by Moody, David
Something seemed to be burning almost all of the time now, the air full of sourness. And yet here at the far end of town, the acrid smell was definitely stronger. It spiked his curiosity because it was a different kind of smell, less obvious than the distinctive wood smoke which seemed to have been hanging in the air since he’d left the hotel. By turn repellent and pleasant, he couldn’t quite make out the combination of odours. He thought maybe his sense of smell had been dulled by the constant toxicity of this dying world.
He reached a traffic roundabout. He needed to go straight on but he looked right and saw that a recently built supermarket had been razed to the ground. He’d shopped there last Christmas with Sam, stocking up on booze to get him through the holidays with Norman, and he walked a little way towards the ruin, trying to remember the building as it had been. The roof had collapsed in on itself, leaving the building looking like a giant had trodden with a colossal boot right in the middle of it. Much like the dried-up expanse of water he’d passed entering Porthmadog, the endless heat had stripped all detail and colour from the wreckage, leaving everything charcoal black, almost indistinguishable. Smoke still drifted up from parts of the ruin. Huge steel girders hung down from the roof like snapped twigs and everything inside the store – the fixtures and fittings, what was left of the stock – had been reduced to a layer of tar-like mulch. And Steven saw that something he’d assumed was part of a display rack was, in fact, an arm. At the end of it was a skeletal hand. The bones were oily black but the shape was unmistakable. It was like it was waving at him, and for one stupid moment he thought he should try and do something to help. He stopped himself before he walked too deep into the ruin, but not before he’d spotted more human remains amongst the chaos. A skull with its lower jaw removed, left lying in the rubble, looking as if it had been buried up to its nose... vertebrae... a ribcage like an upturned basket... the distinctive butterfly shape of a pelvis...
Transfixed, it was only when the pain of the sun burning the back of his legs became too much to stand that he moved on.
✽✽✽
Five miles to go, maybe slightly less. Late afternoon already. The sun had begun its downward descent. He wondered how fierce it would be when it reappeared tomorrow morning.
The undulations of the road were as cruel as ever here, but the end of his journey was in sight and he knew he didn’t have to conserve his energy for anything other than these last few miles. All he wanted was to see Sam again and hold her and tell her how much he loved her. All he wanted was to be with her when... he knew what was coming, but he still couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
Another steep climb sapped the little strength he still had. He took down his umbrella and used it as a walking stick to get over this next rise, feeling its metal tip sink into the soft tarmac. This stretch of road hadn’t long been laid. His feet left imprints behind.
Not far now. A couple more corners and he hoped he’d be able to see Criccieth in the distance. It was an unmistakable place: unique in its understated beauty. Nestled in a hilly cove, the town was dominated by the ruins of an ancient castle which overlooked everything, a glorious focal point for locals and visitors alike. Steven wondered what battles that castle had survived over the hundreds of years it had been there, how the world had changed since it had been built? Although a ruin, those parts of it which remained standing were incredibly strong, so established now that it seemed to have become part of the land itself, growing out from the headland. But even the castle would surely offer little defence from the fiery hell which was fast approaching.
When he rounded the next corner, Steven began to doubt his own sanity. The surreal landscape, the inexorable heat, the silent and stillness... and yet in the near distance he saw that the road ahead was partially blocked. Was this a mirage? There were people here, but he couldn’t see what they were doing out in the open. He wondered if they knew something he didn’t? Had they heard good news from elsewhere? Was it over? Had the conditions peaked? For a few seconds he allowed himself to be carried away with the idea that the nightmare might actually be coming to an end. His positive thoughts were quickly undone. If the last pulse had done as much damage as he was sure it had, there was no way anyone could have heard anything from anywhere else anymore. No satellites to measure what was happening with the sun, no computers to process the data, no means of communicating any findings... he began to feel increasingly uneasy, and that unease increased hugely when several of the people broke ranks and began to walk towards him. He braced himself for trouble, but they didn’t seem at all aggressive. They greeted him, held their arms out to him, wanted to help him... This kind of unexpected friendliness would have worried him at the best of times, and the best of times were long gone. He wanted to avoid them altogether, but there was no way to get to Criccieth other than to keep walking down this road.
On Steven’s right was a hotel he’d passed a hundred times, and next to it a campsite. He remembered it as a lush green place, but today it was as yellow, patchy and barren as everywhere else. Everything was ochre, more sub-Sahara than North Wales. It looked sick. Visible from the road was a large holiday caravan. Its once pale green corrugated metal skin was grey and charred, almost all of the paint burned away.
There were people on the campsite still, and that seemed ridiculous in itself. What the hell were they doing here? They were under trees, using umbrellas like him, sitting in the shadows of the few buildings dotted around the place... and there were others who appeared to be working, though he couldn’t yet make out what it was they were doing. Steven returned his attention to the road as the nearest of the group approached him. He was an older fellow, wearing little more than an open white shirt and shorts, canvas shoes and a wide-brimmed hat. He was flanked by another man who held a parasol to keep the old man in shade. ‘Can I help you?’ Steven asked, stopping because they were preventing him going any further.
