Nightfall

by John Inman

  Before he knew it, Ned fell asleep. He opened his eyes hours later. He squirmed closer to Joe and rested his head on Joe’s shoulder as he listened to the bay and howl of wolves somewhere close by—caged wolves, thank God. Their eerie cries were probably what woke him up. Beyond the wolves, out past the walls of the zoo, far off in the distance, Ned thought he heard the clatter of gunfire. His heartbeat quickened.

  “It’s started,” Joe said. “The cops. They must be taking back the city from all those goons with guns.”

  “But what good will it do?” Ned asked. “If the darkness stays, what good will any of it do?”

  To that Joe didn’t seem to have an answer. He hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it’s over now?” Ned asked. His voice was barely audible, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of this unforgiving darkness lasting forever horrified him. “I mean, if the light doesn’t return, if the sun doesn’t shine anymore, how can the planet survive?”

  Joe flicked on the flashlight and stabbed the beam around the barn as if checking to make sure they were still alone, which they were. He just as quickly switched it off to preserve the batteries.

  “Ned, I don’t know what’s going to happen. If it is the end, we won’t be facing it alone. Somehow, for me, that kind of takes the sting away.”

  Ned snorted back a wry laugh. “In other words, fuck the human race. We’ve got each other.”

  “And the camels,” Joe smirked. “We’ve also got the uglyass camels.” Snuggling close, they sat in their little nest of scattered straw and laughed at themselves, at the world, at the darkness. And yes, even at the camels. In the distance, the staccato clap of gunshots filled the night.

  After a while, Joe checked his watch. “It’s too dark to tell from in here, but the sun should be up by now.”

  “Do you think it is?” Ned asked. “Up, I mean? I hated it before, but now I’d give anything to see that red, hazy light again. At least you could navigate through it. You could see things.”

  Joe pulled himself to his feet. Ned followed him, wading through the scattered hay. He stood waiting while Joe slid the barn door open. Ned’s heart sank. There was nothing to see past the sill of the door but a wall of implacable black, merciless and unyielding. It was as deep as the darkness that had fallen when they were standing in the alley behind Mr. Wong’s deli. Staring into it was like being submerged in ink.

  Ned heaved a leaden sigh.

  “We should have known,” Joe muttered sadly.

  Ned moved up to press himself to Joe’s back.

  Quietly Joe asked, “Do you think we’ve seen the last sunrise we’ll ever see?”

  “No,” Ned said, all but commanding the heavens to obey. “Don’t even think that.”

  With a sigh, Joe said, “All right. If that’s what you want.” His tone brightened. “Are you ready to get back to work? The animals still need our help.”

  A great sadness rolled over Ned at the weariness in Joe’s voice. He stood on tiptoe and slid his lips over the back of Joe’s neck, mumbling gentle words onto his warm skin as they stared out at the lightless morning. “It’ll be all right, Joe. I know it will.”

  “Will it?” Joe asked. He squirmed around in Ned’s arms until they faced each other. Softly, he said, “You never give up hope, do you?”

  “Well….” Ned hesitated. “Not yet.”

  “So what do you suggest we do, oh optimistic one?”

  “I suggest we get back to work. We came here to help the animals. You said so yourself. Let’s do some more of that, and then we’ll see what we can do for ourselves.”

  “All right,” Joe said, ducking his head to rest his cheek against Ned’s.

  With Joe so close, Ned closed his eyes, awash in his love for the man before him. They both needed a shave. Touching was like two porcupines having a smooch. But it was a turn-on too. Ned shuddered at the sensation of his cock lengthening in his pants. But they had no time for that now.

  Straightening his shoulders, Ned pulled back a bit, tapped Joe’s chin with a kiss, and said, “Let’s do it, then. The animals are waiting.”

  “Greedy bastards,” Joe growled, but with a smile in his voice. Hearing it, Ned smiled too.

  Then Ned’s smile widened as a sudden thought struck him. Here he was facing what might very well be the end of the world, and he was doing it with a boner.

  Now what could possibly be wrong with that picture?

