11: George – Sunburnt

From the air, the surface of the world was black and smoking. Down on the surface, the air was black smoke. Plastic fumes submerged the city in a hot, toxic fog, filtering the sun’s rays through its murky depths. The thick vapor flooded the streets, blanketing the half cremated corpses of those who’d celebrated its arrival under ash. Wendy took in the aftermath from her window, squinting through the soot-laden glass like a child at an aquarium. After what she’d just seen, a fish swimming past wouldn’t surprise her.

George had risked closing it, suffering only singed hair through the fabric of an oven mitt, and a bit tongue from the resulting stream of obscenities. The curtains had been torn down and stamped on, but fires had broken out at every window. They’d grabbed everything flammable from their rooms and dumped them in the hallway, the only room in the apartment with none. Zeke had simply stood aside, letting the sofa he’d lived on for years combust.

Still, smoke teased the gaps in their walls, worming through vents and their mail slot. Zeke lit a spliff and prodded the flaking remains of his couch. His finger punctured the fabric. Years of sweat and spills and built-up excretions had added fuel to the fire.

“Would you mind not adding to the fumes?” George said. “We’re already dying over here.”

Zeke puffed away. “We’re all gonna be dead soon, son. And if that’s the case, I plan on going out full baked.”

George gave him a look of disgust. “You ought to have stood by the window then. Let sun do it for you.”

Wendy ignored the bickering and held a match through the window. She trembed and recoiled when the weak, refracted light veered too close, but when the match didn’t spark up, she tried another position and reached into a still beam. The match remained unlit. Her hand didn’t fry. Wendy sighed in relief. Then gagged and sealed herself back in.

With the sun no longer microwaving the island, an ocean breeze soon picked up. It blew off steam from the boiled sea and by midday the toxic fog had been replaced by a natural one, wet, just as dense, but allowed them to breathe. The stink, however, hung around.

George dug into the piles of clothes and bedsheets they’d amassed in the hall. Je pulled through the tangled fabric until he fell out with what he wanted. Tucking his jeans into his most hard-wearing boots, he donned a hoodie and leather jacket, then as an afterthought rummaged for his construction hi-vis.

“I’m heading out to find Cat.” He said. “Hopefully she still has some of her nine lives.”

“You won’t get far.” Wendy said. “That fog’s really dense and you can’t breath it. I just tried through the window.”

George grabbed a bandana. “I won’t be that long. I’ll hold my breath or something.”

He stuck his head out his front door. Dull light played across buildings and ruined vehicles. It danced over razed stone and melted garbage. Then his eyes adjusted and his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

His neighbors’ charred bones lay on the road, clutching at each other, frozen in their final moments. Husbands covered wives or pets. Mothers covered children. George spluttered and held the bandana to his mouth as he fell on his ass. He gagged though it despite the fabric filtering the ash, crying a silent “Naw, don’t be, no, no!” at every face he could no longer see.

“CAT!” He called from the floor.

The fog swallowed his voice. George swallowed and squeezed his eyes, berating himself for freezing up.

“C’mon, George you jackass. Don’t just lie here. Prove you’re worth a damn.”

He forced his feet to stand, his arms to push him up, then took his first tentative step into a dead world. His nose stung after just one breath, so he tied the bandana across his face before kicking through the ashes and melted plastic of the nearby trash heap. The bike was gone.

“Cat, you sneaky bitch.”

Resigned to walk, he called her name in the direction of the chapel, crunching pavement with each step. Blackened skeletons lined every street. Twisted metal wrecks smoked and discharged static. George’s boots left prints on the steaming roads. Around him, masonry revealed more cracks than cladding while each puff of ocean breeze carried the disturbing stench of overcooked meat. What remained of the trees were crackling stumps, some still ablaze, adding yet more smoke to the sky.

George made it to a crossroads three blocks down before the fumes and sights won out against his senses. He turned back, retching. Nothing could survive out there.

. . .

“Did you find her?” Wendy said as soon as he got back.

“Bitch took my bike.” He said. “There’s no way I’m gonna find her now.”

He wrapped his mouth around the kitchen faucet and chugged water as fast as it could flow. He was barely satiated before the pipes groaned and spluttered and ran no more.

“Shit.” He said. “Guys, we’re outta water.”

“And power.” Wendy said. “Nothing’s working.”

Zeke fished a beer from the fridge. “How am I meant to enjoy the last day of my life if the beer gets warm? This ain’t the middle of winter.”

George ignored him, spending the rest of the day pacing as thoughts cycled in his mind. Wendy stared out the window while Zeke crashed back on his couch. The crash was literal and the chair fell apart around him. He didn’t seem to mind and passed out without a word. George kept pace until nightfall. He didn’t stop until he came to a decision.