‘The point is,’ the old fellow said, ‘can we help you?’
Steven was confused. ‘Unless you can give me a lift into Criccieth, no. Thanks anyway. I’m fine.’
He tried to get around, but the man moved too and Steven’s way through remained blocked. ‘What are you going to do, friend?’
‘Go see my wife.’
‘I’m not talking about now,’ he said, ‘I’m talking about then. What’ll you be doing when the time comes? Where will you be?’
‘Somewhere over the next hill, I hope.’
‘And after that?’
Steven was floored by that question. ‘Nowhere. I don’t reckon any of us will be, do you? From what I can see, we’re all fucked.’
The man looked up when Steven cursed, as if he’d been slapped. ‘It’s not too late, you know.’
‘It will be if you don’t let me through.’
The old man shook his head again. ‘Let me show you...’
With the man’s minder (a big bugger he didn’t fancy annoying) close on his shoulder, Steven was ushered off the road and onto the campsite through an open gate in a rough stone wall. His feet crunched the brittle grass, dragging up dust. ‘Look,’ he said, trying to make his excuses, ‘I’m really sorry but I need to get to Criccieth, I don’t think we have long.’
‘We don’t,’ the man agreed, one hand on Steven’s back, gently guiding him forward. ‘But what happens here is only a part of the journey. What’s important is what happens next.’
Ah. That was it. It all began to fall into place. Steven followed the man into another field and saw more people under a hastily constructed shelter. He couldn’t blame them for trying. Some read bibles, others prayed. He looked around for a way out, keen to get away fast and without any trouble. ‘I’m sorry... this isn’t my kind of thing.’
‘Have you stopped to wonder why this is happening?’ the old man asked, looking straight at Steven now with piercing blue eyes. ‘Have you asked yourself why we’re being punished like this?’
‘Hmm... I don’t see it as we’re being punished. I don
’t think what’s happening to the sun has got anything much to do with any of us.’
‘It has everything to do with us.’
‘Isn’t that a bit ego-centric?’ Steven asked, not caring now, just wanting out.
‘This is a punishment,’ the man continued. ‘This is our reward for years of greed and consumerism. This is what happens when we lose our way and forget the things which really matter. The Lord says...’
‘Look, no disrespect, but the Lord says fuck all to me. I’ve just spent two days walking across the country to get to Criccieth to be with my wife before we both... before we all die. I just want to be with her when it happens. So please don’t talk to me about forgetting the things that matter, because right now she’s all I care about.’
The change in tone of his voice seemed to have little impact on the diminutive preacher man. ‘See... I knew it when I saw you. That’s why I stopped you. Your place is here with us. Fetch your wife and bring her here with you.’
‘And why the hell would I want to do that?’
The preacher gestured for him to follow again, and despite feeling increasingly nervous the longer he stayed here, Steven walked with him, intrigued.
‘When the fire comes, some of us will survive. Some of us will be provided for. Some will enter the kingdom of heaven and...’
‘And do you really believe all that bollocks? You genuinely believe that you’re going to be saved by your invisible friend. Your invisible friend who, by the way, if he exists, is undoubtedly responsible for destroying the entire bloody planet.’
‘And creating it too, don’t forget,’ he said, his face an infuriatingly supercilious picture of perceived superiority. ‘Here, let me show you something.’
He led Steven to another part of the field and another shelter. There was more noise and activity here than anywhere else. Steven could hear people working... digging. The shelter, he saw, was more an entrance. It rested against the side of a rocky outcrop, surrounded by large piles of bone-dry dirt. As he watched, people steadily appeared from a tunnel-like hole, emptied buckets, then disappeared back underground again. ‘Mines,’ the preacher said. ‘There are mines under these fields. We’ve been brought here for a reason. When the fire comes we’ll shelter down there together and sit out the storm. We’ve enough space for everyone and enough food for weeks... enough for all these people and more. He brought you here, can’t you see? Go get your wife, my friend, and bring her back here with you.’
As fucking hokey as all this sounds, Steven thought, he might actually have a point. Could these people actually survive down there? He dismissed that idea quickly. The sun was scrambling his brain again. What the hell was he thinking? This was no different to the other mines he’d seen a few miles back down the road. It might buy them a few more minutes, hours maybe, but surely being underground would only delay the inevitable?
The preacher man gripped Steven’s arm with a strong, claw-like hand. ‘This fire’s not destroying, my friend, it’s cleansing. Can’t you see? Repent your sins today and join us. It’s not too late. A time will come when we’ll be able to return to the surface and repopulate the land. To begin again, fresh and reborn as our saviour Jesus Christ himself was. Free from the ills which have plagued our society for so long now. How can you not have faith at a time like this?’
‘And how can you?’ Steven asked. This really wasn’t the time for a philosophical argument, but he couldn’t see a way out. He was boxed in. He needed a distraction. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said, and his apparent about-face seemed to take the preacher by surprise. ‘I’ve been walking for hours, trying to look for a reason for all of this happening and coming up with no answers. Maybe I’ve just been looking in the wrong place all this time.’
