He felt his booth move slightly and realized the couple had sat right behind him.
“…was a good choice.” He heard the woman say.
“Please, call me Curtis,” the man said. “I have a couple of friends who like this place. Pleasant and low-key. You can have a conversation here. Anna, we need to figure out the future. The announcement—or rather pronouncement—by the Secretary General is cataclysmic.”
Interesting, Gatsby thought. Who are these two? He took a sip, then realized he was empty. He got out of the booth. When he stood, the two stopped talking. His eyes met Curtis’s and he smiled. Curtis returned the smile.
Over the next hour and half, and three more Johnny Blacks and sodas, Gatsby listened—eavesdropped would be more appropriate, he guessed—to the two and began to plan his future while the couple discussed the “fate of the world.”
His “liquid courage” finally spurred him to say something. He stood. “Excuse me, I’m sorry for interrupting. My name is Gatsby Langdon. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, I know—”
“I thought I recognized you,” Anna cut him off. “You’re the real estate tycoon.”
Gatsby smiled at her. “Guilty. As I said, I couldn’t help overhearing you discussing today’s disaster at the UN. I know many influential people in politics and I have not even heard a whisper of this happening.”
Gatsby could see Curtis sizing him up, deciding whether to speak.
And before he did, Anna broke in again, “My name is Anna Wycoff. This is Curtis Ralyea. This is—was—my first day on the job for Curtis. I was to be his personal assistant. How do you think I feel?” She knocked back the last third of what appeared to be a martini. “Oh, my God,” she said. “That sounded so selfish. I’m not like that. Really. It’s the liquor. I’m a nice person. I am. I am so mortified. Forgive me?”
Gatsby gave a laugh, in spite of the situation. “Nothing to forgive,” he said to the back of Anna’s head, which was now face down on the table.
She raised it and looked at him. “Thank you for being so gracious. Curtis, I’m sorry. Well, if I hadn’t already lost my job, I guess that would have done it.”
Now Curtis laughed out loud. Gatsby noted he looked even more handsome when he smiled.
The ice seemed to be broken now, and Curtis, after wiping his eyes, said, “Anna, you’re not fired and you still have a job as my assistant. I will, perhaps, need you more than ever.” Anna gave a weak smile. “And you, Mr. Langdon—”
“Gatsby.”
“—Gatsby, would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, Curtis. I would.” He slid into the booth next to Anna. As he did, he motioned to Cory to bring another round.
***
Several hours and several drinks later, the three were still in deep discussion. The bar had gotten appreciably more crowded as the evening arrived. They had ignored all around them.
“We know North Korea is a smoldering volcano. China has its own agenda. As does Israel. Russia with the new Cold War that seems to be heating up. Our president is a loose cannon. Even England wants to keep things close to the vest.
The men nodded.
Anna continued, “And none of these so-called leaders are willing to recognize the truly evil force in the Mideast. The terrorists and their puppets will destroy all that is good.”
Curtis joined in. “Their sphere of influence is vast. Nowhere is safe from them. I’ve been over there and seen their unspeakable power firsthand.” He blocked a memory of torture and beheading from his mind. “Europe has never been more divided. They are all running scared, doing nothing, waiting for the next shooting, or explosion, or bombing to happen.” He took a long drink, catching the eye of the unnervingly handsome and charismatic man across from him. He would be a fool to deny there was a definite attraction on both their parts. Yet there was also an underlying sexual vibe from Anna as well. The whole situation was preposterous. A giant anachronism amid global crisis.
The three glanced around, now, as the decibel level had risen. Every eye was glued to the four televisions over the bar. All the men—and the smattering of women—seemed to be huddled close together. One mass. Then Curtis began to notice the faces. Some were crying openly. Others had their faces buried in their partners’ chests. Still others only stared, mouths agape.
Curtis looked at the nearest screen and saw BREAKING NEWS: Widespread outbreak spreading across Asia into Europe.
The images flashed over the screen: Hospitals flooded with mobs of people, people in the streets literally dropping like flies. Curtis heard someone say, “Turn it up.”
The crowd grew eerily silent and the reporter’s voice issued from the screen:
“…plague of epic proportions has swept across Asia, leaving hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, dead. The source of the outbreak is as of yet unknown, as is the actual nature of this rampant, impossibly-fast-spreading disease. People in all Asian and European nations have been ordered to stay inside and avoid contact with anyone outside their homes. It has not been determined if the disease is airborne or not. The CDC and other global disease centers will be working around the clock to bring us information. Travel has been suspended to and from the affected countries, but all travel has been highly discouraged at this point. This all coming on the heels of today’s announcement abolishing the United Nations…”
“Oh, my God!” Anna said and covered her mouth in horror. With her other hand she clutched Gatsby’s arm. “What is happening to the planet?”
Gatsby spoke, “We need to leave. Now. My apartment is close. We’ll be safe there.”
“Safe?” Anna asked. “Safe from what?”
“I-I-” Gatsby stuttered. “I don’t know why I said that. It just came out. But—”
“You’re right. We need to go,” Curtis said and got up, a little unsteadily, from the booth. In spite of all the liquor he’d consumed, his mind was surprisingly clear. The dire pronouncements must have sobered him. He looked at Gatsby, who also appeared to have sobered fast. He was adroitly helping Anna from the booth, snatching up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.
