by Jack Lynch
In a moment of distracted curiosity, well aware of the cat inside and the story that came with it, I slowed the vehicle down to examine the scene. Despite its visceral nature it wasn’t long before my eyes began to trek their way to the buildings surrounding, the buildings on both sides of me…all of them ruined, boarded with wood. A sign hung, decimated from one of the local bars and there were no lights to be found anywhere. How long had I been away for? A coma? There were the questions again, their sharp teeth; I suddenly realised the number of pieces to this puzzle, a puzzle I thought I had begun to assemble had just increased to a number I wouldn’t even dare count to. I was surrounded with a familiar town but one that I didn’t recognise.
Home.
I had to know everything was the same, that the house had remained a capsule in spite of whatever had found its way through the surroundings. The rain continued to blast, still ripping into my clothing, into my skin as the vehicle regained its pace. What followed were three to four minutes, three to four minutes that slithered by under the guise of several hours as the bike took the turn to my street.
As I began to draw myself closer to the house…the house that was only a few blocks away, my eyes threw themselves to ones in view. There was no shattered glass, no wood, but no lights either, no cars in any of the driveways…garbage suffocated the street. I could feel the denial, its unpleasant taste sitting on the edge of my tongue, waiting for me to let it slide off into the streets, wanting me to reason with myself, but I couldn’t. Though the houses nearby looked the same, they all sat, every single one of them in silence, tired expressions plastered across their faces, houses that I knew, houses that I saw everyday but with ever metre closer, houses that had begun to more closely resemble corpses. My muscles were tightening, all of them, as I inched closer, I didn’t even need a mirror to know that my face was bankrupt, empty of expression. Familiar vehicles lined familiar houses, familiar trees stood by familiar plants but garage, garbage painted the trail around me, I couldn’t allow myself to look for the house that was quickly approaching.
Attempting to reason with the evidence being thrown at me, the motorcycle continued to traverse through the mess until it slowed to a stop, I could see my house in the corner of my eye.
Look.
I allowed myself to take a deep, ice-filled breath as turned my head to examine the structure…it was the same. The house I sat looking at, the house where I’d spent most of my prior five years appeared the same but it felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb. It was impossible to feel anything but a crushing sensation, one of I figured, of confusion as my eyes drifted their way over to the empty driveway, maybe more a sensation of loss. I must have skidded off the road, the drive was the last thing I could remember…I must have crashed but where was the hospital? I must have been take in, off the road, by someone and placed in that horrific shack, but for how long? The boards of wood around the buildings? It was difficult not to notice the shaking of my body as my attention shot itself back to my family, that’s why I was here, I could find the answers later, they were inside, sleeping, probably thinking I’d been killed somewhere along the highway. I wanted to regain my composure however, regain it before I even thought about entering. As the puzzle pieces lay in front of me, taunting me, I suddenly felt a punch, a crushing fist drive its way into my stomach as I began to understand the situation. There was a reason why my house hadn’t been boarded, why no ones’ houses had been boarded when the public buildings were, why the garbage sat apathetically around me, why the rain was so relentless…a hurricane. Had the city been evacuated? It must have been, that’s why everything appeared so miserable. But they were inside, they hadn’t left, I needed to see them, touch them, hold them, get the hell of these clothes, this beard that wasn’t mine, this smell that wasn’t mine. With a slow turn of the dangling metal, the engine began to quieten, my white metallic horse being given the opportunity to rest, hopefully forever.
I made my way past the front garden up towards the door, a sense of dread, not really triggered by anything in particular, digging it’s way into me. As I approached the entrance and reached down to remove the key from the loose tile below, I found it difficult to avoid noticing my hand struggle the task of holding it firmly between my fingers. Rising back up to face the door, a boulder, a hard, rough piece of rock rolling its way down the back of my throat, I pushed in the key, twisting it, forcing the handle down towards my feet.
I’m not sure, as the door jarred open, what the first thing was that hit me, whether it was the smell or the atmosphere, there was undoubtedly a scent of something that didn’t belong. As I entered I realised that despite everything appearing the same, this didn’t feel like the house I’d left; turning my attention to the panel next to me, I moved a finger over to the light switch to punctuate my arrival. As I waited for the light to illuminate the scene, I tried to make out what details I could in the low light. My initial reaction seemed right, the living room looked the same, as did the walls beside me but something was different, everything felt…anaemic. As I continued to stand, finger in the same position, it soon became clear that the lights were not coming on, that I would have to move through the house without any assistance. I could feel the desperation to run to the stairs, to throw open the bedroom doors, to make sure my wife, my little girls were okay…but, for whatever reason, I felt the urge to be cautious, to take my time.
