by J M Leitch
My brain hadn’t yet grasped that this hideous event might be affecting Carlos in a more profound way than it was affecting me. I know he is a good man and he’s appalled… shocked senseless… but that is not what people who don’t know him are saying. I’ve seen the accusations in the papers and I’ve heard them on the news. But I refuse to read them and turn off the TV when they start talking about it. I’m not ready to deal with that. Not yet. Not ever. And unless Carlos brings up the subject, I don’t even want to think about it.
But earlier I couldn’t help myself thinking about it.
After a minute or so he slipped out of bed and I buried my head under the covers and pretended to sleep as I heard him go into the kitchen to brew coffee.
Hours later, when I still hadn’t managed to stir myself, Carlos came back into the room. I heard him open the wardrobe door and then a crackling sound as he took the presents we’d bought for Ash and Josh down from where I’d stashed them on the top shelf. I’d wrapped them weeks ago in jolly red and green Christmas paper and tied them up with pretty ribbon bows, even though they’re for boys.
Beccy, he said shaking my shoulder, get up. You can’t lie in bed all day. We need to drop the presents over. It’s time to go for Christmas lunch, remember. As if I could forget. But I didn’t feel like getting up and trying to act normal. I didn’t think I could act normal. Not even for those two dear lads. I was too busy dealing with the billions of deaths I have on my conscience. Sorry. So instead I started to cry.
And it’s like I pushed the red button on a nuclear missile. Carlos ripped the quilt off the bed and screamed at the top of his voice – not the reaction I’d expected at all. For Christ’s sake, will you pull yourself together. You’re not the child… they are.
His yelling shocked me motionless. I felt exposed with nothing covering me and I cowered, curled up in a ball with my hands over my eyes, and next I tasted blood flooding my mouth… again. With one hand I groped for the quilt, trembling, wanting to pull it back over my nakedness, over my head, and a minute later when the silence became deafening, I opened my fingers and glimpsed Carlos firing me a look that would have roasted the very devil himself, before he turned and stormed out of the bedroom slamming the door behind him.
It’s a hollow feeling when you break something special you’ve only had for a short while – when you know you’ll never be able to put it back together exactly as it was before – that it will never be quite the same again – never quite as good as it once was. That’s the feeling I had then. Carlos had never shouted at me before. Ever. He had never raised his voice in anger to me. And he had never, ever looked at me with such blatant disgust.
But I wasn’t surprised, because he’s told me over and over that the qualities he most admires and loves about me are my strength and fearlessness. But the way I’m behaving now… with what’s happened in the world… I can’t be the strong, fearless woman he loves. And I know I’ve let him down. He’s seen through my façade. And he feels cheated, because I’m not the woman I pretended to be.
All I wanted to do was cry and have him comfort me and tell me everything would be okay. Of course, I knew that would be a lie because nothing will ever be okay again and I don’t even know if Carlos and I will be okay. Not now we’ve crossed the line that marks the beginning of the loss of integrity in a relationship.
Only a few days ago we were so happy, euphoric even. We had so much love for each other and so much hope for a bright new future, whichever way things panned out. But that was destroyed in the instant it took for all those poor people to die. And as a result, not only has he discovered I’m not as strong as he thought, but something else too. Something worse. And I don’t know why I felt it and I didn’t want to feel it but for a moment, for some mad reason, I blamed him for what had happened.
And he knew it.
He knew that’s why I couldn’t make love to him. Why I couldn’t talk to him.
Of course, logic dictates he wasn’t behind it. I know he wasn’t responsible for this horrendous event. I know he’d rather kill himself, and me, and the baby than do such a terrible thing.
But regardless of whether Zul is human or not, I can’t help wondering if there is a deeper, darker reason why he contacted Carlos.
I had to pee. He must have heard me get up, because he opened the bedroom door just as I walked out of the bathroom. I’d washed the blood from my mouth and brushed my teeth and hair, but my eyes were swollen and I looked like shit. The moment I saw him I froze like a rabbit in a spotlight. He stared at me and I knew he was taking in my shape, my tummy, and it’s the baby that did it. His face softened. He walked up to me but after the shouting I wasn’t sure where I stood. I wasn’t sure where he stood. He put his arms around me and whispered I’m sorry and he nuzzled my neck and kissed my shoulder. I’m so sorry, he said. We are two of the few left. We have to stick together. We mustn’t fight. I’m sorry. And I did feel comforted. Somewhat.
We just got back from Christmas lunch at Erika’s. I didn’t think they could pull it off. But they did. Roast turkey, stuffing, mince pies, Christmas pudding and brandy butter – the whole works. Oh… and Christmas crackers. They drew the line at the carol singing, thank God. What am I talking about “thank God”. There is no God. I know that well enough now.