  THROUGH ALL the long, dark day that followed, it took every bit of Joe’s willpower to fight the despondency that bore down on him. The only thing giving him the strength to carry on was Ned’s relentless determination that everything would somehow turn out okay. And here Joe had thought he was the strong one in the relationship.

  He glanced skyward for the hundredth time, praying for just a single spot of sunlight to pierce the blackness, like the blade of a merry knife worming its way into the inky canopy to allow the entry of a single spear of light. But no merry knife appeared. No light shone down. And quite possibly it never would.

  Joe quickly pushed that thought away. He would at least try to bask in Ned’s optimism a little longer.

  They had done a lot the night before, but today Joe knew they probably couldn’t accomplish as much as he’d hoped they would. There were simply too many limitations, too many locked larders. Too many beasts to feed.

  He supposed he understood why the other workers had failed to show up to care for the animals. They had their own lives to worry about. Still it broke his heart. The animals they couldn’t tend to tonight would be okay for another day or so, but what would happen then? Would they lie in their cages, slowly starving to death? He couldn’t call his bosses because the phones didn’t work. He couldn’t access the larders where they kept the food each individual species required because he didn’t have the keys. Many of the larger and more dangerous beasts—and consequently some of the rarest and most beautiful—he didn’t have the skill to feed anyway.

  Joe was exhausted. He and Ned had not rested nearly long enough. But still, there was work to be done. They might as well do as much as they could.

  He led Ned down the macadam path toward the patio area where dozens of umbrellaed tables were scattered about. At the edge of the area, Joe used the beam of his flashlight to find the popcorn cart that was always parked there. Without thinking too much about it, he picked up a large stone from the ground and crashed it through the window at the front of the cart. Carefully reaching in, he grabbed a fistful of candy bars and handed them to Ned.

  Ned accepted them gladly. “Ooh. Breakfast!”

  Joe snatched up a few more bars for himself, unwrapped and bit into a Snickers bar with relish, and then stuffed the rest of them into his pockets for later.

  Ned spoke around a mouthful of chocolate. “That’s vandalism. You’ll get in trouble for that.” He didn’t sound any more concerned about it than Joe did when he answered.

  “Hey, we’re saving their very expensive animals from starving to death. Surely they’ll cut us some slack for that.”

  “Well, we can hope.”

  Chomping happily, Joe led Ned on through the compound.

  At the back of a gift shop, inside a small fenced area that wasn’t locked because there was really nothing valuable inside, they scooped up armloads of eucalyptus branches, previously cut by the animal handlers.

  “What are these for?” Ned asked, his arms full.

  “You’ll see.”

  When they had gathered up all they could carry, Joe led Ned up a winding wooden walkway with the flashlight tucked under his chin so they could see where they were going. They caught the glimmer of golden eyes in the darkness at either side. Sweet fuzzy faces turned toward the approaching light.

  “Oh!” Ned cried. “Koalas!”

  “Yes,” Joe said. “This is all they eat. Eucalyptus leaves.” Without any further explanation, he dumped his load of eucalyptus branches over the side of the walkway into the enclosu
re. Ned did the same. They stood side by side for a minute, watching by the light of the flashlight as the koalas slowly meandered their way toward dinner, as unconcerned as if the world ended every day of the week, thank you very much.

  A moment later, Joe tugged at Ned’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s see what else we can do.”

  They scattered pellets through the feeding pond in the flamingo pen by the zoo’s front gates. Stumbling around in the dark until they found the door to another shed, they finally hefted a few bales of hay—not straw this time, so they were considerably heavier—and manhandled them over the iron fence into the elephant pen after cutting the baling wire away. The elephants accepted their dinner with far more enthusiasm than the koalas, trumpeting and swaying their great bodies back and forth in pleasure. The bales had barely hit the ground when they were reaching down with their agile trunks and stuffing their faces with hay. While they fed, Joe switched a spigot at the side of the barn and filled their drinking trough. When that was done, they moved on.

  Astonished to find how many things they could do to help the animals, Joe and Ned passed the long day joking, laughing, and barely minding the darkness at all.

