How the World Ends

by Joel Varty

  “I’m Herb,” I say. “Do you mind if I say something?”

  Jonah looks at me, his expression unchanged except for a raised eyebrow. “That depends,” he says. “If you’re about to tell me how it’s impossible to get thousands of people across that river and out of this city to a place where they can be housed and fed, or how we should stay here in the city and try to make a go of it, or something completely different, then by all means, tell me. I haven’t really thought anything through yet, anyway.”

  Not really sure how to reply, I do my best impression of raising an eyebrow back at him, and say “What do think I should tell you?”

  “No idea,” he says. “You might ask me why I came back. I’ve asked myself that a few times in the last few hours.”

  I pause for a moment, wondering whether I might just be dreaming this as I starve to death in a cold alley somewhere down by the docks.

  “No. I don’t think I’ll ask that,” I say, a little hesitant now that I have become suspicious of myself. “I don’t really want to know the why – that’s irrelevant. I’m only concerned with what I’m supposed to do now that you’re here.”

  “Hmm, well I suppose that depends on your point of view,” Jonah says as he gets to his feet with a grimace. “Oh, that stings,” he says, holding his backside. “Next time I’ll stop the truck before it falls into the hole.”

  I don’t know how to reply to that, either, so I simply wait for him to go on. A few people have gathered around us at this point. We all stand watching him, waiting for him to give us some indication of what we are supposed to do. I am not sure why we are looking to this man for leadership, but it seems to me that just by being here in this strange place, we too have become leaders, of a sort.

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell all of you,” he says. “I think I know where we go once we get out of this city, but I’m not sure how we’re going to get across the river.”

  “Who are you?” asks one of the women. “What has happened? When is someone going to help us out?”

  “Yes,” says her companion. “Surely there must be someone coming to give us aid. We just need to be patient.”

  “Yea, right!” says the teenage boy sarcastically, flopping down in a pew. “Why the hell would they dynamite the roads and cut off all the gas and electricity?”

  A few more people, perhaps twenty or thirty approach slowly, with the same air of awe that such a tranquil place could exist amid all the chaos outside. By the sound of it out there it was growing, too. The quietness of this place, though, is broken only by the murmurs of the people in the small gathering around Jonah.

  “My name is Jonah Truth,” he says. “I’m not sure why any of this has happened, but I have a couple of ideas about it.” Complete silence; we wait for him to continue. “And I think if we stay here in this city, then we’ll all die, either sooner, from whatever they have planned for us, or later, from starvation, or more likely from the in-fighting that’s surely going to erupt when we find out that nobody’s coming for us.”

  “You’re saying this wasn’t an act of terrorism, or some accident?” says the woman, incredulity written on her face in a painful, twisted visage. “How can that be?”

  “Of course it wasn’t an accident,” says the teenager. “You don’t drop bombs on a city by accident, and there’s only one group that has that kind of firepower, as far as I know.” The astute youngster crosses his arms and leans back in his pew.

  “Our own government?” whispers the first woman’s companion. “That’s not possible? Why would they do this?”

  “Indeed,” says Jonah, after a moment’s pause when no one else speaks.

  “And where are we now?” I ask. “What is this place, and why is nobody else in here?”

  Jonah looks at me for a moment, as if wondering what to say, or perhaps how best not to tell me the truth, before saying, “This isn’t anywhere. It’s just a place with a door in the basement that leads to a tunnel. That tunnel leads to another door in another basement, I guess. I’m not really sure.”

  Silence; there are so many questions bursting from my lips, yet I say none, feeling that I must wait for the full answer. It isn’t coming, I don’t think.

  “Since only some of us can get in here, I guess we should go find some other place that has a basement with a door to a tunnel that opens at another door that isn’t in this city.” Jonah raises his eyebrow again, and gives us that funny smile like he isn’t saying the most important thing.

  “What ideas do you have about why this has happened,” says the teenager, ever the observant when all the rest are in shock, or perhaps awe, of the current situation, and its unlikeliness.

