19: George – Chapel in the Sky

Once again George found himself dangling over the sky with nothing but a rope between him and a one way trip. Rhea squawked incoherently from her side of the street while he clutched his tether and wailed at the drop. On the plus side, he was now sober.

“Nuh-uh!” He said. “No, no this shit ain’t happening again. I distinctly remember swearing I would never get caught like this again for as long as I live. That was less than an hour ago! Why’s this always happening to me?”

“George, just hang on!” Rhea called. “I’ll get help.”

“Hang on? What are you expecting me to do? Holden! Holden, get your ass out here!”

Dishevelled hair over dark-bagged eyes leaned out from a bedroom window.

“My clock may have exploded due to yesterday’s climatological shenanigans,” he said. “But I’m sure I haven’t had my recommended full eight hours. Why are you out there again?”

“Oh, why am I out here? Thought I’d watch the sun rise, only the buildings were in the way. Help me up.”

Holden grumbled and retreated in. A half minute later George felt the winch rewind.

“I can smell the booze off of you from here.” Holden said. “What’d you do, stumble off the edge?”

“Look over there.” Gorge pointed.

Holden looked across to the road and nodded gravely. “Ah, I understand. Toasting Cat’s memory, eh? Saying goodbye to a friend who’d yet to bloom into full womanhood. My deepest sympathies.”

“What? No.” George said. He held up a hand and Holden pulled him back in. “It was Rhea. She was right there.”

Holden rubbed his stubble. “There are survivors in the chapel. Rhea counted among them is a possibility, although might I suggest you sober up before commencing communication and confirmation?”

“You don’t believe me? Hey, Rhea! Rhea, get back here.”

A naked man appeared at the chapel door. Holden frowned at George.

“And if opticians open again, I suggest you get your eyes checked.”

“Hey,” the nude man said. “Someone else did survive! Didn’t I save your ass on the beach?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” George said. “Beach ass. Where’d the girl go? The one who was just there?”

“She’s talking to the father. I think she’s trying to convince him to send aid. I don’t see how it’ll be possible, though.”

“But she’s real? Name’s Rhea? Pastor’s daughter?”

“Uh, I’ll check. Hold on.”

He retreated back into the chapel. Holden and George watched its roof flake with a thud.

“Why’s everyone always telling me to hold on?” George said. “I don’t actually make a habit of falling into the sky y’know.”

“But in the half day since it’s been possible, you do appear to hold the world record. So what’ll you do if it’s not her?”

“It is her. I spoke to her as clear as I’m talking to you right now. I have to get over there.”

“And how exactly are you planning on crossing yonder bottomless pit? Got a magic carpet stashed somewhere? Were you going to swing over on the winch? If you’re still up for praying, maybe call on the Norse gods for a rainbow bridge.”

“I thought you’d have an idea. You always do.”

“Hey, you in the apartment!” a voice called. The nudist appeared at the chapel door again and waved. “Your girlfriend’s not available. She told her daddy you were alive and he hit the roof.”

“Ah,” Holden said. “It is her, then.”

George cupped his mouth and shouted back. “Tell her I’ll find a way over there. And tell that pious dumbass he ain’t seen hitting the roof ‘til he’s seen me blow up.”

“No.” The man said. “I mean he actually hit the roof. He ran out to welcome you, but then banged his head on a rafter and crashed into the ceiling. Nearly went through it.”

“Oh.” George said. “Okay, not exactly sorry to hear that, but is he alright?”

“He’ll live. Your girlfriend’s tending to him. Want me to give her the message?”
“Yeah, just tell her I’ll be there as soon as I… work out how.”

“Okay. But I don’t see how it’s possible.” The man said. He gave a shrug and disappeared back in.

George sagged. “Neither do I.”

“Says the man who’s idea it was.” Holden said.

George glanced back. “What idea?”

“Bridge to the gods.” Holden pointed at the chapel. “That’s where gods live, right? So we’ll build a bridge.”

“You said to call some gods for a bridge, not build one ourselves.”

“Potato, tomato. We’re O’Toole Construction. If we can’t build a bridge across one little street, who can?”

George raised an eyebrow at Holden. He took in the broken cabinets and furniture of the room and scoffed.

“And what exactly would we use? In case you hadn’t noticed, we can’t exactly stroll out to our materials supplier.”

“I know. They closed for the Centennial. But I’ll tell you what we do have, Georgie boy.” Holden said. He pushed George’s head out the window and angled his eyes up. “Scaffold. Enough to cover the entire facade of this building, a building wider than your girlfriend’s little side road.”

