Nightfall

by John Inman

  The world had once again slipped into unbroken darkness around them.

  Chapter Five

  WITH THE first dawn after all electrical power was stripped from the planet, people learned they had yet to see the worst of what the solar storm could bring. For in truth, that dawn did not come at all. The sun did not appear on the eastern horizon. Not so much as a semblance of daylight spilled down onto the planet to chase away the shadows and bring illumination to an anxious, terrified world.

  The planet’s day and night were both swallowed now in darkness, total and absolute. The lightless shadow had devoured all. The bloodred haze had disappeared. Even the memory of its pale light seemed to have died in the night.

  Above the forty-ninth parallel, for a brief moment during the predawn hours, the northern lights had been seen shimmering like neon in the darkened sky. In the midst of it a single burning star appeared. It was a spectacular show, drawing every eye, stalling every breath. But the aurora quickly faded, the star blinked out, and the sky—and all the hopes centered upon it—were left blacker than before.

  In San Diego, too far south for the northern lights to be visible, only one brief glimpse of that single burning star would show itself. Before, only the moon and stars had been buried behind a vast black sky. Now the light of day lay hidden as well. While the air blew slightly warmer across the southern edge of California, as opposed to the more northern stretches of the hemisphere, it was still more frigid than a temperate summer climate should allow. Clearly, the world had been turned upside down and inside out.

  And its turning had not ended yet.

  NED AWOKE in Joe’s arms again. They were still lying on their mattress of straw, but this time they were tucked beneath a dusty padded blanket—the sort of blanket a mover might use to protect furniture—that Joe had found in the barn. Ned lay still, listening to the faint grumble of Joe snoring beside him. It was a sound he knew he would never grow tired of hearing, not if they lived to be a hundred. Of course, a contented old age was a prospect growing more and more remote. Even Ned was smart enough to know that.

  Peeking out from beneath the blanket, his first thought was that the air was still warmer, and that gave him hope. His second thought was that the darkness had not gone. It still cloaked everything in sight—or more correctly, everything not in sight. Beneath its weight, he fought desperately to battle hopelessness. If Joe had not given in yet, neither would he. Even beyond that, one inescapable conclusion remained. They still had each other. That had to count for something.

  His body ached from all the work they had done. He was more used to cooking bacon and chopping veggies than hoisting bales of hay over neck-high fences.

  He automatically reached for the flashlight, groping around until he located it atop a bale of straw behind them where Joe must have left it before they fell asleep.

  They had worked long hours the night before. When they finally collapsed in exhaustion it was approaching dawn—or what would have been dawn if the world were not standing on its head. The birds and the ruminants—from kookaburras to toucans and bison to giraffes—had all been fed. A lot of the other beasts as well. The work had consumed much of the night, and Ned had never in his life felt such a sense of accomplishment, knowing all the good they had done. They had saved a lot of lives, and they had done it all by themselves. For still, even this morning, there seemed to be no other humans on the zoo grounds. No one else had come to help feed the animals. Ned supposed the other workers were too busy worrying about themselves and their families to take the time to tend the beasts in their care. Or maybe they thought the world was coming to an end, so what was the point?

  Ned squeezed his eyes shut to empty that thought from his head. Still feeling uneasy in the darkness, he switched on the flashlight and sent its beam dancing across the hay barn, making sure they were alone. He stopped surveying the barn long enough to study the dust particles floating in the flashlight beam, thinking how alive they looked. He finally settled the light on Joe’s sleeping face. The moment the beam touched him, Joe fluttered one sleepy eye. A moment later, he blinked the other eye open. Squinting into the flashlight’s glare, his first action upon awakening was to reach out and caress Ned’s cheek. Ned lowered the light. His breath hitched when Joe’s fingers touched his skin.

  Joe seemed to like Ned’s reaction, for he offered a gentle smile. “My God, Ned. How long did we sleep?”

  “All day and part of the night, I think. I’m stiff as a board. And it feels late. Or early. I’m not sure which. But it feels like a lot of time has passed. Could we really have slept that long?”

