by Trevor Zaple
Taggert’s men came within fifty feet of them and Conley squeezed the trigger, the blast ripping through the winter skies and bringing everything to a halt.
“NOW!” he screamed, and the men behind him began to open fire.
Several things happened at once, all of them stemming from the moment that Conley fired his huge, ungainly pistol into the air. Conley’s sixty officers fired and made their targets on perhaps nine or ten men at the front of Taggert’s crowd. Taggert screamed hoarsely and his men returned fire. This return fire was ragged and unwieldy, however, dispersing gunshots into the air that came nowhere near their targets. Both sides looked at each other, stunned by this first exchange. Then, after a moment, the remainder of Taggert’s men simply turned and ran.
Conley watched approximately a second and a half of the enemy bolting away from them up University Avenue, and then he began shouting orders. They were retreat orders; upon watching the mass of Taggert’s men turning around, a wild hope had risen up in him. From the alacrity that his people carried out their orders, he suspected that the same thought had been present in their own minds. With Taggert’s men abandoning battle, there was no sense in staying around. They marched quickly back the way they came, aided by the paths that they had dug themselves. As they made their way back down Armoury Street, Conley thought quickly.
“North!” he shouted into the crisp air, his breath steaming in clouds. “North, rally point north!”
They turned in their paths as they heard the command and began trudging new paths through the encumbering snow. Rally point north was, in reality, the once-stately grounds of Queens Park. They might lose some stragglers along the way, but he would wait at Queens Park until he could be reasonably sure that everyone who was going to arrive had arrived. Then, they would keep pushing north. Conley had undergone an adjustment in his worldview upon seeing the backs of the fleeing enemy, and it could be summed up in one simple word: survival. Let the Mayor and Taggert finish beating each other into unrecognizable scraps. There were whole suburbs to the north, full of grocery stores and restaurants, convenience stores and office vending machines. Places that neither of the belligerent assholes that had ruined the downtown core had been able to get their grubby fingers on. He grinned as he pushed through the snow, and if anyone had happened to see him as he went they might have thought the devil himself had possessed him. It was just hope, though. A terrible, beautiful hope. He thought of the prospect of entire cities full of food, ready to be plundered and lived upon.
If we make it north, he thought, we just might live forever.
Alice Laurence slammed her way into the council chambers, her face a thunderstorm on the verge of bursting. The chamber was buzzing with conversation, all of it from the assorted pale councilors who filled the seats, jabbering to each other with twitching, frightened expressions. She ignored them in favor of the three figures at the front of the chamber. Childs she sneered at, and he returned it with a leering wink. Nancy Kim’s eyes were closed, and her lips were trembling. She felt pity, but pushed it firmly out of her mind. There would time to help her later, or so she hoped. It was the red-faced, sullen man who styled himself Mayor that she focused on. She pointed a long, wrinkling finger at him and it was a wonder that sparks did not begin flying off of the tip.
“What have you done?” she raged, her voice filling the entire chamber. She had done enough readings in her life to be able to easily fill this room with the hectoring sound of her voice. Mayor John regarded her as one would regard a trash bag that had ripped open and leaked garbage water all over the rug.
“Get out,” he commanded, his voice indignant. She favored him with a contemptuous smile and shook her head.
“No, Tommy, I won’t get out”. She rose her voice and spoke to the assorted men and women who filled the seats. “You should know that he has sent your only defense out to die in the snow. To be cannon fodder for Taggert’s bandits. There is no one left to…”
She might have continued in this vein for another minute or two, but at that moment a steady, ominous chanting could be heard in the distance. All conversation in the room stopped, and many heads turned to try to catch the noise. After a moment, it became perfectly clear what it was. It was unmistakably the sound of a gigantic crowd, marching closer every minute, chanting the 23rd Psalm at the top of their lungs.
As I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil…
Alice turned back to Mayor John after a moment, a strange, terrible smile creasing her lips.