George pushed him off. “Metal sticks? There’s no ground to set them on. What’ll we secure it with, string? You can’t do the impossible on a vague idea.”

“You tell me impossible and I’ll point to a city floating above your head.” Holden said, pointing to a city floating above their heads. “You wanted my ideas, I’m offering a sound solution.”

“That is not a sound solution. That’s insanity.”

“Insanity? From the man who braved an island wide inferno and crossed quicksand city to be there for the love of his life? The one person other than myself I’d trust to fix anything but a meal?”

“That’s true. Your cooking sucks. But in case you hadn’t noticed, a fall won’t lead to a scraped knee or month in a cast now, and it won’t provide a convenient instant death, either. If we fall, for fuck’s sake, for all we know we’ll be falling forever.”

Holden held George’s shoulders and leaned in. “Then we better make our bridge as sturdy as we can. Think of this as our first real job as owners of a Construction Firm. I hereby promote you to partner. Full partner. If we pull this off we’ll be legends, the men who built a bridge through the sky. A stairway through heaven. Or a highway through hell. Still not sure exactly where we are, direction-wise.”

George gave an exasperated sigh and pinched between his eyes. “Did you hit your head when you fell on the ceiling? I’m actually asking.”

“Yes, and it hurt. Fortunately I was able to self medicate with the contents of your dad’s case.”

“And which one of you is talking, the man, the booze or the brain damage?”

Holden smiled. “The man, enabled by Dutch courage. And adrenaline. And possibly some slight hysteria on the grounds that there is …none.”

George’s eyes narrowed. Holden met his gaze and held it with a mad grin. There was no trace of doubt. He meant to do this. George shook his head and placed his hands on Holden’s shoulders.

“Alright, you crazy lemming. Let’s do this.”

. . .

The clank of metal jolted Wendy awake. She shifted under the weight of her blanket, a normal duvet with edges soaked in stone, and listened to her room. When another clang, accompanied by two swearing men, rang out from outside, she breathed a sigh of relief. The room wasn’t about to collapse.

She pulled on the clothes she’d left to air overnight in lieu of a ready wardrobe and hobbled through the mess of shattered and upturned furniture, then argued with the door until she realized the handle over her head had to be lifted. Then she yawned, tripped over the lintel and asked nobody in particular for coffee.

When she stumbled into the lounge, Zeke was already halfway through his breakfast. The perks of his liquid diet included his ability to care less and less about the world crumbling around him. He sat on the sofa, staring out through the window, whistling something off key.

“What they do now?” she said. “Is izz early?”

“Your fool brother’s got it into his head we have to go to church.” Zeke said. “Something about getting a girlfriend. Back in my day you didn’t get girls by going to churches. You got ‘em by playing guitar and wearing short shorts.”

“Cool story, old man. Did you say his girlfriend’s in the chapel? Rhea’s alive?”

“What girlfriend? He ain’t got a girlfriend. He’s a loser.”

“Dad, they’ve been going out for almost two years.”

Zeke cocked his head at her. “First I ever hears of it. What about you? You still seeing that Garfield?”

“His name isn’t Garfield and that was highschool.”

“You’re still in highschool.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-four. I’ve been working at the liquor store the last three years.”

Zeke’s happy drooped an inch. “Where’d the last five years go?”

She arched an eyebrow at his suitcase and leaned out the window to see what George and Holden were doing. The sky was frost blue, sparkling in the far distance, while closer up the clouds glided past. Some were torn by the remaining skyscrapers while darker, slower ones sailed under them, adding depth and distance to the view. Wendy took control of her breathing and absorbed it, forcing herself to desensitize. When she couldn’t stand to look any more, she turned her attention upwards. The scaffolding above had … retreated. The boys had been busy.

“What are you doing?” she murmured, and left to find out.

She argued with the apartment’s front door until she remembered the last one’s outcome, then hopped over the lintel and pressed the elevator button.

“Right, no elevator.”

The stairwell was a was a nightmare. Concrete ramps slid upwards from the hallway. One slid down to a battered rooftop access. Wendy’s hair stood on their ends at the sight. Unlike the apartment’s relatively flat surface, one trip and she’d slide straight down, through the door and out into oblivion.

“Watch my fingers!” Holden’s voice called. “And watch the dead guy!”

“Sorry, Mr Hallstein.” George said.

Wendy crawled up the underside of the stairs to the next floor. She took the next flight at a run and grappled onto the handrails of the above stairs until she rolled onto the middle floor of the building, panting, and did it one last time to land on the second storey, wheezing. When she caught her breath, she looked up and came face to face with a corpse.