“I’m going to Rhea’s.” He said. “If that’s really the end of the world, I’m gonna be there for her.”

Wendy rotated her head on the windowsill. “I thought you didn’t believe in any of this?”

He pointed at his arm. “Call it cliché, but singeing is believing and that light show outside added weight to your argument. So knowing that, I’m off to my girlfriend’s ‘cos I ain’t letting her think I abandoned her. Not if we’re going to die tomorrow.”

“You can’t reach her now, you’ll get killed trying to cross the city. And if tonight’s really our last, can we just be a family? For once can we not be at each other’s throats?”

George shook his head. “She’s carrying my baby. That makes her family to me. More than that fat lump you keep trying to stick me with.”

Zeke harrumphed and farted.

Wendy glowered. “And what about me? I’m already family. I’m supposed to be your sister. Doesn’t that matter? Don’t I matter to you?”

“Of course you do!” He snapped. “But I can’t… I need to… I’m going to see her.”

“Then we go together.”

“Together is fine.”

Wendy sprang up and hugged him. “Then let’s go.”

Zeke waved from the remains of his couch. “Good luck to you then. I’ll see you in hell.”

“No you don’t.” Wendy said. “You’re coming with us.”

“Do I–” Zeke and George said at the same time. “–does he have to?”

“I told you. I’m not letting either of you split us apart. And you don’t get to watch your son reach out to his unborn kid and then abandon yours.”

 “I never asked for kids, you know.” Zeke muttered.

Wendy flipped him off and raided the fridge for anything non-alcoholic. Their phones had survived in the icebox, intact, and she hissed a soft “Thank fuck.” A sift through their belongings in the hall pulled out a nice dress and her best boots.

“You’re not going out dressed like that.” George said. “We’re not clubbing.”

A shouting match with Zeke, coupled with the threat of smashing his drinks roused him enough to join them. All three found their toughest clothes. George wore his work gear. His toolbelt, Wendy’s backpack and Zeke’s wheeled trunk were their only accessories. They didn’t ask what their dad had packed.

Then George pulled the front door open. The grey, ash-fallen street loomed before them, no longer their familiar neighborhood but a strange, alien world. They wrapped cloth across their faces, then stepped out into the uncertainty with a deep breath. A moment later, George sent Wendy back in to change.

“High heels?” He said. “This is a hike, not a… What are heels for anyway?”

He took point with a head torch. The beam cut through the dissipating smog. Muted coughs and sobs echoed from doors and windows as they passed. Wendy clutched George’s arm when she saw the skeletons. Zeke toasted them with a flask of vodka. At the crossroads, a local face looked up from his door and saluted them with a strip of Repose. He then placed it under his tongue and gave a polite nod before gazing down at his wife lying peacefully across his lap.

“She asked me to sing the song from our first dance.” He said. “Just lay down and closed her eyes. Gone before I finished.”

He shifted her position and lay against the doorframe to resume his tune, a golden oldie George half recognized. The last dance of the drunken hobo flashed through his mind and George hurried his family on, leaving the man his dignity. They didn’t get far before the singing stopped. The song was far from over.

Wendy pulled out her phone.

“I’m setting alarms.” She said, checking Event times scribbled on the back of her hand. “I’m keeping your phone turned off in my bag in case mine runs out of battery.”

The further into the city they delved, the denser the fumes grew. Sick and disoriented, they veered back to the coast, ears perked in the darkness for anything that could hurt or help them. The further they strayed, the quieter the night grew.

Towards the beach, more people wandered the streets, dizzy in the fumes and sticky in the heated air. A layer of grease stuck to their faces, stinking of chemicals.

Zeke wheezed and trembled.

“Gimme a sec.” He said, and fished out a bottle from his suitcase. “Just need a drop to steady the ol’ nerves.”

The promenade was as toxic as the rest of the city. Wendy led them down to the beach where the waves at least had dampened the sands. Like the streets, it was too quiet, too empty, but mercifully clear of smoke. The walk around half the island was long, though without incident before Zeke took a stumble. He clutched his chest and bent over, waving his kids off as they caught him.

“I’m fine.” He said. “I don’t need your damn help.”

Wendy pointed up to the high ground. “Maybe we should rest a bit. Have a drink.”

He perked up at that. “That’s the best idea I heard all day.”

The building she’d pointed to was lit with a golden light. It fought off the gloom in large friendly letters.

The Toy Store.

George took his dad’s trunk and almost dropped it. He pulled open the lid. “What the hell have you got in here?”

“Just the essentials, son.” Zeke said. “Enough to last ’til the end.”

George spun the case to Wendy. Zeke had packed no clothes, no food. The case was completely filled with booze.