  Jonah smiles, a real smile this time, which includes his eyes. You can usually tell if a person is really smiling or just pretending to by looking closely at their eyes. “What’s your name?” Jonah says to the boy.

  “It’s Steven,” he replies. “And you’re doing heck of a job at not answering any questions.”

  “That’s right, Steven,” says Jonah, his eyes moving around the room at the various people gathered there. “I am. Now, shall we go find that basement with a doorway?”

  There is a pause. We don’t know what to say.

  “My name is Susan,” says one of the first women who came in. “And this is my friend, Amy.” Amy, on her left, gives a shy little wave after rolling her eyes downward. “And we don’t know what’s going on either, but if you have a plan for getting us out of here, and maybe back to our families, we’ll follow you.”

  There are murmurs of consent throughout the room, and the tension seems to ease a little, now that we are somewhat agreed on who’s in charge. I remember Steven’s question, though

  “Alright,” Jonah says with a bit of a sigh, after a few moments. “Let’s see what happens.”

  And we all turn to walk back out the door, bidding our small sanctuary goodbye silently as we do. Jonah is the last to leave, and I watch him linger at the door for a moment, a look of pain in his eyes, and sadness in his step. Yet, with all of that, I feel that God is watching over his shoulder, even as his indecision and angst are painted on his outside, it seems to me that his inside is sound. It somehow brings me great relief that, although I don’t trust him, I know that I should follow him.

  Even to the ends of the earth.

  …

  Jonah

  I linger in the doorway between the church, where I didn’t think I’d be able to get back into, and the street, where I don’t know what I can do to make a difference, waiting to see if Jim Black, or Gabe, or Michael or anyone else will give me one more bit of guidance to show me what to do. I feel like the direction I have taken, that I am about to lead these people on, is just an accident, or a whim, or a feeling; not the kind of absolute knowing that I would have expected to be given on this... mission.

  If that’s what this is, a mission, and if it is from God, than I should be reassured, no?

  No. Not when I know that it’s my fault – that whoever is responsible for the capture of the city will be back to find me and take my secrets from me. I know that they want the secrets from Ruben’s discoveries that I did not, indeed could not, publish. Will they go for my family? Will there be time to get to them first?

  Why did I come back to this place, when my family could be in danger?

  I shrug off the inner battles, for now. Stepping into the bright light of day, and the chaos that has enveloped the street as those standing outside fight with each other to gain entry, I feel the silence drape itself over the crowd as I walk out, and I hear Herb say, in a booming voice “Listen! Jonah is coming out, and he has a plan to get us out of here!” And he turns to me, with a seriousness that belies the twinkle in his eyes.

  He knows I know something. But here he is anyways, ready to go. This is what it means to be a leader.

  I try to keep my voice even, taking a slow breath before saying, “Okay, then, here we go.” And I step into the street, heading north, trying
to look confident, as the crowd parts to let me pass. Herb, Susan, Steven and Amy are directly behind me – I can just about feel Herb breathing down my neck. His breath is awful. I don’t look back to see how many of the crowd follow.

  I try not to notice the bloodstains on the brick walls of the office building as I walk past it. Looking up, I see Gabe on the rooftop. His smile is visible, even from here, and he seems to have grown up in the time since I last saw him. He raises his hand to me, and I nod my head to him in acknowledgement.

  The sweet spring air of May is wafted over us on a breeze blown, it seems, straight from heaven.

  The city is peaceful, but for the sound of footsteps, as we walk uptown to find the other church.

  Chapter Fourteen – Another Way Out

  Lucia

  The funny thing about families is that no matter how much we find ourselves separated from them, whether we are estranged by distance or some other hurt, we tend to find ourselves reconnected at some point. The time that separates us is eliminated by the few moments it takes us to identify each other again. It takes Jonah Truth several seconds to recognise Lucia Hadly, but only a few micro-seconds to recall the last time he saw her, and the effect on him is instantly reflected in his face.