“Fuckballs!” she screamed, and rolled away.

The woman had been petrified, in fright as well as physically. Her face was a frozen scream. Wendy pushed through the fire door into a hallway and gulped down the rising bile. She was seeking the living, not the dead.

Following the grunts and clanks through a splintered door, she found another dead body. His face was creased in agonized submission to the stone he drowned in, and his feet were buried in a pile of steel bars. George was leaning out the window.

“Watch my head.” Holden called from outside.

Wendy leaned out and found him prying a skin of stone off the scaffold. He aimed the freed bar at the window and called to George.

“And watch out for the dead guy.”

George pulled the bar in and laid it at the dead man’s feet, chipping his leg. There were numerous chips already.

“Sorry again, Mr Hallstein.” George said automatically.

Holden poked another bar into the room. “Watch my feet.”

George turned to grab the bar. Wendy helped him pull it in.

“What are you two up to?” she said.

“Aaaghh!” George screamed. He dropped the scaffold beam and it clanged through the window to fall into the sky. He watched it go then looked up at her. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you were Mr Hallstein.”

“Who’s Mr Hallstein?”

George pointed at the dead man. “One of Rhea’s neighbors.”

Holden leaned in from his perch. “Ah, Wendy, morning salutations. We’re almost done with this stage of our project, but if you’re comfortable with heights, we have a job for someone as light as you.”

George darted between them. “No we don’t. It requires careful handling by trained professionals and you can’t be part of it.”

“Holden?” Wendy said. “What’s my brother yattering about?”

Holden slid in through the window and sat beside her. “Your ever loving sibling appears to have deemed our project too hazardous to risk the life of his precious sister on, however he seems content to risk both mine and his self’s on our undertaking to bridge the gap between this penultimate pit stop and his damsel in distressing yonder tower.”

“Huh?”

George gestured at the scaffolding piles. “We’re building a bridge to get to Rhea’s and it’s too dangerous to let you help.”

“Not your call to make.” She said, and turned to Holden. “What can I do?”

“Actually, you can take over from your brother. He can get started on the next bit.”

“What’s that?”

George hoisted two poles into parallel positions. “Building the bridge.”

. . .

The clanking and swearing and banter drew more eyes and ears. Faces peeked out from the chapel to watch the deconstruction of the steel beams as they disappeared into the darkness of the apartments opposite. Those still milling around in Rhea’s old building gathered at the windows as the day wore on. Nobody kept count of how many hours slipped by, simply allowing the conversations within to distract, if not entertain while the wind stung their bare flesh.

“Pet peeves?” Wendy asked.

A clang reverberated through the air.

“People who have barbecues in winter.” George said.

It was followed by a sharp shring! of metal scraping metal.

“People who have pet peeves.” Holden said. “Unless you’re invited, what’s my winter barbecue got to do with you, eh?”

Thud.

“Bugs.” Wendy said. “But something tells me we don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

Bang.

“Dunno. Aren’t cockroaches supposed to survive the end of the world?”

Shriiiiiing!

“Why’d we have to bring all this to the third floor?”

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

“Suspension cable needs some slack.”

“But I’m tired. And hot.”

“I have a Twinkie left if you want it.”

Crunch!

“No, no more sugar. I want a burger.”

“Check Mr Hallstein’s fridge.”

Crash!

“How would we cook them?”

“Burn some wood.”

Screech!

“Can you do that?”

“You could. Don’t ever let him cook for you. You’ll end up with salmonella.”

Bang.

“And I think we’re done.”

A survivor peeking out from the chapel ducked back inside. A second later, Rhea appeared at the door.

“George?” she called out. “What’s happening?”

George appeared at the window of the second floor apartment and blew her a kiss. He had a winch in hand and threw it up over the remains of the scaffold still cemented to the street one storey above. It dropped down in front of him and he lowered it further on a galvanized pulley. When it stopped in front of the third floor window, Holden snatched it in.

“You’re about to see something amazing, funny or tragic.” Holden said. “Probably all at the same time, but I made a promise to your beau and I’m not letting him off the hook.”

“George, what are you doing?” Rhea said.

George grinned. “I’m not giving up on you.”

He pulled the winch and a screech of metal echoed out from below. Rhea and the survivors stood dumbfounded as a triangular configuration of steel burst out from the lower apartment and into the light. It protruded further with each of George’s tugs, a sideways tower sprouting out between buildings.

“That’s actually impressive.” Wendy said as they pushed the triangular tunnel out and down to the top floor of Rhea’s apartment. “Did you know it would work?”