  Almost sick with all the candy he had eaten, Joe at long last checked his wristwatch to see that the day was almost over. They needed rest again. They needed sleep.

  They wended their way back to the barn where they had slept the night before, and collapsing on the straw, they wormed their way into each other’s arms. Joe smiled to himself when Ned immediately fell sound asleep. His flaxen head rested on Joe’s chest while Joe cradled Ned’s hand in his, slowly, gently stroking the blond hairs on the back of it, relishing the feel of his new lover’s skin.

  Lover. He still couldn’t believe it had happened. He still couldn’t believe he had committed himself to Ned, and how lucky and proud it made him feel.

  And with his usual impeccable timing, he did it just as the world decided to breathe its last gasp before flickering out like a fucking candle!

  Even so, there were bigger things to worry about now, incredibly enough.

  Society was at war with itself. Somehow the darkness had robbed people of their common sense. Or worse, had dragged them back to the Stone Age. Slowly, over the last twenty-four hours, Joe had come to the inescapable conclusion that if he and Ned were to survive the battles raging out there, they would have to leave the city. But where should they go? And how would they get there?

  He had sworn he would keep Ned safe, and he meant to keep that promise. But was it even possible?

  Still trying to decide what they should do about their own survival, Joe slipped into an uneasy sleep. When he opened his eyes again, he immediately glanced at his watch and saw it was after two in the morning. They had slept for hours.

  Gently, he nudged Ned awake. Leaning close, he touched his lips to Ned’s ear and whispered, “Are you ready to go back to work? I want to finish before dawn.”

  “If it’s like yesterday, there won’t be any dawn.”

  “You never know.” When he spoke the words, even Joe knew he was being overly optimistic. Still, it pleased him to think a dawn might break apart this suffocating darkness. And how the hell could a little optimism hurt?

  Ned seemed to agree. His head slipped around as he squirmed closer and pressed his lips to Joe’s. Joe’s heart thundered happily for a moment inside his chest.

  Ned’s voice was husky with sleep, his breath warm and sweet. “What did you have in mind? More camels?”

  “No. The birds. We can feed some of them and whatever else we can find that will eat seeds. The meerkats, maybe. Some of the marsupials. I know where the birdseed is kept. It isn’t locked.”

  “There’s still nobody else here?”

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t heard anyone.”

  “What will we do after we feed the birds, Joe? Are we going to stay here? Do you still think it’s safe?”

  In the far distance they could hear what sounded like a battle raging. Gunfire, the scream of machinery, and beneath it all, a constant roar. Angry wailing. Fury and fear. But it wasn’t the wail of animals this time. These were human cries. Human voices. Joe hoped he was wrong, but he feared the voices were drawing closer.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, leery about telling Ned what he’d decided, not sure how he would react. “I have a plan. But first, let’s see what more we can do here. Are you rested enough?”

  Ned laid his cheek to Joe’s. His eyelashes fluttered over Joe’s skin. A hunger rose in Joe that left him almost breathless.

  “If you are,” Ned said, “then so am I. But afterward, what’s the plan? What is it you want to do?”

  Ned listened once again to the war being waged in the distance. The war that would probably determine their future. Hell, maybe it would determine everyone’s future in this one little corner of a beleaguered world.

  “I want to see the fighting, Ned. Then I’ll know what we have to do.”

  Ned tensed beside him. “See the… fighting?”

  “If you’ll come with me. I won’t leave you anywhere on your own.”

  Joe waited only a scattering of heartbeats before Ned answered. And when he did, it was the answer Joe knew it would be.

  “I’ll follow you, Joe. Wherever you lead me, I’ll go. You know that.”

  “Yes,” Joe whispered, laying his hand over the crisp coldness of Ned’s ear and stroking it gently with his thumb to stir some warmth into it. “Yes, I do know that.”

  “I love it when you touch me,” Ned murmured.

  “Oh, really?” Joe teased.