The crowd paid no attention as they made their way to the door. “Wait outside. I’ll close out,” Gatsby said, wending his way to the bar.
They stepped out into the warm spring night, but Curtis still felt chilled to his bones. Gatsby joined them. “This way,” he said. “My car and driver are over here to the left.”
Curtis noticed the sleek black limo and wondered when Gatsby had called… or if he’d been there all the time. In any case, he was grateful they were able to escape so rapidly and easily.
The silent driver held the door open for the three and they climbed in.
***
It had been a week since the outbreak. And “outbreak” had been a massive understatement. Hundreds of millions, possibly billions, had died worldwide—intense headaches, leading to bleeding from facial orifices, followed by brain aneurysms.
Not pretty.
The areas most affected were the third-world countries, where tribes and groups were completely obliterated, seemingly based on proximity to one another… almost as if it were planned.
***
“Abel, your planned attack was quite successful, having eliminated the masses of underprivileged and largely unthought-of population,” Adam said.
Abel nodded, his face grim. Cain and Eve held his hands, knowing how difficult it had been for him, while at the same time dreading their own ineluctable “rides.”
Adam approached Abel and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “It had to be done.”
“I know,” Abel replied softly, then rose and embraced Adam, kissing him again. “Thank you.”
Cain and Eve’s eyes held tears of compassion. They silently reached for one another. Cain spoke after several moments had passed. “War is fomenting worldwide, as we knew it would. The stronger nations are using the pestilential devastation to their advantage, to prey on the weakened states and ove
rtake them.”
“You must prevent them from using nuclear tactics, Cain,” Eve admonished, squeezing his hand hard. “We do not want them to destroy our planet.”
“I have prepared for this, Eve.” He squeezed back.
“Then,” Adam said, “it is the time for the ride of the Red Horse.”
***
“We’ve been here for weeks,” Anna said. “So many nations annihilated… I don’t see how we can ever recover from this. And now with wars breaking out everywhere…” Her tears flowed.
Gatsby had his arm around her and let her sob, get it out. The three of them had shared many a tear over the last weeks. Curtis and he had used their contacts to see if they could learn where the outbreak had come from or who had caused it. No one knew.
What they did discover, though, was that Russia, China, North Korea, the Mideast (Israel and Iran, largely), and the United States had planned to use the plague to their own purposes. They were all gathering their arms and forces to, well, conquer what was left of the world.
Curtis spoke, “The Mideast will be the biggest massacre of all, you both realize. Israel thinks they’ll win; Iran thinks they will. The Saudis think they will… and what about the terrorist contingent? They’re everywhere. Those sneaky, suicidal bastards will just infiltrate them all, as they already have, and wipe them out from within. I mean, why do they care? Kill ’em all! They’re going to heaven with two thousand virgins, or whatever!”
“Curtis, please, calm down. It hasn’t happened yet. Come here.”
Curtis got up from the chair, opposite the large, brown leather sofa where Gatsby sat with Anna. Gatsby had an inviting arm open to him and he sat within it. Gatsby hugged him close.
“My dear friend, you are such a good man… You are both good people.”
Anna sniffled.
Curtis choked out a “right.”
Gatsby continued, “You are. Don’t forget that. When the world returns from its insanity and everything settles we will…” He stopped, and started to chuckle. Curtis and Anna looked up at him.
When Gatsby had their full attention, he sang in a decent baritone, “We’ll pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again…”
They both stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“What?” he said off their looks. “You know I’m gay. I like musicals. And I thought we could use some levity in this…” He lowered his voice. “…darkest of times.”
They both still stared until, at last, Curtis cracked a smile, followed by Anna. Then both broke out into full-throated laughter. Gatsby joined them.
Curtis, drying his eyes, recovered first. “If we can still laugh, maybe there is hope.”
“That’s my boy,” Gatsby said and kissed his cheek.
“Hey…” Anna said.
“And… my girl,” Gatsby kissed her as well.
They all looked from one to the other.
Gatsby knew they all felt it. He was sure they could hear his heart beating faster. He could. Where could this go? Why now? Dear God, why now? He knew Anna and Curtis were attracted to each other. And he was certainly attracted to Curtis. But Anna had also worked her way into his heart. Funny how tragedy could draw people together. But here they were.
Anna said, “Gatsby, what are we going to do? I mean, we can’t stay here forever.”
“She’s right, Gats,” (the new pet moniker Curtis had dubbed him with) “we have to go to our… our homes.”
Gatsby was prepared for this. “Go home to what? To whom? You’re both single, alone in the city, no families… like me.”
Neither responded. He knew they couldn’t. Then his capper: “And I love you both. You’re my family. We need to stick through this together. And not to be too much of a wet blanket, but the truth is the truth, for however long we have…”
Again there was silence.
Then, in common acquiescence, Anna and Curtis slumped into Gatsby and held on.
***
The Russian army attacked first, choosing Europe as its war zone to start. He swept through the weakened continent—army ants over a cow’s carcass.