“Your people are coming to attend court, Tommy. They sound terribly hungry,”
After this, all decorum in the chamber ended. The sitting councilors rose and began fleeing for every exit that they could find. Mayor John rose from his seat with his face flushed, screaming at the mass exodus of men and women in extremely expensive business attire.
“Cowards! Fucking cowards!” he screamed, but his exhortations had no effect on stemming the tide. They ran, and within minutes there were four people left in the council chambers. The sound of hurried footfalls from every exit mixed into the sound of the chanting, vengeful mob making their way through the snow from the Chestnut Hotel. Mayor John slammed himself back into his seat and put his hands palms-down on the desk in front of him. His mouth opened and closed rapidly, as though he were trying to formulate a perfect profanity to spew at this moment but ultimately had nothing to use. He looked around the room incredulously. Nancy Kim, her eyes still closed, began to sob quietly.
“I just wanted to help people,” she whispered, the tears trailing down her face. “That’s all I ever got into politics for. Now look at me. God, look at me”.
“Shut up, just shut UP!” Mayor John exploded. “No one cares about you, you goddamn useless cunt!” He turned to Childs. “Douglas, what do we do? We need a plan!”
Childs pretended to mull this over, and then rose from his seat.
“Here’s a plan, Tommy. I’m getting out of here, and you’re staying behind to go down with the ship. When the mob gets here, do give them my regards”. He smiled with a long-time actor’s grace and spoke to Nancy. “Ms. Kim, shall we be leaving?”
Nancy’s eyes flew open and she regarded him with suspicion. There was nothing in Childs’ face but open impatience. She rose warily from her seat, and Childs made a twirling move it along gesture.
“Ms. Kim, the time, it is a-wastin’,” he told her, humor mixing with agitation. “Shall we move along before we are forced to greet the mob with our florid friend here?”
Nancy began moving quicker. She got out from behind her desk and joined Childs. Tommy stared at them both with an indignant, strangely child-like expression on his face. Neither Nancy Kim nor Douglas Childs turned to have one last look at him. They fled together through the exit that lead out into the rest of the City Hall complex without a second thought or regard. The Mayor watched them go, his mouth hanging open. The chanting from outside was becoming uproarious.
Alice Laurence stirred from her standing position. She had watched the mass exodus, and then Childs’ and Kim’s departure, with an expression verging on awe. Now she was alone in the round, glassed-in chamber with the Mayor, whom she turned to.
“Tommy, I suggest we leave, now. That mob will not treat you kindly when they get here”.
“The food,” Tommy muttered sullenly. Alice stared at him, flabbergasted.
“Tommy, who cares about the food?” her voice rose into an incredulous panic. “Who gives a fuck about the food? We need to get out of here before they tear us apart! There’s food elsewhere, probably lots of it!”
“It’s the principle,” he continued, his voice like a ten-year-old boy being hauled in front authority and hating every moment of it.
“The principle?” she asked, hating the aged quaver that ran through her voice. Tommy looked at her, his face tired, his eyes dead.
“It’s my city,” he said, with no trace of anything in his voice. “It’s my city, and I’ll see it ou
t until the end”.
Alice looked him up and down, unsure of what to think. She shook her head slowly.
“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she said, her voice shot through with wonder. Mayor John shrugged imperceptibly, the life seeming to drain out of him by the second.
“Maybe you were. Who’s to say? Who will ever know? Get out, while you still can,” he said, the words mushing together from lips that could no longer form an effort.
She did so, the heels of her comfortable loafers flapping as though a pack of hellhounds was sniffing out her trail. She ran out of the council chamber, leaving the Mayor alone.
Mayor Tommy John, the last mayor of Toronto, sat in the mayor’s seat and watched as the crowd approached the glass wall of the chamber. It seemed enormous, although once upon a time it would have been a small crowd for such a sweeping, architecturally triumphant public square. He watched them approach the glass and spread out, all around the ring, so that every glass panel had a crowd of people staring in. Their eyes were burning, their faces thin, their clothes filthy. Many of them began slamming their palms onto the panes of glass, shouting things. Obscene things. Things that would never have crossed their mind to say, before the disappearance. Mayor John closed his eyes, and began moving his lips.