  He slid his hand down Ned’s chest, then burrowed it under the hem of Ned’s coat, only to discover a very intriguing bulge pooching up the fly of Ned’s pants. “You’re hard.” He chuckled. “And what do you know, you’re getting harder.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had that little problem off and on for a while now.”

  “Have you really? And who says it’s little?”

  After sliding Ned’s zipper down, Joe squirmed his fingers through and grasped the warm stiff flesh inside, gently easing it out into the cold night air.

  “Oh God…,” Ned muttered, lifting his hips off the straw to meet Joe’s touch.

  Joe bent and took Ned between his lips. At the same time he used his free hand to press Ned back into the hay. When he had him where he wanted him, flat on his back and trembling, legs spread wide, Joe used his mouth to carry Ned to climax. Afterward, since turnabout is fair play, Ned did the same for him. When Joe came, filling Ned’s mouth with hot cream, both men cried out, clutching at each other. Joe could feel Ned smiling around his cock, even as his heated lips coaxed the last drop of semen from him.

  Afterward they rewarded themselves with a few minutes of cuddling.

  “If it wasn’t so damned cold, I’d rather have you naked,” Joe breathed, still basking in the memory of how hungrily Ned had fed from him. And how hungrily he had fed from Ned.

  “Me too,” Ned replied, still unable to do much more than groan. His come-moistened lips slid across Joe’s eyelid, and his hand still caressed Joe’s softening cock, his fingers slick with spit and semen. “But having you like this will do in a pinch.”

  A dingo howled and yipped nearby. Joe lay quietly in Ned’s arms and listened to the plaintive cry. Languidly, as if they barely had the strength for it, they pulled themselves from the hay, readjusted their clothes, and went back to work.

  A short time later, they were strewing seeds in the aviary and the individual bird cages while Joe lamented the fact that the big birds, the raptors, would be left unfed because they had no meat for them. When Ned suddenly clutched his arm, Joe stood stock-still, his fist still filled with birdseed.

  “What is it?” he hissed.

  Ned’s voice was drenched in wonder. His fingers tightened on Joe’s arm. “Listen! The animals, Joe. They’ve gone quiet. And feel the air. It’s not as cold as it was before.”

  Joe might have been a statue, sta
nding there in the dark. Holding his breath, he tilted his head to gather the sounds around him. Ned was right. The lions, the tiger, the dingos, all of them had fallen silent. And the air too. It really was warmer. Not much, but a little.

  They stood in the massive aviary, with stairways angling off in different directions, while flocks of birds fluttered about their feet, snatching up the scattered seed. Joe set his bucket of seed aside and stared upward through the arching mesh ceiling high above their heads. In the midst of a blank, black sky, dimmed slightly by the mesh he had to look through, Joe saw a single star, glittering in the velvet dark.

  His flashlight clattered to the sidewalk.

  “Good God,” he said, dragging Ned closer and pointing a trembling finger skyward. “Look at that!”

  Together, arm in arm, they stared upward at the single, shimmering star piercing the heavens.

  “Light,” Joe whispered in awe, his fingers tightening over Ned’s. “Look how beautiful it is.”

  At that moment, as if it had never been there at all, the single blinking star winked out, leaving the world once again hooded in an endless canopy of black.

  “No,” Ned whispered. “Don’t go.” But the darkness did not yield. The brief glimpse of beauty it had allowed them did not return.

  Turning away, Ned buried his face in Joe’s chest. He didn’t weep; he didn’t sob. He merely stood there, pressing himself to Joe, seeking comfort, perhaps, holding on. Ned’s sadness leaked into Joe. He clutched Ned close, cooing nonsensical words, stroking Ned’s back. Desperate, he continued to scan the sky, trying to remember exactly where he’d seen the star. Where it had appeared. How beautifully it had shimmered. Oh, how he wanted to present it to Ned one more time. To make Ned smile. To make Ned’s fears fall away.

  Unmoved by the wants of one puny human drowning in a sea of black, the darkness remained aloof. It showed him nothing. Long minutes later, Joe finally accepted the truth.

  The star was gone. And with it, any hope of another dawn was gone as well.