My feet began with a journey towards the kitchen, the smell began strengthening with every step, strengthening to the point of becoming almost unbearable. It wasn’t long before the culprit made its self-known, I found my gaze fixed on the dark, open fridge; elsewhere, shelves sat hungry, cartons, plastic, remnants of various ingredients sprawled over the benches, the floor. I quickly realised I didn’t need to see the rest as I turned myself round and walked back through the living room, through the room towards the stairs. A sharp sensation still clawing my back, I began to take my first steps as the stairs creaked behind me…a creak I never remembered hearing. With the caution tightly fastened to my feet, it took around a minute for me to reach the top before my eyes shot themselves around, noticing both bedroom doors wide open. I held the hope tightly in my cramped hand, the slithering hope that may they’d all be safely tucked away, fast asleep, that there was an explanation for the kitchen downstairs. As I approached my daughters’ room, the suffocating, sinking feeling returning, I closed my eyes and begun to run my hand against the nearby wall until I could feel the frame of their doorway. My ears attempted to give me a signal, a warning as I knew, deep down, I couldn’t hear anything…no breathing, no movement, I knew they always slept with the small light on but I could see clearly that there it hadn’t be used tonight. Attempting to reason with myself, attempting to convince myself that the power had cut out to the whole house, also explaining the open fridge, I kept my eyes fastened shut as I stood in front of the open doorway.
It must have been around half a minute since I’d felt the frame, I knew I would have to open my eyes eventually but I couldn’t bring myself to the possibility that they weren’t there, that they were somewhere else, that they weren’t at home waiting for me. Taking a deep, silent breathe, expelling the hesitation from my chest, I began to creep my eyes as slowly as possible. Shapes…I could see shapes…beds….the sinking was beginning to settle in…my girls…weren’t there. There was definitely a buckling sensation, I could feel my legs doing everything they could to remain steadfast in their support of me, I needed them. Commanding my muscles to continue working, I stormed over to my bedroom, I couldn’t take another dose of anticipation, I needed the truth; I needed it now. My body, my eyes, forced their way into the bedroom as I was met with the same reality…there was no one. I could feel the screaming in my legs, they couldn’t hold the weight any longer…I began to slide, slide down the side of the wall as I buried my head into my arms. As I closed my eyes and attempted to listen to the sound of my own breathing, it became clear that something deep down didn’t wan
t me to buckle, it didn’t want me to give up. I knew that them not being in the house didn’t mean I’d have to face a possibility that I couldn’t face; I knew they could be safe, safe somewhere else.
As quickly as I had fallen, I rose my body back up, slowly but forcefully and I wandered over to my bathroom. Attempting to switch on the lights, hoping that it’d only been a matter of a broken bulb downstairs, I gave it close to a minute, standing in near darkness, before I accepted the reality of the situation. There was enough moonlight however, thanks to the windows around the upper floor, to enable me to see my own reflection as I stared into the hands on the sink. I hadn’t seen myself yet, was I still the same man? Had my mind been ripped from my body and thrown into someone else’s? I knew, just like with the rooms, I’d have to look, I’d have to see the face that hung heavy above my body. As I took a deep breathe, a string of spit unintentionally escaping my mouth, diving down into depths of the familiar sink, I moved my head, my eyes up to meet whatever was waiting for me. It hadn’t been my imagination; though I looked like the same man, a beard covered the lower half of my face, a rough, unkempt…ugly, wolf-like beard.
Forget about it.
Leaving the bathroom and making my way down to the lower floor, I watched as each foot took one step in front of the other, the stairs disappearing behind me as the floor below opened its mouth, ready to swallow me whole. Soon I was at the base as I drifted the now blurring gaze back to the living room before taking it to the office on the left…one that used to belong to me. I couldn’t remember the decision to head towards it but I could feel my feet taking me there, dragging me along, they had control, they were responsible for keeping me alive, I’d let them do whatever they wanted. It wasn’t long before I stood starring at a desk, a desk that had once paid for everything around it, a desk that, unlike the living room, certainly didn’t appear the way I left it. As I continued to examine my mind threw itself back to the moments before last leaving the house, the last moments where everything here was normal, how it should be. I remembered cleaning the surface, what felt like a few days ago, right before leaving, right before the road; I’d carefully, with vicious, clinical precision gone through every drawer, every inch in search of that last proposal I never found. Now it stood before me, pathetic, sad….Emma must have been using it, using it before the hurricane hit…maybe she’d left a note. I could feel a fresh breeze of relief cool over me, she must have known I was out there somewhere, taking shelter, she must have known I’d find my way back. Attempting to take control back of my body, respectfully, I walked over to the familiar chair, eyes fixed on the disorganised table – the papers, the scraps. What the hell were they anyway? Whatever the hell they were, the metallic scraps lay at the far side of the desk, their faces dull, practical…serious. As my hand reached down and picked three or four of the surface of the desk, it was difficult to ignore how perfectly smooth, how perfectly polished they were. They varied in sizes, in shape but none looked like anything I’d ever seen – perhaps similar to bolts but a little more complex. Knowing I’d never be able to understand what the hell they were, I released my hand apathetically as they spilt to the floor, bouncing in various directions. My attention was now on the papers, the papers that had been watching me since I turned to enter the room, probably watching me ever since I entered the house; I began to pick them up. I’d never be able to read without light, I’d need something, some kind of illumination…the motorcycle. Carrying myself over to the door, shuffling all of them in the neatest manner I could muster, I placed my hand on the door’s handle before stopping myself. Was I really going to leave this house without my wife…my little girls? I knew they weren’t here but it didn’t make the decision I was now faced with any easier…was I really going to leave this house without them? I could feel a sigh carry my chest up my chin as the air pushed its way out.
