However, I did tell the kid every day to man up and introduce himself.”

Rhea stood and nodded. “That’s right, he did. He wanted us to tell you ourselves.”

Holden nodded. “Imagine how worse it’d be if I outed them, eh, my friend?”

Cheppard collapsed into his chair and grabbed his face with his hands.

“Liars. Every one of you is a liar.” He said. “You stole from criminals to fund riffraff like this boy, telling everyone it was charity. You helped him hide what he was doing to my own flesh and blood, behind my back, in my home! Well I’m sure you all had a bloody good laugh at my expense, but Rhea is my daughter, and I’ll not let you lay your dirty, thieving hands on her again! Get out.”

George crouched down beside him. “I’m staying with her.”

Cheppard raised his head from his hands and looked George in the eye. George smiled, as reassuring a smile as he could muster.

And Cheppard punched him.

“Dad!” Rhea screamed.

George fell back hard. Blood spurted from his nose.

Ugh, shummamma bisch!”

Cheppard stood. “Rhea, go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”

“For Christ’s sake, dad, this is my life. It’s my body and my baby. It’s my decision to make.”

“And you’ve proved incapable of making good ones, so I’m choosing what’s best.”

He hauled George to his feet, spun him and shoved him into Holden. The two toppled over again.

“I said get out.” Cheppard said. “You’re not good enough for my daughter.”

George stood and held a hand out to Rhea. She took it.

“I—”

 Cheppard barged through the link, stepping between Holden and George. He grabbed their ears and dragged them to the front door by their lobes.

“Gyargh! The hell are you doing, you psycho?!”

He let them go and opened the door, then kicked them out, foot to Holden’s ass. Holden and George landed in a tangled heap at the foot of the steps.

“If either of you ever darken my door or my daughter with your presence again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

George stood, or would if his feet weren’t trapped under Holden.

“You can’t make our decisions for us, pastor. And I won’t let any harm come to her, I swear.”

Cheppard looked down at him struggling to get free and his eyes softened. He still shook his head.

“You sent your friend to my house, knowing his own family tried to murder him just moments ago, knowing they would try to find him and likely kill anyone he associated with. And then you brought Rhea to the same place. You put both her and her unborn child in danger. So if you love her as you claim to do, understand that I do, too. And I won’t let anyone harm my family, not intentionally and certainly not through blind stupidity.”

He closed the door with a deliberate calm. The quiet click struck George harder than if he’d slammed it in anger.

They lay wheezing on the gravel, nursing a bloody nose and a twisted ankle. The sun had set, leaving the sky black tinged with red. The hordes had emptied downstreet, leaving all but the neighborhood drunk combing through the trashed storefronts for scraps. Shutters lay torn in doorways and glass once again littered the roads.

A line of soldiers marched past. The wino finished his rendition of an olde timey classic as he casually rifled for a brick. Then, when he found one, hurled it at the troops with a growl.

“You brought this!” he screamed, waving at the mess. “You made this happen!”

The half-brick hit a private in the head. He fell out of line, uninjured as his helmet took the blow. Yet before the brick even stopped, his friends swiveled and fired. The already ruined store disintegrated and the unbelieving drunk dropped knee-first, dead before he hit the ground.

“Fuckaduck!” Holden screamed.

He pushed George off, then dragged him to the building they’d scaffolded earlier across the road. They limped up the stairs to the Yao apartment and scrambled to lock the door as soon as they fell through. Holden grabbed a knife from the kitchen and aimed it at the room.

“What are you doing?” George hissed.

“They shot me at the hospital.” Holden said. “They probably know where I live.”

George nodded. “Well, yeah, makes sense.”

“O’Toole suggested I stay here.” Holden said. “Nobody would think to look for me here. But what if he’s the one who told them where to find me? George? You wouldn’t, would you?”

“Hey, of course not. You’re my bud.”

George sagged on a couch. How did everything get screwed up? He kicked an empty bottle left from their last visit and Holden scavenged the fridge. There were two beers left. He dropped one in George’s lap.

“They shot him.” Holden said. “That old man. They just shot him.”