China followed closely, sweeping through Southeast Asia and into his real goal: India. While most of India’s billion-plus population had been wiped out by the plague, the land mass was something China had always coveted. And after conquering those lands, they planned to impress those populations to help him devour Indonesia… then on to Australia.
This, of course, unbeknownst to the North Koreans, was also their goal as well: South Korea, Mongolia, the South Pacific,… Australia.
The Red Horse’s game plan was quite canny. And he knew his players. The American President was his favorite. With his megalomania, he knew exactly what the President would do.
And he did.
The President split his fronts and attacked Canada and Mexico at once. Then, using the Canadian forces, he would combine them with the Mexican troops and drive his forces down through Central and South America to Cape Horn. Canada, for some reason, after being devastated by the plague, seemed unable to recover or move on, losing their Prime Minister and all but one cabinet minister. It was primed for the US’s picking. And the “wall” that the government had decided to build on Mexico’s border with the US, having been held up with red tape, proved to be a blessing in disguise. Now they could move as freely into Mexico as the illegal immigrants had moved into the United States.
The Mideast and Africa would take care of themselves. The terrorist groups had infiltrated all of the major countries and the genocide of the “Infidels” would be child’s play.
The Red Horse’s ride was done.
***
“Not to get political,” Anna said, “But to call our President a ‘loose cannon’ may have been the understatement of the century. He basically annexed Canada and Mexico folded their cards almost before he started.”
The plague seemed to have ended on its own, for some inexplicable reason, Curtis thought. And now here the three of them were together, still at Gatsby’s. And it was a foregone conclusion that they would remain here until… Until what? The end of the world? Could it really be so?
After weeks of cogitation and deciphering, (Curtis had secretly been studying the Book of Revelation and its different translations.) he could hold his thoughts no longer. “And not to get religious or Biblical, but you both may or may not know about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in the Book of Revelation—”
“I’m familiar,” Gatsby said dryly.
“Me too,” Anna added.
“Sorry,” Curtis recanted. “I grew up religious. Wasn’t sure about you two. Anyway, I’ve been researching what the Book says. The first two horses are Pestilence and War. And the whole thing about the Anti-Christ arising from the Mideast… What if the terrorist faction is the Anti-Christ? The Bible doesn’t really say that it’s a man. I think the real evil—infestation, if you will—is that and has been for quite some time. An evil virus slowly poisoning humanity.”
“Hmm.” Anna looked at him, taking a long swallow of her Cabernet. “I studied the Bible in college and I see where you’re getting this, but what about the other signs? The Seven Seals? etc.” She sucked in a sharp breath.
“What is it?” Gatsby asked.
“This may be stretching things, but, The Seven Seals could be seven S-E-A-L-S?” She spelled out. “Just a thought,” Anna said.
“Yes! The Special Forces guys! I like your thinking, Anna,” Gatsby said, tongue firmly implanted in cheek.
“You are joking, aren’t you?” Curtis narrowed his eyes at her.
“Yes. Maybe. Who knows?” Anna shrugged and sipped her wine.
“All right, you two wannabe conspiracy theorists, I have actually tried to interpret these Biblical references, but I haven’t found any real corollaries to—”
“Perhaps they were merely add-ons, if you will.” He smiled ironically at Curtis. “Seriously speaking now, prophecies of doom to frighten the poor masse
s into being righteous. After all, what are a mere Four Horsemen and an Anti-Christ compared to the addition of Seven Seals, Seven Trumpets, Seven Bowls, the Lamb of God, the Whore of Babylon, Satan’s Doom…? It’s all so dramatic and foreboding. What poor soul wouldn’t be frightened into submissiveness by all that?”
Curtis heard the sarcasm in his voice, but at the same time wondered if he was that far off the mark. Mark… of the Devil? Another harbinger? He felt himself smile wryly.
“I amuse you?” Gatsby asked.
“No… I mean, yes, you do amuse me, and I’m glad you are having fun with it, but I think your allegations may have a ring of truth. When the Bible—Revelation—was written by John, the world—the Mideast, coincidentally—was mostly peasants and menial laborers. They needed guidance and laws, and hope. What if…” He sighed in exasperation. “I think I’m more confused now than I was before I postulated my theory.”
“Ah, my handsome friend, your theories are as good as, and probably better than, any.”
“I agree with Gatsby, Curtis.” Anna had finished her wine and was pouring more for the three of them. “And the more I think about it, the more I think you’re on to something. The big problem is, though, is there anything we can do about it? Other than watch it all play out from our ivory tower in the sky. Mind you, it is a fabulous ivory tower.” She raised her glass to Gatsby and drank. “And there are no two other people I would want to spend the last days of Earth with.”
“Hear, hear,” the men toasted back.
After a large gulp, Curtis said, “My head hurts… and it’s not from the wine. In fact, I intend to drink a lot more of it—that is if you’ve left any, Anna.” He held out his glass to her. “If you would be so kind. And Famine is the next horsey up.”
Anna raised the bottle for him. “Horsey?” She drained the last of the bottle into his glass. “No famine here,” she mumbled, and shook the empty bottle.
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