Yes.
Grip still on the handle, I ripped the door open and began to make my way outside. The rain still knifed its way into the streets, spitting the ground below into concrete leopards. As I made my way towards the bike, papers now nestled to my stomach, the dirty shirt protecting them as best it could, I suddenly felt my eyebrows point themselves towards the ground. How did this bike get here? I knew it was mine, I remembered the highway but how…how did I get onto the highway to begin with? As my mind began to wrestle with the possibilities, doing everything it could to recall a moment before the lonely roads; I put myself to the task of igniting the engine as the light illuminated the steps in front. The papers emerged out from under the white shirt as I began to scan the first sheet, it didn’t take me long to realise what I was looking at – what appeared to be a government report. Before I could read further, I felt my hands shuffle the papers as I began to skim through as many as possible, keeping my eyes on the dates on top of each…whoever had been in my office had been collecting a series of government letters, some kinds of warnings, manifestos but none of it made any sense. I quickly found the page that had been dated earliest…dated around two weeks after the last night I could remember. There was a warning of something, an epidemic, it asked everyone in the area to stay inside for the following few days. As my eyes shot themselves past to the paper behind it, it soon became apparent that despite the broken chronological order…some kind of plague had taken over this small town. I could feel my hands shaking…the more I read, the words began to sink their fangs into me. But where was everyone now? Why didn’t anyone look for me? I’m not sure when the papers found their way out of my hands but I could see them dancing off in the weak wind, attempting to escape the evening’s discharge, all of them eventually dropping to the floor under the crushing weight of the rain.
Where had the motorcycle come from? I could feel the evening’s weight on my shoulders as I picked myself, back up to my feet, although I had no idea as to why. I felt myself drifting away from my body, I watched the figure, the man that looked like me, board the motorcycle, disengaging the breaks in the process. But I knew, I knew I was still trapped, trapped inside his body, those clothes; I could hear my mind whispering, whispering something, giving some instruction…but I didn’t need to hear the words. I knew exactly what it was telling me…it wanted me to move, to drive, to find my family. Now understanding the reason for my loneliness I began to realise any survivors, including obviously my family, had to have been taken somewhere, made it some to safety somewhere, I just had to find it.
The next city?
If no one was around in this town, if no survivors were nesting in dark corners beside the garbage riddled streets, behind the vacant roads, there was no reason for me to be here any longer. My eyes glanced down to meter as it stared back showing a near-full reading of gas, it was telling me to concentrate on myself, my needs. I was sure my stomach was hungry, I knew I needed water, when had I last eaten? In theory I could venture back, back into the house to check the kitchen but the reality was I knew I couldn’t bring myself to greet whatever feelings I’d left at the door. As I began to reverse the motorcycle, my eyes still scanning the surroundings for possible life, possible clues, I gently moved my head around its neck, hoping to loosen some of the muscles in my shoulders; my shoulder still ached. My hand gripped the accelerator as I asked for an idea, a plan, something that would lead me to some water, some food as I felt the engine vibrate beneath me, rocking me gently. As my head gently pushed itself back, rain pouring into every pore it could find, I began to see an image, an image of a supermarket…I knew where I’d be going next.
The small, cramped streets were still as desolate as they’d been on the way in, still as sad, as empty…the buildings hadn’t changed since my arrival either, they still had the same depressed demeanour.
It took several minutes before I arrived outside the store, a miserable expression plastered across its face…it was a disaster. Though the sign had been left untouched, most of the glass had been shattered, shards, pieces of a glass puzzle embedded in the concrete beside it. I knew I didn’t have
time to take in the view, to stare in awe at its apocalyptic makeover…I was here to do a job. It wasn’t long before I found myself entering through one of the glass panels, I found myself looking at something that resembled the end of the world. Boxes, cartons, food everywhere and…lights, a few lights, a few tall standing lamps curiously positioned in a line that appeared to run across the front of the store. For whatever reason, I found myself walking over to the one closest and attempting to switch it on, as if automatically. As I began to wonder why the hell a standing lamp would be near the entrance I quickly found myself greeted with the beginning of an answer as the light began to flicker its way on. I could now, much more clearly, see the chaos illustrated around me as the scavenged surroundings frowned back at me, a snarl on its lips. The light appeared to be battery operated, which made sense given that there were no cords anywhere around, as I gripped the stand and began to carry its surprisingly light weight with me, heading towards the closest aisle. If I’d crashed on the highway wouldn’t they have seen our car? I could feel the welcoming heat emanating from the light as I carried the instrument down the first aisle – the one for, what appeared to be, frozen foods. Sneering at the thought of making my evening any colder, before realising that the power outage would have ensured that were no longer that cold, I turned back to try the second. It’d been a while since I’d stepped foot in a supermarket, I couldn’t even remember the general areas for each item, but time…time is exactly what I seemed to have. The light illuminated further than I expected as I made my down the second aisle, this time feeling a sense that I was close, close to what I was looking for as I passed the bottles of soda on my right.