He dropped the knife and opened his beer, joining George on the sofa. They sat in silence, sipping in the dark, thoughts swirling.

“So much for making her dad like you.”

George said nothing. He lay back and kicked the floor. He glared into the dark for hours before he started snoring. This time, Holden let him have the couch.

 

 

When George woke, the sun was up. Holden was frying something pungent.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” he said. “Finished your nap?”

“How long was I out?” George croaked. “Feels like I inhaled a dust cloud.”

“You’re probably dehydrated. You’ve been asleep about seventeen hours.”

“Explains why my bladder weighs a ton.”

He stumbled around to look for a bathroom. Holden had breakfast waiting when he returned.

“It lacks the nutritional value of Human Food, but needs must as the devil drives.”

George took the plate. “Nobody likes your Human Food.”

They ate in silence until Holden sighed. “You know, yesterday was supposed to be my day. I got control of the company and my money. I had a whole future set up. How the hell did we get here?”

George grunted. “Yesterday, I was supposed to terminate my unborn child and lose the only woman I ever loved, so we can agree nobody got what they expected.”

“Like the drunk.”

“Like the drunk.”

Silence.

Holden finished his meal. “You better head home.”

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“I could use some introspective time.”

George grunted. He finished breakfast and used the shower while Holden fetched a bike he’d found in a back room. George wished him luck and rode out, wondering what fresh hell waited back home.

He stopped at Rhea’s first and knocked on her door. Her dad answered and slammed it shut straight away. Nobody responded the second time. Before he left, he shouted at her window.

“Rhea! I am not giving up on you.”

The ride home was hot and the air pressed in. Small fires, sea vapor and backed up sewage bred a sour yellow fog. George saw nobody. Silhouettes and shadows whispered from dank corners he didn’t dare slow at. Shipyard City had died. No traffic, no people, no music. The air was lonely.

He hid the bike in the uncollected trash outside his door. His dad’s bellowed obscenities were audible as soon as George opened it.

“About damn time we were put out of our misery!” Zeke jeered at a Kinsley broadcast.

George stood behind him. “When did TV start again?”

A shift from the armchair caught his attention. Wendy’s head bolted up from her veil of unkempt hair, eyes wide through its tangles. She rose to her feet, slowly, edging closer until she was near enough to poke him with a sharp nail.

Yes. George was real.

Zeke grunted without looking up. “Told you he weren’t dead. You owe me a twenty, girl.”

Wendy ignored him and squeezed George, her tears splashing his face as he struggled to inhale. Then she slapped him.

“Alright!” George said, rubbing his face and pushing her away. “Next one of you does that gets a backhand from me and I swear I am not gonna be gentle!”

“I thought you were dead!” Wendy spat in his face. “I thought you’d taken that goddamn Repose!”

“The what now?”

He opened the fridge. It was stocked with beer. The cupboards were filled with harder stuff. Zeke had bought every drink imaginable. What he hadn’t stocked was a bite to eat.

“You know, don’t you?” Wendy said behind him.

He closed the fridge door. “Know what?”

She held up her phone.

“While you were out fuck knows where, this video’s been playing. It’s on everything. The TV, the radio, even a pop-up you can’t close.”

She hit play. The white beard of James Kinsley faded in from the black.

*

*

*

“My fellow people of Earth, my name is James Kinsley. As you may have noticed, there had been somewhat of an increased military presence of late, and your governmental privileges have been revoked. Many of you must be wondering why these changes have come about so suddenly, and I’m afraid I must be the bearer of the bad news.

The world is ending.

 Now don’t fret. The human race will survive. The Kinsley Foundation has been held in high regard for a hundred years, building a reputation on helping those in need and offering them a chance to build better lives. The Foundation was created to sift the diamonds from the rough, so to speak, to sort the truly exceptional from the mundane intelligence the world has to offer.

Please do not be offended. To guarantee survival, we need the best of the best, not to segregate classes or build a single race. The Kinsley Foundation has selected the best from all around the world. Students and their families, top scientists and engineers, doctors and so on, and along with military personnel who passed our tests, we have taken them to bastions of safety where they can ride out the next month in relative peace. There they can train in the construction of our future.