After the boys went upstairs clutching their favourite presents to their chests and groaning with the discomfort of over-stuffed tummies, we adults talked. Carlos couldn’t hold back his tears and I was mortified for freezing him out earlier. He needs just as much comfort as anyone else. Probably more. Of course, I don’t really blame him for what happened. I don’t know what came over me before. In all honesty, everyone’s in a terrible state of shock. Our reactions are exaggerated. Our emotions are all over the place. People are behaving out of character. The number of suicides is unprecedented.
It’s a terrible thing to say, but it does help to know everyone feels as bad as each other and it helps me to know Erika and Drew are as disgusted with the “Christmas” charade as I am. But what could they do – after all – if it weren’t for the boys, they’d be slashing their wrists right now too.
Everyone left alive has this overwhelming feeling of guilt and responsibility. Like it’s all our fault. That perhaps it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been so distracted by the E-Day myth. And I realise that’s why I blamed Carlos earlier. Because he was the one who promoted it.
How can we ever accept that all those people who were entrenched in poverty, people whose lives had been nothing but an endless struggle against unemployment, starvation, exploitation and sickness… are gone. It’s been over four days and we still can’t believe it. The scale of the destruction is monstrous and it rips our hearts to shreds every time the realisation crosses our consciousness.
But who is behind it.
Well, of course, we all know the answer to that. No one has the faintest idea. No one has a clue who’s guilty of executing the most monumental act of genocide in the history of the world.
I just feel so sorry for Carlos. He’s taking it all on his shoulders. And when he started talking about Astraea and how she appeared that afternoon back in March, I start to understand why. Of course, I quizzed him about her for my book. That’s when he told me how terribly uncomfortable she made him feel and how he believed some of the things she said but not others, and how although he was horrified when she described the evolutionary process she talked him round by telling him all the positive things that would grow from it. He also told me how he lost it at the end – but back then he thought it was because he was angry with himself for making the whole thing up – not because of something she’d said.
But just now at Erika’s he told us how he’s been thrashing it all round in his head again, because he had this niggling feeling there was something else that had made him so angry. And finally he’s remembered what it was. Astraea told him entities from other densities would visit the new Earth. That’s what made him so mad, because i
t proves she and Zul weren’t real.
When you think about it, he said, it’s obvious. If everything Zul and Astraea said was true, then the third density humans, the ones transported to the new planet, would believe in the evolution process totally, because the bodies left behind would be physical proof it had taken place as predicted. No one could possibly argue against it. And if the third density humans knew it, had actually gone through it, then why would higher density entities need to keep on visiting. There’d be nothing more to tell us.
And this, he said, was the flaw in their story.
Of course at the time, after he came to at the hospital, because of the effects of the drugs he was confused. Also, right then he was convinced he’d made Zul and Astraea up. So when he remembered his feelings of anger he thought they were directed at himself.
But Carlos, I said, you can’t blame yourself for that. And even if you had remembered, it wouldn’t have changed anything.
Carlos shook his head. Perhaps they’re using us in an experiment, he said. Perhaps they wiped out all those people to see how the rest of us will cope. Perhaps that’s why other entities will visit. To study us.
You fucking idiot, Drew shouted as he thumped both fists down on the dining table, making the dessert dishes as well as all of us jump up in the air. I don’t believe you’re still banging on about this Zul shit… that you’re still sucked in by those phony table tippers. Just wise up, will you. There is no Zul. There is no Astraea. They’re humans. They’re some disgusting apology for people who have pulled off the hugest act of social bigotry imaginable. And you know what, he said pointing his finger at Carlos, people are beginning to say you’re the one behind it all.
Erika tugged at Drew’s arm.
Carlos and I exchanged glances as if we’d entered each other’s worst nightmares and had no idea what was going on. What do you mean, Carlos asked. What are you talking about. For Christ’s sake, continued Drew, snatching his arm from Erika’s grasp, haven’t you been watching the news. Haven’t you seen the papers. They’re gunning for you mate. They’re making you out to be the sad bastard behind this whole sorry affair. You must have heard what they’re saying. He turned towards me. Rebecca, he yelled, surely to shit you know what I’m talking about.
I’ve heard things... I whispered, but I couldn’t find the words to go on.
Greg mentioned something, Carlos said, but…
You’ve got to protect yourself, Drew ranted on, and told us how he’d talked to Joseph and that they both believe Carlos’s life is at risk. People are coming out of their shock, Drew said, and they are very, very angry. They want to find the perpetrators and want to see them punished. Big time. Some arsehole could take a pot shot at you. You’re mad hanging around here. You need to go away. Go into hiding. Until things settle down.
Carlos and I looked at each other again, our faces pale, our eyes puffy from grief and lack of sleep, our hearts shattered and our stomachs sick.
I’ll go with you, I said, but Drew shook his head. You need to stay away from Carlos – you’ve got the baby to think about.
I hate people making decisions for me and I hated the one being made for me right then. But I was starting to realise Carlos’s life was in terrible danger and that was the only reason I agreed. Drew said they’d set it up so I could talk to him every day. Erika stared at me with sad eyes. She stroked my arm and told me it’s the right thing to do. I looked at Carlos and then at the anxious faces of our friends and tried to stop my tears. But I failed and they dripped down wetting the tablecloth. Stay here with me and the boys, Erika said. I nodded. I may just do that, I whispered.