  “I think we did,” Joe said, clearing his throat, waking his voice, forcing a yawn to get the blood moving. He coughed up a rueful laugh. “Stress and lugging those bales of hay around must have worn us out. I’d kill for a toothbrush.”

  “Ditto,” Ned said around a grin. “A toothbrush and a Big Mac.”

  “With fries and an apple pie. And onion rings.”

  “And a chocolate shake. No, scratch that. No chocolate.” He had consumed a dozen candy bars the night before. “I’ve had all the chocolate I can handle. How about a big, juicy steak?”

  “Oh God. Don’t toy with me.” Joe squinted against the glare of the flashlight beam and glanced at his wristwatch to check the time. “Please, turn that thing off.”

  Ned switched the flashlight off, and the darkness instantly closed in around them.

  “It’s almost three in the morning,” Joe said, tapping his watch with a fingernail. “Not that it matters, I guess. Day is the same as night now. I wonder if it will be like that from now on.”

  Ned groaned. “God, I hope not.” Once again, Ned tried to squeeze those thoughts from his head. How can the world survive without light? How can plants grow? How can man feed himself? Ned dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand, and the pain finally pushed the thoughts away. “Honestly, Joe. The sun can’t stay hidden forever. The light has to peek through sometime.” Ned grabbed at the only smidgeon of hope he could find. “Did I really see that one little star last night, or did I dream it?”

  “You saw it. So did I. I had hoped….”

  Ned finished the sentence for him. “You had hoped it would signal this was all about to end. All this endless fucking night.”

  “Yes,” Joe sighed, nestling closer to lay his head on Ned’s chest. “That’s exactly what I hoped. But now it looks like the dark is just as deep as before. We’ll have to wait and see what daybreak brings.”

  Daybreak. The word drifted around in Ned’s brain, lost, as if the definition of it had faded from his memory banks. When was the last time he had seen a real dawn, with golden light spilling across the toes of his shoes, with the hot California breeze blowing through his hair and pleasantly warming the back of his neck? Good Lord, he honestly couldn’t remember. Daybreak? Dawn? Morning? What the hell was that?

  The darkness pressed down on him now with an almost physical weight. Ned feared if Joe hadn’t been at his side, if he had been alone, he would have gone mad staring into it. He would have run screaming into this endless night until he ran himself to death. Like the birds that had tumbled out of the sky from sheer exhaustion.

  “I don’t think anyone has come,” Ned said, tearing his thoughts away to concentrate on more practical matters. “It’s been so quiet.”

  Joe gently untangled himself from Ned’s embrace and sat up with a groan. “It is quiet!” He held his breath.

  “What?” Ned asked. “What is it?”

  “The animals,” Joe answered. “Even the animals are quiet again.”

  Ned jerked upright. My God, Joe was right. The beasts were silent. They weren’t howling at each other or bellowing their frustrations into the lightless world. How had he not noticed it the moment he opened his eyes?

  He gripped Joe’s arm. “What does it mean?” he asked, his voice as tense as a drawn bowstring.

  “I don’t know,” Joe whispered back. “But I have to see the sky
. We have to try to figure out what’s happening. Maybe the world is beginning to right itself. Why else would the animals grow calm again? Why else would the air be warmer than it was? Why else did that one little star appear last night, even if it was just for a minute?”

  Joe struggled to his feet and groaned his way to the barn’s sliding door. Ned followed close behind, listening to Joe rake the sliding door open with a horrendous rusty screech. Just as Ned feared, no light spilled in. From their vantage point, the darkness was still absolute.

  They stepped outside. Ned prayed for at least a glimpse of light, a trace of morning sun shimmering in the heavens. But there was nothing. The daytime darkness that had fallen two days ago had not lifted at all. If anything, it was denser than the darkness of the night before. Ned had to grope to find Joe standing less than two feet away.

  “Damn!” Joe muttered under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Ned whispered, clutching Joe’s sleeve, burrowing his fingers under the cuff to stroke the hair on Joe’s wrist. To comfort either himself or Joe, he wasn’t sure which.