Ah, which reminds me. To the generals, royalty, ministers and presidents, and other leaders of each and every country, I must confess, we did lie to you. The bunkers we’ve provided may survive the oncoming chaos, but were not strictly designed to do so. There is a great likelihood you will die. Yet fear not, to honor your substantial donations this past century, the brightest of your relatives under twenty have been offered a place with us. In good time your bloodlines will be diluted into the genetic masses. Though your reigns shall not, your heirs will endure.

There is some good news, however; nobody need die in pain. A narcotic opiate under the brand name Repose was posted along with your credit cards. Yes, that stick of gum. Simply place it on your tongue and let it dissolve. You will fall asleep peacefully in minutes, filled with good cheer as your metabolism slows until your heart beats no more. You have until dawn to use it. At that time, you will see the Second Event of the Apocalypse. The first, as you must have realized by now, was live from Tel Megiddo.

Should you survive the second and third events, expected times listed after this message, it is highly recommended you take your Repose at least a half hour before the final one. You will not survive it. Replacement Repose strips are freely available from all high street pharmacists. As those pharmacists are now likely unmanned, please be considerate and take just one per person.

Thank you all, and goodbye. People of Earth, you will never be forgotten.”

*

*

*

 George arched a brow. The news had been given so casually he didn’t know how to take it. Kinsley’s sad smile faded to black and a list of dates and times appeared in his place.

“He serious?” George said.

Wendy nodded slowly.

He scoffed. “You don’t actually believe this crap, do you?”

Wendy nodded again.

George inhaled through clenched teeth and closed his eyes. He growled hard through his nostrils. Wendy yelped as his fist struck fast, embedding itself in the wall. The plaster cracked and crumbled onto the counter top. His knuckles bled.

“For fuck’s sake!” he screamed. “Can I please just have one normal fucking conversation with one normal fucking person that doesn’t end with more abnormal fucking shit I don’t want to fucking deal with!?”

He stormed to his room. Wendy shook and yelped again when he slammed his door, not daring to move. She shook until a sob forced its way up from her throat and broke down on the kitchen floor.

 

 

George spent the following days locked in his room, drunkenly recalling a life there wasn’t much to be proud of. Days playing hooky from school, beating on kids he hated, months in and out of juvie, barely avoiding real jail time. Of the little worth cherishing, he’d crushed any chance to regain.

The girl who loved him for who he was, was now out of reach. The man who saw him for who he could be instead of what he’d been, was now hunted and hiding. He’d failed to become a Travers worth being, and if the Beard on the Screen was telling the truth, it was too late to try.

He lay in bed, starving, excavating booze from various hiding spots and watching the empty bottles form a growing pile. He didn’t change his clothes when Wendy compared him to their dad, and only left to use the toilet or steal more bottles from the old man’s stockpile. He ignored the sobbing from his sister’s door. George Travers existed in a numb haze without thought, cycling through drowning his woes and passing out.

On the last night, he was teased awake by a soft hand stroking his face. It brushed loose hair from his forehead and tickled his stubble. He opened his eyes, blinking blindly, and tried to force the blurred face above into …an identically blurred face.

“Rhea?”

The hand withdrew.

“No, not Rhea,” the voice said.

He sat up and coughed. Beside him, Not-Rhea puffed on a familiar scented roll up that wasn’t all tobacco. He accepted a drag and excused himself to the bathroom.

When he returned, damp from a rinse and in less pungent clothes, he looked with clear vision at his visitor. She lounged on his bed, shoes slipped off and comfortable, playing on hia phone. Her smile was a tease.

“Nice stubble.” Cat said. “I’m liking the whole caveman look.”

“What are you doing here?” George said. “Are you going through my phone?”

“Nice to see you, too. You always start the day this charming?”

“Who let you in?”

“Your sister. She’s lovely by the way. Made me coffee. Showed me pictures of you as a baby. Didn’t know you had a birthmark above your belly button. I like how they make an exclamation mark.”