I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust”
The crowd slapped the glass panels, chanting and screaming, their words blending together.
For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence.
A large black man in a bulky winter coat pushed his way to the front of the crowd and rattled his fists upon the glass. He screamed something incoherent.
He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler
All at once there was a deafening shatter of glass from around the chamber. Jagged chunks of cinderblock and brick came flying through, accompanied by countless shattered shards. Mayor John opened his eyes and watched the mob pour through the rude openings. They cut themselves on jagged glass but did not seem to notice; their blood made a trail through the council chamber towards him. They were all shouting terrible, incoherent things. The black man was at their forefront, his eyes like liquid fire, his mouth chanting a medley of apocalyptic bible verses. Behind him, he noticed the two young men who had been instrumental in saving the downtown from becoming charred cinders. It seemed like it had been many lifetimes ago. Mayor John managed a smile as they approached. It was funny where life would take you.
“You will not fear the terror of the night,” he told them mildly, “nor the arrow that flies by day”. Then they reached his seat and tore into him.
Taggert watched in breathless rage as his army turned and ran, making very good time as they followed their own tracks back through the punishing snow. He screamed a stream of unconnected profanities, piercing it every so often to cry out “COWARDS!” or to curse their mothers. His store of obscenities seemed endless; it was not until his former men had made it two blocks west that he finally ran out, his tongue stuttering. He stood panting for a moment, the breath steaming out of him to disperse into the painfully fresh winter air. He turned and saw that Conley and his former police force had also turned and retreated. He watched them go, his mouth agape.
After several minutes of disbelieving silence, he turned back to stare at Michael and Sarah. Both of them looked back at him with neutral, guarded expressions. He sneered, and then spat into the thick blanket of snow.
“Both of them,” he said, his tone amazed. “Both of them just turned and ran. How do you like that?” He took a step in the direction that Conley and company had left in, and then seemed to reconsider it. He threw his hands up in the air.
“Both of them!” he screamed, disgusted at the very idea of it. “They just fired off their guns and then ran away! Both of them! Two fucking pissant choirboy coward cunt-fuck armies! How do you like that? How?”
He looked at Michael, obviously expecting an opinion, but Michael had none to give. He was as surprised as Taggert was. He waited for Michael to say something, and when he didn’t he flapped his hands at him.
“Gah!” he screamed. “Who ever heard of this? This must be the first spontaneous mutual retreat in history! It defies description!”
“Actually, it’s the second,” Sarah piped up. Taggert whirled on her, his eyes bulging and dangerous.
“What?” he shouted, his voice echoing. Sarah blinked.
“The second spontaneous mutual retreat in history. Although, to be fair, the first took place pretty close to here”.
Taggert glared at her, his lips quivering and his face twitching. Michael recognized the signs and steeled himself for the inevitable violent explosion. Sarah seemed calm and unimpressed.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he screamed. His voice was getting quite ragged now, and Michael imagined the inside of his trachea beginning to bleed. He felt a vicious glee over this mental image. Sarah looked at Michael and winked.
“Someone has obviously never read Civil Elegies,” she said condescendingly, and Michael could not help himself. He began laughing heartily, and the sound was so completely foreign to the happenings of the day that he had to laugh harder. His laughter infected Sarah and she began to laugh as well, her mirth filling the air like rich silver bells.
“NO ONE LAUGHS AT ME!” Taggert howled, and Michael began to feel tears roll down his cheeks, warmer than could have ever been believed.