Holden wrapped an arm around her and nodded at Rhea’s gaping expression across the way.

“Your brother loves that woman. If anyone could inspire him to whip out an eight hundred inch erection, it’s her.”

Wendy lifted his arm off her shoulder. “Thanks for that image.”

“Holden, Wendy!” George called down. “Pivot, now.”

“We’re up.”

Holden ran to the window and pulled at the side of the bridge while Wendy continued pushing from its end. The construct angled through the window of Rhea’s block and George called out to the survivors trapped inside.

“Climb up. We have food and clothes. Well, the dead people in here have clothes. And there’s an unopened family sized OJ that needs using in the apartment below. Oh, and I have a Twinkie.”

He expected fear, but the survivors had spent a night utterly exposed to the elements, and their frozen skin and empty stomachs made the decision their brains could not. They gathered at the bottom of the building, formally its top, and hesitantly probed the angled bridge.

“The lightest of you climb up first.” George said.

A college girl ducked into the triangular tunnel. She climbed a few cautious rungs and when she didn’t die, took a few more deliberate ones. She made it halfway across before the structure shuddered and she screamed and clutched the bars and begged George not to let her fall.

“It’s just the metal settling.” He said. “You’re safe.”

The girl glanced back the way she came and froze.

Wendy called down from the opposite end. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Caroline.” The girl said, turning back. “Everyone calls me Cazz.”

“Do you mind if I call you Cazz?”

Cazz shook her head.

“Okay, then, Cazz,” Wendy said. “You’re already more than halfway across, and this bridge was built by two very smart guys who do this for a living. Trust me, you can make it.”

Holden offered Wendy a bathrobe. “Perhaps she’d care for a sample of what we have to offer? And a show of faith in our suddenly recognizably skilled hands?”

Wendy nodded and took the robe. “Cazz, I’m coming to meet you halfway. We have something warm for you to wear.”

Wendy crouched and shuffled through the tunnel to meet her, taking one step at a time. Cazz let Wendy clothe and guide her back to Holden, who offered a firm and stable hand.

“She’s across.” He called up to George.

A round of yesses hissed through the spectators, and the second survivor clambered up with confidence. Holden and Wendy offered clothes, mismatched as they were, until all were clad on their side of the road.

“No time to catch your breath.” George said. “Light’s fading. Wendy, Holden, show them how to aim and push. Let’s get this over with.”

“Before we commence with the promised nutrition, ladies and gentlemen, my colleague George requests your aid in guiding his erected shaft into his girlfriend’s rear entrance. It shouldn’t be difficult, just pull back, aim at the archway and give it a firm thrust.”

A dozen rolled eyes responded to Holden’s instructions, but their new friends did as they were asked. They heaved the bridge back into the apartment, and under Holden and George’s guidance, pushed it out again to the chapel’s back door.

“Yeah, motherfucker, we did it!” George whooped.

He secured the winch and raced to the lower apartment to plant a sloppy kiss on Wendy and Holden’s foreheads. Then, without waiting for their responses, clambered down his tunnel to the chapel’s open door.

Rhea peered up as he half ran, half fell down the rungs. She screamed his name as soon as his face was in sight. George hit the bottom and pulled her in tight, lifting her and pressing his lips to hers. She returned the kiss with equal passion, and when they broke away to breathe, they fell to their knees still holding on, foreheads pressed to each other’s.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Rhea said. “Even when I saw you over there I didn’t believe it.”

“I told you I wasn’t giving up on you.” George whispered into her ear. “Not then, not now or ever.”

“I can’t believe you’re still alive. I thought you died in the fire.”

“Me too.”

“I didn’t want to see you. I thought my mind was playing tricks. But you’re real. It’s really you.” Rhea said. She smiled through tears and kissed him again. “You are you, right? I’m not going mad?”

A wrinkled hand planted itself on her head.

“Oh, he’s real alright.” Cheppard said.

George looked up at the last person he wanted to see. “Hello, old man. I suppose it’s good to see you again.”

The expression Cheppard wore was unreadable in the descending gloom. He gave the bridge a poke and pulled Rhea to her feet.

Then extended a hand to George.

“You braved a city of fire and flood to be with my daughter. Even trapped across a chasm you showed resourcefulness I couldn’t begin to comprehend.” Cheppard said. “I’d even go so far as to call it a miracle. It’s that tenacity that makes you a father, and I can see no greater test, nor proof, that you’re worthy of my daughter.”

George’s eyes narrowed and he stood without taking the pastor’s hand. “What’s with the attitude adjustment?”