“I—”

She leapt up and jammed the remaining blunt in his mouth, then pushed him onto the bed, sitting him at the edge to savor the smoke while she rifled through a backpack. She then presented him with a long bacon sub and a can of coke.

“You came prepared,” he said, taking them.

“I’m very supportive like that. Hey, speaking of which, how’s your shoulder?”

She traced a finger across his deltoid, but he shrugged her off.

“Cat, we’ve been through this.”

Her lips teased into a smirk.

“George, they’re saying it’s the end of the world tonight, and from what I heard, you and Rhea ain’t together anymore.”

“No it’s not and how’d you hear that?”

“Boyfriend kicked me out. Not that he was so hot on the boyfriend front. Cheppard was nice enough to put me up in his guest room.”

“And you thought you’d swoop in and take her goods while I was ripe for the plucking? Guess I’m flattered.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder while he ate her sandwich. His stomach cramped with a growl and he washed it down with the coke. The taste of solid food after his long liquid diet almost overwhelmed him. He wolfed it down and Cat presented him with a second.

“Thanks,” he said between mouthfuls,” you didn’t have to bring gifts, but I appreciate it.”

“I knew you would. That’s why I didn’t mind making ’em,” she said. “I actually wrestled with the idea of making you food, y’know. ‘cos not easy being the only girl in a construction company. Horny guys whistling everywhere I go, everyone calling me Princess. It’s no work for a lady, right? Guess that’s why I’m looking for a mature, older gent to take me under his wing.”

“I don’t think a two month age gap counts, and I never thought of you as a lady. If I’m honest, I just thought you were another pair of hands. At least until you started rubbing me with them.”

“Call it gratitude. That first day on Holden’s team when those two guys in plumbing were hassling me, you’re the one who came to my rescue.”

“I did?”

“Remember? You threw a plug at our heads and told us all to get back to work.”

George stopped mid-chew.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah!”

“You’ve been humping my leg since then ‘cos I threw plastic at your face?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she chuckled. “You treated me like one of you guys.”

“I never treated you like any guy. Name one other guy I let massage me or who’s ass I stare at. The time Holden showed me his Where’s Waldo tattoo doesn’t count.”

She laughed again. “Look, you don’t treat me like I’m some delicate princess or like a replacement mother like my ex does, or just for sex. I feel like a human being around you. And that’s why I didn’t mind making you a sandwich, because you wouldn’t take it for granted.”

George thought of Rhea’s words, similar and not too long ago.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard that before. And that’s ‘cos I already have a mother replacement. She showed you my baby pictures.”

Cat closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his chin.

“If it’s true,” she said. “If tonight’s our last night and we’re both alone, can I just stay here with you? Can we just not be alone together?”

She kissed him. George didn’t return it. Instead, he close his eyes and gently pushed her off.

“Fine, stay tonight,” he said, and pulled her into a one-armed hug. “But tomorrow, when that sun rises and the world’s still outside like it always is, I’m going to see Rhea and I’m telling the Cheppard exactly how it’s gonna be.”

“So even after all that, you’re going back to her. Because she’s carrying your baby?”

“Because I love her. Ain’t anything more complicated than that.”

Cat rolled over. “Must be nice having that.”

George nodded. “I’ll let you know when I do. And if you need somewhere to stay, Holden’s hiding out at that apartment we scaffolded last week. There’s two bedrooms. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your company.”

Cat sat up. “Holden’s alive?”

“Yeah.”

“How? He was shot in the head.”

“Nah, bullet just grazed him.” He said, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Wait. How’d you know about that?”

Cat shrugged. “Heard it from Rhea.”

George nodded and took another bite. Then frowned and swallowed, but didn’t bite again. He lowered the last of piece of sandwich.

“Cat, Rhea knows Holden’s alive. Her and her dad were there when he told me about getting shot.”

Cat said nothing and looked away. George pulled her back to face him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She tore away and backed into a corner. “Look, I was in juvie with Holden’s cousin, y’know, Alex? She’s a real psycho, but she’s good to her friends, get it?”

“Spill.”

“I thought I’d get in her good books.”

