by Peter Ponzo
Vancouver lay before us, devastated, ravished by weapons that knew no bounds. The proton bomb was designed to kill all biological life yet leave structures intact. The area of destruction of the bomb would grow with time, eventually encompassing all the land between bomb sites. The TTC, Time To Completion, had been theoretically calculated: one week from the last bomb detonation, no more.
The TTC had never been tested, of course. It meant detonating many bombs and noting the time to complete land embrace. That was the name given to this feature of the proton bomb: land embrace. It referred to the destruction area for each bomb widening–or 'embracing'– until it collided with the neighbouring area. Testing such a feature was out of the question, although small experimental explosions had been performed, just to test the theory. One curious feature was the appearance of red upper atmosphere about the test site. Theoreticians concluded that the colour was the result of chromium, manganese, cobalt and iron, present in the ground, being vaporized.
Brandy and I began to walk toward the nearest buildings. We expected to see bodies, but there were none. Instead, there was a bluish residue left by annihilated bodies. These inconsequential blue remains were everywhere. They coloured the streets, painted the walls and stained the buildings. They were often shaped like a human, a running, cringing, cowering human. Brandy sniffed some of the blue powder, snorted, then ignored them. We walked into a grocery store. I wouldn't trust any foodstuff that had been exposed, but surely canned goods were edible. The vegetable counters were covered in blue dust. Of course; the proton bomb would affect all biological life and that included cabbages and cauliflower. We wandered by the shelves filled with canned soups and picked several. Then to the utensils to collect a can opener, two bowls and a spoon.
Just down the street is a park. We walk there and find benches, some covered in blue remains. I sit in a clean bench and open two cans of chunky beef stew, fill two bowls and Brandy and I enjoy a meal while gazing at the sea. Neither of us will be lonely in this new world. We've lived a life of isolation for some time.
Lights began to come on in the city. That was surprising, at first, but electricity is generated by nuclear stations that require little human intervention. But then, these days, most factory operations run 24/7 with little or no human intervention. One particularly tall and elegant condominium looked appealing, so we walked to the entrance then to the lobby desk, admired all the artwork, mahogany and marble, grabbed all the keys for the top floor and took the elevator to the penthouse suites. We opened several until we found one without blue remains. It was delightful, with windows on all sides, some looking out on the sunset on the Pacific, some at the Coast Mountains. Brandy and I collapsed on a comfortable king-size bed and fell fast asleep.
At 7 a.m. the phone rang and I fell out of bed. Brandy barked as I cautiously reached for the phone. Was somebody still alive? Why did they phone this particular number? How would I explain my presence here, in this suite? I answered the phone:
This is your 7 am wake-up call.
This is your 7 am wake-up call.
It was a mechanical voice. I fell back into bed and smiled. Some things never fail, like programmed calls. Eventually I rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The fridge was filled with goodies, but I was wary of anything that wasn't properly packaged. Packaged against proton bombs? Was there such a packaging? I opened the freezer compartment and found two steaks wrapped in foil. That'd be our breakfast.
It was quite nice to have all the electrical appliances working. I actually missed that while living at the bottom of the sea. I did have a stove, of sorts, and a small food cooler, but nothing so elaborate as what I found in this penthouse suite. I pulled the steaks from their wrapper, tossed them on to the stovetop grill and stepped out onto the balcony which faced the mountains. The sun was just rising above the peaks and the crimson sky was delightful to see ... but it was quiet. Not a bird sang, no traffic noise, just a light, warm breeze.
When the aroma of grilled steaks wafted to the balcony, Brandy and I went in and had breakfast. Afterward, we went down to that grocery store and carried back dozens of cans of soup, vegetables, fruit, meat and fish. Our penthouse suite soon contained most of the canned goods from that store and other like it. Brandy and I were a happy pair.
Chapter Two
We spent almost two years in the penthouse. Days went by, painfully slowly, each the same: breakfast facing the mountains as the sun rose, wandering about town, lunch from a can–sometimes on a park bench–more wandering about town, dinner from a can–all frozen foods were gone–then watch the sun go down over the Pacific, then to bed.
At the start of the third year, Brandy got violently sick. He had always been a healthy dog, but he was now twelve years old. He gazed at me with solemn eyes as though apologizing for his condition. How I loved that dog. Then, one morning, I awoke to find Brandy lying by himself on the carpet by the door. He had died peacefully during the night. I was crushed. He had been my best friend, my only friend, never asking for anything but my love, always sympathetic to my needs, aware of my periods of depression, trying to perk me up when I was down. I buried Brandy in our park by the sea, on a small hill overlooking the setting sun. Now I was completely alone ... and it hurt.
I decided that I needed to return to my undersea home. Perhaps I would be able to keep my mind off my utter loneliness. I walked to the pier where my bantam sub was tethered and began the journey home. Although the dome beneath the sea hadn't changed, I had changed. I had tasted the comforts of the penthouse suite ... and I desperately missed my dog Brandy. After just a few days I returned to the devastated city and went to the suite that looked upon the sea and the mountains. The door was locked.