  Joe turned to drag him near. He tucked Ned’s head under his chin and spread his hands over Ned’s back, trapping him in his arms. He ducked his head and kissed the top of Ned’s head.

  “We have to find some breakfast,” he said. “I can’t do anything else until I’ve eaten. You must be starving too.”

  “I am. And I need real food. Not candy.”

  “Me too. Come on. I have an idea.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down to Big Cat Canyon. There’s a restaurant there I think we can pillage.”

  “Ooh. Lead the way.”

  Taking Ned’s hand, Joe led him away from the hay barn along the roadway. In every direction, the world was soundless and dark. No wind stirred the branches of the towering eucalyptus trees peppering the grounds.

  Without the animals throwing a fit, the morning was deathly still. Even the hoofed creatures penned along the road—okapi, impala, zebra—were silently sleeping off their recent feast, or so Ned imagined, since he couldn’t see them in the dark.

  Ned followed Joe’s flashlight beam to a steep bank of winding stone steps leading downward. The steps had once followed a gurgling man-made waterfall through what was meant to be a tiny rain forest. Without electricity, the pumps had stilled and the waterfall stopped gushing. When Joe aimed the flashlight to where the water once tumbled downhill, Ned saw algaed stones and an empty artificial creek bed. They carefully navigated their way down the rustic stairs through eerie stillness. Around them, a chaos of lush ferns stood tall and green, shimmering with dew.

  Their path leveled out when they hit a second broad macadam pathway at the bottom of the stone stairs. Suddenly a chuffing sound tore at the darkness. It came from near at hand, and it clearly came from a lion. Only then did Ned realize they were standing next to the deep pit that served as the lion enclosure. Somewhere down below, inside a deep stone cage open to the sky, prowled three lions, a male and two females. Joe had told him about them often enough that Ned felt he had seen them with his own eyes, although he really hadn’t. Still, he knew the tourists peered over a railing down past fake stone walls to where the lions lived, spying on them as they slept and ate and fought the boredom of a captive life. The chuff came again, trailed by a low rumbling growl. It was as if the lions had heard their footsteps and assumed they were handlers. Now they were waiting, tense, ready to pounce on any food that might be coming their way. Or hell, maybe they were as unhinged and as rattled as Ned himself, not hoping for anything, really, but simply suspicious of what the world would do to them next.

  Ned shuddered at the hungry growls below. Somehow, not knowing exactly what the lions were up to made their noises more frightening.

  “The flashlight must be making them nervous,” Joe said, pointing it down at the ground.

  Ned scrambled around for something to say that would take away his fear, or at least hide it from Joe’s ears. Something normal. Something that might have been said back when the world was a familiar place, back before it blew up in their faces.

  He smiled to himself when he settled on the words. He uttered them almost happily, surprised by how comforting they sounded to his own ears. “My lover is taking me out to breakfast. Mimosas and strawberry crepes. Scrambled eggs and hash. Sausage gravy and biscuits, maybe with a huge pile of hash browns steaming on the plate.”

  Joe huffed a laugh in the darkness, competing with the lions. “Yes, that would be nice. But let’s not be too optimistic. The power has been off for a while, you know. You might have to settle for a couple of cold hot dogs and a tub of potato salad if it hasn’t spoiled yet.”

  “Even better.”

  Joe dragged him to a stop. Again he hissed, “Listen!”

  Ned froze. It was another burst of gunfire somewhere off in the distance. With all the canyons around them, it was hard to pinpoint the direction, but he suspected it was coming from downtown again, three or four miles away across the park toward the bay.

  “They’re still at it,” Joe said. “They’re still fighting.”

  “You mean the cops and those goons with the guns on the freeway?”

  “Yes. And I still want to see it.”

  Ned couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You still want to see it? Why?”

  “I want to know what’s happening. We have to talk to somebody. We have to decide what to do.”

  “You mean whether we should leave the city or stay?” Ned asked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Ned edged closer, as if afraid Joe might slip away in the dark. “It scares me to think about it. Where would we go? What would we do?”