The man smiled, pearly white teeth. ‘This place is our salvation. He has brought us here. History is cyclical, and this is our great flood.’
But try as he might, Steven couldn’t keep up the pretence. ‘You don’t seriously believe that, do you? Have you got two of everything down there? You think squatting in a cave’s going to save you from what’s coming?’
‘No, son, I think faith will save us from what’s coming.’
Conscious that he was running out of time and moving further away from the road, Steven looked around for a way out. And then he saw it. Propped up against the back of the stone wall, next to the gate through which he’d entered the field, was a bicycle: an archaic looking peddle-bike, replete with wicker shopping basket and bell, but a bike all the same. Abandoned. Inviting. Slowly at first, shuffling, reversing away from the preacher and his bodyguard, he backed away. He walked into a man carrying a bucket of soil and apologised.
‘Where are you going?’ the preacher asked.
‘I already told you, to find my wife. I’ll get her and come back here maybe...’
The man raised his arms and seemed ready to summon hell and damnation on Steven, but it was too late. He turned and sprinted across the field, tripping in a hole in the dusty ground and falling forward, but keeping going nonetheless. He scrambled back up, losing his umbrella in the confusion. Though the sun was burning his back already, he didn’t bother trying to recover it. There wasn’t far left to go now. He ran for the bike, the preacher’s followers chasing after him now, and managed to wrestle it through the gate before they could reach him. He got into the saddle, the vinyl covering almost too hot to sit on, the handlebars too hot to hold, and he began to peddle. Over a slight rise in the road and he began to descend. He glanced back and saw the people pulling up, the futility in the chase apparent, then he turned his full attention to the road stretching out ahead. I’m long past saving, he thought.
The setting sun burned his back and each rotation of the peddles seemed to take a hundred times the effort it should have, but he was making real progress now. The road was never level for anything more than a few metres but he kept climbing, kept moving. And then he reached the top of another peak, the downward speed of the previous short descent helping him get there, and he pulled into an empty hillside car park to catch his breath. He remembered this place: he and Sam had stopped here and picnicked once rather than go back to Norman’s. Norman had been in a particularly foul mood that day, disagreeing with everything Steven and Sam had said. Eating food out of packets in the car in the rain had seemed a far preferable option.
Back to reality, memories of cold and rain and food and bad company burned away in seconds.
On Steven’s left now was the ocean and the steadily sinking sun, the light bouncing back at him off the water, and up ahead was the most beautiful sight he could remember. Criccieth. He’d done it. He tried to ride on again but had to stop for a moment longer, almost overcome with emotion.
Even from up here he could see people in the water, doing what they could to keep cool. The tide looked further out than he remembered ever seeing before, the beach grossly enlarged, and the enormity of what was happening to the world once again hit him hard. The seas were evaporating, a stark reminder of what was coming. And standing guard over the town, as proud and defiant as it always had been, was the castle. The fact it was still there and still strong, a ruin but no worse a ruin than when he’d last been here, gave him the slightest flicker of hope.
Sam would be down there somewhere.
That thought was hard to comprehend, hard to believe fully. He’d been through so much to get here...
His heart pounding with effort and nerves, Steven pushed the bike off again and rode down towards his journey’s end.
26
Criccieth was tantalisingly close and yet it still seemed impossibly distant, as if it would never get any closer. Downhill slopes were covered in seconds, but the short, sharp climbs required more effort and energy than Steven had left in his legs. He’d pushed too hard when he’d first found the bike and now he was spent. Exhausted. Nothing left to give. He still carried his rucksack on his back. It weighed him down, but it was all he had left now, the only physical attachment to
the life he’d left behind in Cambridge. It had only been two and a half days but it felt like weeks ago now. The house and car keys, important paperwork, photographs, other treasured memories... the last remaining reminders of who Steven used to be and the life he’d shared with Sam.
You don’t need any of it, he told himself. The only thing that matters now is in Criccieth. Lose it. Let it go.
And with that he took off the backpack and dumped it at the side of the road.
The sun was descending fast now, its swollen size making its speed all the more apparent. Though he couldn’t look at it directly, it loomed larger than ever in his periphery as it dropped towards the horizon. Was it just an optical illusion, or was the star expanding? He wondered what it would be like in the morning, whether he’d even be able to look outside when dawn arrived? It seemed to become angrier with each passing minute. Would it fill the sky by tomorrow? Would it swallow the Earth? Would it be the last thing he saw?
As Steven neared the town, he became aware of noises other than his own panting and the rattling of the old bike. The sounds of the ocean. Waves. People; snatches of melancholic conversations echoing through the still evening air. He closed his eyes as he freewheeled and for the briefest of moments it all seemed deceptively normal. Grim reality returned when he looked again. He could see now that there had been fires in the heart of the village. Some buildings he remembered had disappeared altogether. A haze of smoke hung in the air like summer mist. Towering over it all, apparently untouched, was the castle. It was a ruin, but from down here it at least gave the illusion of strength. Right now an illusion was better than nothing. Right now that illusion was all he had.