I don't recall locking the door. Why would I? I was the only living person. I searched my pockets for a key, but had none. The keys were somewhere within the suite. Then I heard music and it was coming from within the suite. I knocked on the door. Was there another person alive? My heart began to beat faster and I found myself holding my breath.
"Who's there?" came the voice beyond the door.
"It's me!" I said, almost shouting. "It's me!"
There was a long pause, then I heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened a crack and a face peer out.
"It's me," I said again. It was a really stupid thing to say, but I found it difficult to think rationally.
"Okay ... are you a serial killer or a rapist or a ..."
"No! No! I'm ... uh, I'm just me, you know?"
Somehow the long years away from any personal contact has dulled my ability to carry on an intelligent conversation.
"Okay, me. You can come in."
She opened the door and I rushed in.
"Thank you," I gasped. "Uh ... this is my apartment, you know? I live here, you know?"
"It looked rather empty, but I did notice the sink filled with dirty dishes," she said. "I guess that was you."
"When did you ... I mean, how did you survive the holocaust?"
She pointed to a sofa and we both sat, side by side. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she did have an very interesting face, round and somewhat olive brown with greenish eyes and pale lips and straggly hair that ...
"I'm a spelunker," she said.
"Oh my God," I said. "Is it contagious?"
She laughed, a loud and wonderfully coarse laugh.
"I guess you're not a serial killer," she said, giggling.
"How about a rapist?" I said, smiling as best I could. "You never can tell, you know."
"I'll take my chances," she said, still grinning. "Are you hungry? This suite is filled with every conceivable canned food, but I guess you know that."
"Yes, Brandy and I robbed all the grocery stores in town."
"You mean there's another person alive?" she said, her voice shaking.
"No ... I'm afraid he died a while back. I loved him dearly."
She suddenly looked sad, serious, her smile gone.
"I'm so so
rry to hear that," she said. "Was he your ... your ..."
"He was my dog," I said, realizing what she was thinking.
She chuckled, then looked serious again.
"He was your best friend, I'm sure," she said.
"Yes, please," I said. "I am."
"You are what?"
"You asked if I was hungry and I am. If you like, I can make the meal and we can sit on the front balcony and eat while the sun goes down."
And that's exactly what we did, I with my chunky beef and she with her clam chowder.
"So," I said, after we had finished four cans, "how did you survive?"
"I really am a spelunker. I explore caves, deep underground caves, and British Colombia had plenty of them."
"You mean caves with stalagfrights and stalagkites?"
"The same," she said. "I was deep underground when I felt the earth shake. I could hear the noise, the explosions, so I stayed below for several days. My companion left as soon as he felt the ground shake. I haven't seen him since. I suspect he'd dead."
She looked sad.
"I'm Frank," I said, holding out my hand.
"I'm Abbie," she said. 'Pleased to meet you, Frank."
"Me too."
Somehow I was happier than I've been in a very long time.
Chapter Three
Abbie and I lived in the penthouse for more than six months, then she made a surprising suggestion.
"We're not getting any younger," she said.
"I've looked far and wide," she said.
"There's nobody else I want," she said.
"It's gotta be you!" she said, bursting out laughing.
"Me? What me?" I said, as though I had no idea what she was talking about.
Adam was born less than a year later. He was a strapping boy with a gurgling laugh just like Abbie's and huge eyes. He also had a penchant for filling his diapers with massive amounts of pungent matter that would have driven Brandy wild. Abbie and I now had someone else to love ... besides each other.
Adam was a joy. He was the smartest kid in his class, the fastest runner in his school and the most handsome kid on the block. I, of course, was the greatest father in the world. Abbie and I taught him everything he knows. Our school was a certain penthouse apartment. The gym was just down the street, our private library was a block in the other direction; both were dedicated to us, our needs, no one else had entry permission. We often picnicked in the park which was now filled with blossoms. We swam in the pacific during the hot summer months. Then, one evening, the electricity stopped and we were in the dark.
Although we knew it was just a matter of time, having no electricity was a much greater burden that we had anticipated. The drinking water that flowed freely from the faucets stopped flowing. The fridge that kept foodstuff cold stopped working. The elevator that took us to and from the twenty-seventh floor was now defunct. Needless to say, we moved to the first floor. Further to our problems, we had raided all the grocery stores in town and our food supply was running low. We did try growing vegetables from seed, in various areas about town–especially the nearby park–but they usually didn't germinate and those that did produced plants that were unrecognizable.
How did the natives survive, a thousand years ago? The answer was obvious: there were plants to eat and animals to hunt. We had neither. The only solution seemed to be to return to my undersea habitat where I had lived for years without need of all the more civilized conveniences. When Abbie, Adam and I moved in we found it to be very small. I don't remember its being that small. Adam hated it and cried much of the time. Abbie complained bitterly. I was never sure what she expected me to do. What little power we needed came from hydrothermal vents. Our food consisted of clams, scallops, fish and whatever other sea creatures survived the holocaust. Abbie and Adam grew to hate seafood.