“No wonder you’re beat.” George said. “This trunk’s gotta weigh more than you do. Have you seriously been dragging this across the beach the whole time?”

Zeke wheezed. “It was a lot easier on the roads. Wheels and sand don’t really mix.”

“Which is more than I can say about what’s in here. You ever heard of moderation?”

Zeke slammed the case closed. “This is my personal property and if you don’t like it, then keep your nose out.”

George hauled the case up the steps to the street. Across the road, music and laughter echoed from inside the Toy Store. Wendy knocked and it was answered almost immediately by a beaming man in a bellboy suit.

“Hi,” Wendy said. “You guys open? Can we maybe rest up for a bit?”

“Of course!” the bellboy said, smile not meeting his eyes. “Come on in, enjoy the show!”

They dragged Zeke in and dropped him just inside the threshold.

“You’re putting on a show?” George said. “At a time like this?”

The squeals of children caught their ears. They ran about, young, almost all below ten, grabbing every toy on every shelf with barely an adult to watch them. A few parents sat to one side, encouraging them to play.

“Did I miss something?” George said. “Or are you actually trying to stay open? What is it, Armageddon Outta Here Sale? All stock must go by the end of the day?”

“I’m not selling anything.” The bellboy said. “I don’t even work here. None of us do.”

“Then why are you here?” Wendy said.

The bellboy leaned in. “They say we’re all going to die tonight, but we don’t want the kids to suffer. So we’re letting ’em have fun. One guy set up a generator and we sent out some parents to tell others to bring their kids here for a party.”

“What the f…un you doing that for?” George said.

His lack of smile dropped. “The kids’ll get worn out enjoying themselves. We got food and drinks for them after, then we’ll all head down to the basement for a bedtime story and…”

He trailed off.

“Bedtime story and?” Wendy said.

“Repose.”

He didn’t continue after that, either.

“You’re gonna kill all these kids?!” Wendy screamed.

Half the parents looked up.

“Quiet, please.” The bellboy said. “We’re trying to give them a peaceful send-off. Let them enjoy their last night.”

Wendy ran out to the street. She choked back the rising bile and the bellboy guided her back in, down to the cellar. Someone had knocked a hole in one wall to another large room stacked with mattresses and bed supplies. He took her though and found her a soft pillow to hug.

“Why don’t you sit here?” he said. “I’ll help the young man shift your, ah, father, is it?”

Wendy hiccupped and sniffed with a nod. The bellboy left and returned with George and the half asleep Zeke. They dumped him unceremoniously on an unsealed mattress.

“Our neighbor at Bargain Beds helped.” He said. “Just sledgehammered his way through. Thought he’d have a harder time since the basements are all old bomb shelters, but the walls between us were just plaster. But I doubt even the lead plates are going to protect us. I just want to make sure the kids at least won’t suffer. You can understand that, right?”

“It’s nice of you, I suppose.” George said. “But you really think it’s got to this?”

Wendy’s phone beeped.

“Fuck.” She said. “Half hour to the next event.”

The bellboy nodded gravely. “Then I guess it’s time for a story. I hope these Reposes work fast.”

Wendy’s voice cracked. “Less time than it takes to sing a song.”

The bellboy put on his happiest face and danced back upstairs, calling children over for pies and cakes and melted ice-cream. Their parents had no objections to their sugar laden dinner. A balanced diet was no longer an issue.

George and Wendy let Zeke snooze while parents fed their kids. After the feast they brought them downstairs to cuddle on assorted mattresses as the bellboy read a bedtime story. He ended it with the instruction.

“Now it’s time to sleep. Have your Repose. You don’t even have to brush your teeth when you eat a Repose.”

It wasn’t a lie. The children were fed the sticks by the adults, who took turns singing lullabies and holding back tears. When one child yawned, it spread around the room. Within minutes all were asleep, smiling contentedly in their parents’ loving, trusted arms. The grown ups then took theirs and the bellboy took over singing.

When nobody moved after his song, he took his own. Wendy sat by his side.

“What’s your name?” she said.

The bellboy whispered without opening his eyes. “You going to try and survive this?”

“Just until I can get my stupid brother to his girlfriend’s. They’re having a baby.”

“That’s nice. But then I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I killed a room full of children. If you live even one day past this, I don’t want you knowing who I am. Just call me the Bellboy.”

The Bellboy sang one final song. Wendy ran to George, both filled with a feeling they’d never before felt. Disgust? Horror? George wondered if he could do that to his own child. Wendy sobbed into his shoulder as the Bellboy crooned the last lullaby the children would ever hear.

In less time than it took to sing, the gentle snores of children and their parents faded away, and when the bellboy breathed his last note, the three were left alone in the dark, in dead silence, with only Wendy’s and George’s sobs to break it.