Cheppard’s hand moved away from George and gestured at the city. “You could have come straight here. Instead, you rescued those people trapped across the alleyway first. Then you gave them passage to my chapel.”

Rhea shook his hand off her head. “It’s not up to you to choose who’s right for me. Why can’t you understand that?”

“And frankly I don’t trust you.” George said.

Rhea took George’s hand in hers. Cheppard simply smiled.

“Allow me to make it up to you.” He said. “Come inside. Bring your friends.”

He retreated back inside, revealing a bloodstained rag taped to the back of his head. George whistled at Holden, who along with Wendy, was organising the exodus across their bridge. When the survivors were through, Holden helped Wendy shift Zeke from his stupor to the tunnel. Flinging his stash down first was enough motivation to get him to clamber through.

They gathered on the underside of the chapel mezzanine, overlooking the overturned ceiling. Enough pews had survived that there were seats for everyone, and Wendy had thoughtfully brought clothes for the last of the nudes shivering in its corners.

“Gather round, gather round.” Cheppard said. “No, I’m not holding a sermon, you can relax.”

He ushered George and Rhea to the front.

“Like all people, I am imperfect. But seeing the error of my pride, I hope today to rectify a recent mistake. Today I ask for my daughter’s forgiveness, and the forgiveness of the man she loves.”

He reached into his shirt and pulled a chain from around his neck. Two wedding rings clinked against each other as he undid the clasp.

“These belonged to me and your mother.” He said, handing them to Rhea. “I hope they fit.”

Zeke nudged Wendy behind George. “Izzat he girlfriend?”

Wendy shushed him.

“I’m still dizzy from a fall about an hour ago, so I’ll just ask you both. Do you love each other?”

“No shit.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Will you stand by each other in sickness, health, all that?”

“I repeat my statement.”

“Always.”

“Then by any vestiges of power left in the world, I pronounce you husband and wife. Please wait until I’m not looking before you kiss. I still don’t like it.”

He turned away and George and Rhea kissed.

“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the wedding night.” The pastor mumbled. “You took care of that already.”

Zeke raised a bottle. “To ja newnyweds. May theh love long time, live long and prosper. Babies. Divorce. No, not divorce. Cheers.”

Nobody did. Instead, Holden stood in the center of the room and opened a bulging bedsheet.

“Zeke Travers, everyone. Groom’s father. Great speech, my friend. I’ll be loathe to follow it. Pastor Cheppard, Good to see you. Can’t wait to see how you try to buy forgiveness from me. As for the rest of you, end of the world salutations! I’m the best man and here’s my wedding gift.”

He unloaded the bedsheet like a sack. Tins and fruit and snacks poured out. The first real cheer in days echoed through the chapel.

“Courtesy of a Mr Hallstein and his neighbors.” Holden said. “Food and drinks, as promised. Zeke here has the booze if you’re interested.”

“No I don’t.” Zeke said.

George and Rhea held each other. Wendy smiled at her brother from across the room while their newfound friends and family celebrated the return of food and clothes, if not the impromptu wedding. The almost-a-party lasted the rest of the short night, and when dawn broke and the food and safety and depleted adrenaline raised a wave of yawns across the room, Cheppard took the stand one last time and asked for a moment.

“I know I said no sermons.” He said. “I understand not everybody here is of our denomination, but if you can indulge me one last mass, I think it’s one we can all go forward with together. A final mass… suicide pact.”

The happy murmurs halted at once. Wendy, half asleep on Holden’s shoulder looked up, eyes squinting opening in incredulity.

“Good.” Cheppard said. He pointed out the windows. “I need your attention, this is important. When the first of the four events aired from Tel Megiddo, those like myself knew to watch for signs. Four events stemming from Armageddon Hill like horsemen, and now everything is flying into the heavens. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Rapture, and as your pastor it falls to me to lead you into the light.”

A double dozen pairs of eyes stared blankly at the man.

Cheppard continued. “Make no mistake, we will die. This is the apocalypse, not an event we can survive. All we can do is choose how we check out. With faith and courage, or clinging to this false world. Join me outside and make your leap of faith into heaven. This is your final test, a pact to God. Our final mass.”

Everyone was fully awake again. Wendy and George looked at each other, too flabbergasted to say anything. Rhea looked at her father in horror. Even Holden couldn’t find a word to say. The Cheppard opened his arms.

“You see it’s technically suicide because you choose your own death, but it’s held as a ceremony like a mass. But it’s a pact.” he chuckled to himself. “Mass suicide pact? See what I did there?”