  “I’m not sure.” Joe clutched Ned’s hand. Ned could sense him standing tense in the darkness beside him. Maybe he was worried about how Ned would react to what he said. They were both standing as still as they could, listening to the far-off gunshots.

  Ned scanned the horizon for a glimpse of light from the fires, but he saw none.

  “I think the fires are out,” he whispered. “Downtown isn’t burning anymore. Maybe it was just one building. Maybe the firefighters put it out.”

  He could sense Joe scanning the same horizon. “Maybe,” Joe said. “We’d have to get closer to know for sure.” Joe turned and gripped Ned’s arms. “As soon as we find something to eat, I think we should leave. Head for downtown. Now. Tonight. There’s nothing more we can do here for the animals. We’ve fed all the ones we can.”

  “But you said we’d be safe here. Are you sure we should leave?”

  Joe gently traced his thumb along Ned’s jawline. His cool fingers stroked Ned’s ear. “It’s the only way we can know what’s happening. It’s the only way we can decide what we have to do next.”

  Ned hesitated but not enough for Joe to notice, he hoped. He trusted Joe, after all, and he had no intention of leaving him no matter what happened. If Joe thought they needed to do this, then Joe must be right. Even if Ned knew Joe was wrong, he would follow him. Because that’s what people in love do. They stay together. No matter what.

  “I love you, Joe. Wherever you go, I’m going with you.”

  “I love you too. So it’s settled. Come on. Let’s dig up something to eat, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Now what do we have here?” a lazy voice inquired from the shadows behind them. Ned heard the ratchet of a shotgun being cocked, and a chill shot up his spine. Joe’s hand tightened on his arm.

  Joe’s flashlight beam stabbed a path through the shadows, falling on a man standing less than ten feet away at the edge of the road. “Get behind me, babe,” Joe hissed, the words clearly meant for Ned.

  The brittle rumble of mocking laughter scarred the night. “Queers,” the man said. “Just what I thought. Now don’t move, and get that light out of my face or I’ll blow your faggoty heads off. I don’t like queers, you know. They’re ungodly.”

  “The only ungodly thing I see around
here is you!” Joe spat, and before Ned knew what was happening, Joe sprang at the man. In the careening beam of the flashlight Joe carried, Ned saw Joe reach the man with the gun before the man even knew he was flying at him out of the darkness.

  A fist struck flesh and a groan of surprised pain erupted. The shotgun rattled to the pavement, and the man cried out. Ned watched the man’s face strobe past as the flashlight banged him in the head. Joe was using it as a club!

  With another cry of pain, haloed in the flashlight’s beam, the man tried to wheel away and flee, clearly deciding he had bitten off more than he could chew. Before he could run two steps, Joe dragged the man backward by the collar of his coat. Flinging him around, Joe raised his foot and pressed it to the man’s back. With a kick, he propelled the man forward, arms flailing, toward the rail overlooking the lion enclosure.

  “No!” the man screamed in terror, as if suddenly understanding his fate.

  Before Ned could scream too, and before Joe could arrest the man’s momentum, for Ned knew instinctively that this had not been Joe’s intention, their attacker’s body sailed over the waist-high railing and a second later landed with a scrambling thud on the rocks below!

  A lion growled, quickly followed by another, and then a third. A second of stunned silence ensued before the man in the lion pit screamed again. This time his scream lasted only a moment, instantly deteriorating into a terrified gurgle before it was cut off completely. Ned imagined the lion’s teeth clamping on to the man’s throat, piercing his neck, spilling his warm blood, which the hungry lion eagerly lapped away. The horror of what Ned imagined—and what was really happening down below—stabbed at Ned’s heart like a knife. He clapped his hands over his ears to block out the horrible sounds. But it was too late. Even Ned knew that. Those sounds would be with him forever.

  Joe rushed to the rail and peered over, aiming the flashlight beam down into the enclosure below. Ned ran to his side, and together, they watched the man being dragged away. Already, the two lionesses were fighting over their prize, while a third lion, the male, lurked alongside, waiting to snag a piece for himself.