In the car on our way home I apologised to Carlos. For breaking down in front of Erika and Drew. You weren’t the only one, he said, his face grey. And I wonder how those of us left can possibly keep our sanity living in this depleted world.
Tuesday 1st January 2013
Today is the Global Day of Mourning for our brothers and sisters who perished on the 21st December. Ceremonies are being held all over the diminished world.
Africa has to be suffering the worst. Many African countries, some very populous, had poverty levels of seventy per cent and over: Nigeria; The Democratic Republic of the Congo; Zimbabwe; Liberia; Zambia; Sierra Leone; Swaziland… swathes of Africans living in villages and cities, those barely able to eke out an existence, were struck down. Central and South America also has been hit hard: Guatemala; Nicaragua; Colombia; Peru; and Venezuela all had poverty levels of over fifty per cent. Then there’s Southeast Asia: the Philippines; Myanmar; Cambodia; and Vietnam with over thirty per cent… China and India, previously the two most populous countries in the world, also with over thirty per cent… as well as many countries in the Greater Middle East: Iraq; Iran; Turkey; the Yemen; Afghanistan and Pakistan ranging between twenty and forty per cent poverty levels. The devastation in some Eastern European countries has also been massive.
Oceania, North America, Western Europe and the Polar regions, places that on average suffered under a twenty per cent loss, are the lucky ones.
The emergency Global Caretaker Group, set up to ensure survivors’ immediate needs are met, has been challenged beyond belief. The members of this group are working with food manufacturers and fuel and transport companies across the globe, to ensure continued distribution in spite of the catastrophic obstacles and disruptions they face. Here in Europe the group is doing a magnificent job.
Working hand-in-hand with the GCG is Survivor On Line, an organisation with which we have all been told to register. SOL tracks individuals and families everywhere to make sure they are getting the basics they need. It is also in charge of rationing, should that become necessary, pending GCG putting the emergency manufacturing and distribution plan into place.
In the commercial world, manufacturing companies that took advantage of cheap labour, especially those operating in places like China and Vietnam, have been affected the worst, as well as all industries that employed a large proportion of low-income labour. Of course there will be a widespread knock-on effect and in Europe governments are televising infomercials to prepare us for the redundancies and lay-offs that are bound to come, although they reassure us retraining opportunities will be created in other areas.
Meanwhile, on the radio, television and in the newspapers, those with jobs are bombarded with the message to get back to work, and students are told to go back to their schools and universities when they open in the New Year. Our governments are pushing us to try and live our lives as normally as we can, and reminding us that to do so, we must put the past behind us. They keep repeating that life from now on will slowly get easier to bear.
But instead of relief, all this news makes me feel even more guilty. I feel we’re being rewarded for surviving when I would far rather be punished.
Without the Clean Up Plan that Greg spearheaded, rolled out under the auspices of the world’s militaries, the current situation would be far worse. We’re told that the job in Austria, with a toll of half a million victims, one of the least badly affected countries, is nearly completed; however, that’s not the case in the worst hit countries. But they are not being left to deal with their problems alone and I’m stunned by the unflagging outpouring of help. Heads of corporations pledge money and equipment, and countless individuals volunteer their brains and their brawn.
Perhaps it’s because I don’t have a job any more, or perhaps it’s because I’m pregnant – I don’t know – but I’m finding it really hard to get motivated and it amazes me how so many other people are able to get a grip and carry on. I admire them.
Drew and Joseph arranged for Carlos to go into hiding last Friday. Before he left he talked to Greg. He said Greg sounded relieved he was going away and Carlos thinks it’s because Greg holds him responsible for what happened and is somehow blaming him.
I can’t believe that, I said. If it wasn’t for you, we’d be far worse off right now and Greg knows it.
That’s not true.
He shook his head from side to side like a dying dog.
And something else, I told him, if it weren’t for the pressure you put on him, Greg would never have come up with the Clean Up Plan and the Virtual Archives and the Industry Operations Package. Imagine what a worse state we’d be in without them. That’s all due to you.
Then I asked him what he thinks now. Whether he thinks Zul is Zul or if Zul is a human. And there he went shaking his head again like it’s too heavy for his neck. I don’t know, Beccy, he said, I just don’t know any more.
Well I know what I think. But I wish I could blame it on some alternative life force, because that way the perpetrators wouldn’t be walking anonymously amongst us.
It was terrible saying goodbye, especially since we don’t know how long it will be for. We were both in tears, which seems to be my usual state at the moment. I’ve stopped looking in the mirror. What’s the point. Drew said I might be able to see Carlos for a few hours in a week or two. Perhaps when I get ready to meet him then I’ll be inspired to take some trouble with the way I look, although I can’t imagine it somehow.