“STOP LAUGHING AT ME!” he bellowed and Sarah fell to her knees, her laughter pushing her weak frame down. Taggert began to dance with frustration that bordered on insanity. He reached into his coat to pull out his pistol, meaning to turn it on Sarah and blow her head off in the name of catharsis. As he brought it out he fumbled it; he was using the hand that he had busted through the wall of the hospital, forgetting in the excitement of the day that it was utterly incapable of performing normal tasks. The gun stuttered out of his grasp and fell into the snow, where its weight punched a large, pistol-shaped hole. He kicked snow at it in pure rage, and shook his fists to the sky.
“FUCK!” he screamed, and with that final valediction he began stomping away through the tracks that his former army had made.
Michael ceased laughing. He sprinted forward and dug through the snow, retrieving the pistol. His hands were cold and wet, stinging with the numbness that the snow brought, but his aim was steady enough for the range. He swiveled the sight to bear on the back of Taggert’s head, inhaled and exhaled with exaggerated calm, and squeezed the trigger gently. The report was shockingly loud, ringing through the air like an air-raid siren. There was a steamy puff of gunsmoke and Taggert fell forward into the snow, his weight driving him down until he disappeared beneath the deep layer that lay upon the street. He trudged forward until he found where Taggert’s corpse lay, and looked at him for a long while. The snow around him was stained red. There was a shattered hole in the back of his skull, filled with what looked like raw, bloody hamburger meat. His left arm was stretched out in front of him; presumably he had fallen upon his other arm. He seemed sadly pathetic in death.
“That’s for calling me a nigger, you useless fuck,” he said quietly, and turned back towards Sarah. She had walked up silently to join him, although he hadn’t known it. She looked down at Taggert and spat. Her face was fraught with contempt.
“In a hundred years no one will know his name,” she said, and that said all that there seemed need to say. Michael nodded contentedly and looked around. The deserted city seemed even emptier somehow. Where they weren’t encrusted by snow, the windows seemed to stare at them with malevolent disinterest.
“I think we should get out of here,” Michael suggested, looking around and licking his lips. Sarah shrugged.
“You’re probably right, but where?”
Michael considered this for a moment, while the wind picked up around them, cruel and hawkish.
&nb
sp; “Anywhere,” he concluded, “that’s not this city. This city is dead, and anyone who stays in it will end up that way sooner rather than later”. There was silence, and the wind stung at their ears.
“That’s fine,” Sarah agreed, “but where else would you like to go?”
Michael shrugged, and pointed in a completely random direction.
“That way,” he said. He didn’t bother looking in the direction he was pointing. He was too busy looking at Sarah. There was a smile creeping onto her face, a smile that seemed to speak of warmth, light, and love. He smiled to join her.
“Sounds good to me,” she said, and they left in the direction that Michael had pointed in. After a moment, Michael held out his hand tenuously. Sarah took it, her fingers entwining into his, thin upon thick. They walked to the horizon, and disappeared into it. Hours later, the strengthening wind covered their tracks with granular snow, and they fell out of history.
Steve St.Omes approached the edge of Nathan Phillips Square, his leg muscles nearly expiring from the effort that his journey that day had taken. The sun had set long ago, and normally he would have found somewhere to hide, but an urge had taken him. He would sleep that night in City Hall, amongst the ghosts of the rich and powerful of the old order that had existed ephemerally in the most faded of his memories. He sang no song as he made this final leg; the howling of the wind seemed counterpoint enough to the tough industrial beat of his footsteps.
He had hid earlier, while the sun was still up; he had heard a massive-sounding crowd in the distance, towards his destination, chanting, shouting, and screaming. He had no wish to meet this group, as they sounded feral and hostile. Now, however, silence seemed to have descended upon the city again, and Steve felt safe in resuming his journey. It was strange to be out by the light of the moon, especially a moonlight that was wavering in and out behind a thickening layer of clouds. The wind had picked up and he knew that another blanketing of snow was not far off. The thought made him redouble his efforts. Across the churned-up field of dirty white was his goal, reaching twisted and imposing into the black night.