“What, by setting up my best friend? You were the one who sent him to the hospital. What then, you tipped his family off? What did you think was gonna happen then? You’d cozy your way into my life? What was your plan gonna be, take his place? No… No, it was to take Rhea’s wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t think of it like that!” She said.

He threw the sandwich end at her. “Aww, hell! I must have been trippin’! You get my best friend killed, break me and my girlfriend up and then show up to comfort me when my life turns to shit? Either you’re that desperate or you’re laughing at me. Either way, you are one twisted little bitch!”

Cat glared at him. “I was never laughing at you! And you know what? I am desperate! All that prissy little bitch ever did was hold you back! You were an animal when we first met! You were tough! You could take on anyone. Now she’s turned you into this …this worker!”

She spat the foul word and opened his window and leapt out to the street. George’s pulse beat in his ears. What the hell happened to her?

He grabbed his boots from the hall. Wendy sprung from her room and inserted herself in front of the door, barring it with outstretched arms.

“Let her go,” she said. “I heard everything, but you have to stay.”

“She’s a psychopath.” He said. “If she starts spouting crap to Rhea, Rhea’s never gonna want to see me again!”

“You’ll never get see her again anyway,” Wendy said. She held up her phone. Ten past four in the morning. “There’s only two minutes left on the timer. You can’t leave.”

George ran to the nearest window. The sky was already lightening. Wendy held his sleeve.

“Cat, get back here!” he called. “Timer’s up. Get back in here now!”

He closed the curtains but left the window open, then downed the coffee slush from the percolator and gagged.

“Thanks, George,” Wendy said.

He hugged her head. “I don’t know if anything’s really gonna happen, but I lost my girl and nearly lost my best friend last week, and I think I just lost my stalker. I’m ain’t losing my sister as well.”

Their dad appeared at the door with a loud burp. He scratched his behind and waddled to the fridge.

George wrinkled his nose. “Him, I wouldn’t mind so much.”

 “Hey,” Zeke said from the fridge door. “Anyone else hear that?”

Wendy looked up. “Is that a countdown?”

Sure enough, a countdown echoed through the neighborhood. More voices joined it as the seconds reeled off. Wendy looked out the window.

Their neighbors were gathered on the streets, some dressed smartly, others paraded in costumes. One manned a portable DJ booth. He hit songs at random.

“So that’s it, is it?” Wendy said. “The end of the world comes around and we’re all gonna die, and they’re counting down like it’s fucking New Year. Typical.”

“Hey, when in Rome!” Zeke said, sticking his head out the window. “Thirty!”

George pulled him back in. “We’re not in Rome, you drunk twit. We’re in deep shit.”

Zeke shrugged him off and popped another beer on a bottle opener fridge magnet. He downed it fast and ended with a long burp, just in time to join in at “Nine…”

Eight!”

“Seven!”

George glowered at his old man. “Come on, you both really think the world’s gonna end just because some beard on TV said so?”

Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

The three froze, listening and tense, waiting for whatever might happen next. Zeke’s raised beer panned around, an expectant smile spreading across his face.

Wendy’s face bunched in on itself. Her eyes clamped tight, her breath held fast, biting her lip.

George just looked around.

“Um, zero? Anybody? Did the world end yet?”

The TV in the lounge responded with a screech and his phone buzzed. Wendy’s phone glitched across the screen and both devices grew hot. George yelled an “Ow!” and stuck his in the fridge. Wendy did likewise. The microwave sparked and its fuse blew, along with the flickering lights, followed by the kettle and the percolator followed straight after. There was a loud flash from the lounge and Zeke poked his head around the door.

“Aww, the TV popped,” he said.

George heard the click of the fridge’s motor shorting and Wendy backed away from it, positioning herself in the electronics-free space by the window.

Then silence.

George and Wendy listened for the next device to implode. Nothing happened. No-one said anything, did anything but breathe hard and try to pacify their hearts.

Then the magnets fell off the fridge. Zeke’s bottle opener landed at his feet. The bronze nude vintage bust stopped against his toe with an anticlimactic clatter.

“Is that it?” Wendy said.

And behind her, the curtains burst into flames.