After about two years, Abbie said she wanted a divorce. I found that difficult to understand. We weren't even married. She said she would return to the city with Adam. I asked what she would eat. She ignored the question. I asked what she would drink. She ignored that question, too. After much arguing I took them to the pier and watched them walk to our elegant apartment building. Adam was so cute. He had become quite adept at moving about without assistance. I was very sorry to see them leave. What would I do now?
After their departure I often went to the pier in the hopes that I would see them there. I even walked to the apartment building, but I couldn't bring myself to knock on their door. My life beneath the sea was unbearable. When it was Brandy and me, I never yearned for anything else. Now I yearned for the life that Abbie and I had on the twenty-seventh floor.
One day I decided to visit my son. How could Abbie deny me that? I made a seashell trinket for Adam and a nice dish made of clamshells for Abbie. When I knocked on their first floor door it was early evening. I was hoping that they would invite me to stay for dinner, on the balcony, facing the setting sun. Of course, I had no idea what they would be eating, but Abbie was a smart gal and she would have thought of something. Perhaps she went fishing. There were plenty of sea creatures that survived.
There was no answer, but the door was unlocked so I walked in, cautiously. There was just enough light to see where I was going. I found them both in bed. They were gaunt, scrawny. They were not breathing. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried. Damn the apocalypse! Everything I had loved was now gone.
I buried them in the park, on the hill next to Brandy, looking out on the sea. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done. What was the purpose of life? Why was I still alive? What satisfaction was left for me? None. I returned to the apartment and lay on the bed and closed my eyes.
Chapter Four
There were over a hundred and when they arrived in town they were delighted to find most buildings still intact. One building, in particular, was quite elegant. They all entered and walked about the lobby, admiring the artwork the mahogany and the marble. They had spent much of the previous months repairing the nuclear power station under the guidance of Jim Gleans, master engineer, so it was no surprise that the elevators worked. A first floor apartment door was open and Jim entered with several others. It was fairly clean and neat and looked lived in. Jim found the skeleton in the bedroom.
Chapter One
Workin the streets ain't a good thing. It's cold in the winter and hot in the summer and you don't eat good and people is always lookin down at you. But I had my corner, Greg's Corner I calls it, and no other bums was gonna take it. I don't need much, just a bit of wine now and then and mebbe scraps from the bakery down the street. I got me my bag o goodies, with my blanket that I found in a dumpster and the fuzzy cap that pulls tight on my head. And I get to see the horse races on the TV inside the Video Store. Them races is my most greatest fun. Life ain't so bad, but it ain't so good either.
I got me a half dozen friends, good friends ... and we look after each other, sharing our bottle of wine and doughnuts when we find a dozen stale ones in the bin. Ol' Miller's got hisself a beat-up trailer park at Miller's Grove and we all live there. He owns the place which is funny 'cause he ain't got no money just like the rest of us. They is four old trailers there and I live in one with my best buddy, Clem Broden. Molly and her little mutt lives in the red one with the broken window and Charlie 'Bones' Harrison lives with Dotty in the green one at the end. Ol' Miller has the nicest trailer which is fair and right 'cause he owns the place. His trailer is white and you can see it as soon as you come into the Grove. It's even got an antenna, but Miller ain't got a TV. We ain't got no heat in the trailers, but we don't got no leaks either. The roofs is covered in tin sheets we got from the junk yard and they keeps the rain off pretty good.
It was Saturday when I found it in my bag. A key to who knows what. It must have been lying in there for a long time, but I ain't never seed it before. It was dirty from all the crap I kept in the bag over the years, but it shined up pretty nice when I rubbed it on my jacket. It wasn't no ordinary key. It was funny lookin a
nd a number was writ on it: 601. I showed it to Clem while we was finishing off the wine and he says it's a key to one of them safety boxes. Now how do Clem know somethin like that? He ain't never had a safety box.
When I showed it to Bones, he said he seed it before when I first came to the Grove. He seed it when I dumped my goodies on the ground to get out my blanket. Dotty said she seed it too. Now, when I think back, I remember where I got that key, but I ain't tellin nobody. I was just a kid walkin in the woods by my pappy's house by Martin's farm. They was a body lying there, right in the woods, dead as a door nail, and he had a pretty nice coat on him. I took the coat and when I fished through the pockets I found a wallet with a few bucks and a key. I spent the money at Sam's Sweet Shop and stuck the key in my pocket. That key is the one that spent some time at the bottom of my goodies bag.
We was all sittin about a fire that night. They was a chill in the air.
"So who was the dead guy?" Clem says.
"What dead guy?" I says.
"The guy with the key?" Bones says.
"How do ya know about the dead guy?" I says.
"You told us years ago," Molly says, holding her mutt close to her chest.
"Well ... I dunno who he was," I says. "He was dead, ya know. I didn't do it."
"Of course you didn't do it," Clem says. "But who was he?"
"Damned if I know," I says.
"Why didn't you ask him?" Dotty says, laughin out loud.
Just then Miller comes by. He sets on a log and holds his hands out to the fire.
"Nice fire," he says.
"Remember the guy that Greg found dead in the woods by Martin's farm?" Clem says.