  I like it when I can make men do that, Lucia thinks with an inner smile to match the one on her face. What she doesn’t like is not knowing whether she is pretending to smile or not. He’s always wanted me, but he chose Rachel over me. I could have given him so much more.

  The crowd shifts between her and Jonah, and turning, he disappears behind a large building. Glass and metal seem to reflect back on her the separation of their desires. She vows to survive, to see herself successful once again. She vows to show her precious sister the true nature of men.

  When she rounds the corner of the building, Jonah has gone on ahead, and the long stream of people behind stretches as far as she can see, and seems to grow every minute with more people coming out of shadows and empty doorways becoming filled with heads stretching this way and that to search for danger before venturing forth to join the procession.

  Thousands upon thousands of people, all of us doomed and desperate. She wonders when the first wave will hit, how it will feel when the slaughter is met with screams of those trying to escape, when this ragged parade of wondrous followers becomes a raging set of untamed animals. Fear can do that, she knows; she has seen its effects. Now I can experience them first-hand.

  Yet she wasn’t sure about Jonah, back then; there was something different about him that she hadn’t noticed before, certainly not when she was having him and his brother spied on. Ruben and Jonah – inseparable and incorrigible in their brotherliness – everything that Phillip and James were not. If only I had tried harder with Jonah than with Ruben... I wonder if Jonah even knows how close he came to falling for the other sister.

  It was years before, when Lucia and Rachel had lived together in an apartment on the east side. Jonah and his brother had frequented the pub where the two sisters would meet each other after work – or so Lucia had called it at the time. Rachel had a real job, wasting her time and her talents as a silly secretary while trying to complete her degree in psychology, while Lucia spent her efforts on wooing the powerful men and enslaving them with her beauty, wit and charm.

  If only Rachel had known how much power she could have wielded with her looks and that veritable treasure-trove of brains, but she hadn’t seen the forest for the trees. She didn’t want to put in the time with the James and Phillip Hadlys of the world, no matter that it would have granted her the keys to the world, as it had Lucia. At least, it should have – everything had gone horribly wrong in the end, but even then, her simple tactics could get her out of this mess. Her sister’s husband might be a valuable asset to attain. His brother wasn’t here to protect him now.

  That night had been the worst – when Ruben confronted her about Jonah. It had been after several nights of conversation with Jonah, encouraging him to pursue his interests in politics and the machinations of people-power in a world where a strong personality can outweigh logical conclusions. People like Jonah could be manipulated by people like Lucia into a situation where the backseat driver can maintain control through the premises of love.

  Love – where all the games become most interesting, and the currency that brothers and sisters can often be bought or sold with – but not Ruben. Ruben had seen right through her the second he saw her, and though Jonah was willing to listen, Ruben told it to her straight: “Leave my brother alone, or I will make your life a living hell.” Lucia wasn’t the kind of person to take other people’s advice against her own instincts, but this had been an exception. Ruben had a manner of solid speaking that drove all other considerations from the mind.

  And precious, loving Rachel stepped right in when I turned away. Jonah went forward with his journalism and his perfectly boring family in the suburbs with his bride. No reason not to pursue him again, though, is the thought that trolls slowly through Lucia’s mind, now that Ruben is out of the way.

  …

  Rachel

  Rachel Truth stands at the top of the street and watches the sea of cars trying to get onto the highway. Everyone has decided to risk their last tanks of fuel on a run for the nearest gas station that would still pump gasoline – wherever that might be. She doesn’t move toward her own vehicle, though; she doesn’t fancy the thought of herself and two children stuck on a road whilst someone, probably lots of desperate someones, decides to take advantage of them. That kind of vulnerability is the kind of thing, she knows, that gets people in trouble.

  She would rather walk than be trapped on the highway. Anyways, it was a good bet that nobody would have enough fuel to get anywhere that wasn’t in the same situation as this town.

  So Rachel hoists her backpack into a more comfortable position on her back and grasps one small hand from each child on either side of her and walks slowly through the fresh green grass, past the pond at the bottom of the street, and into the stand of trees that they would often walk through as a family. This time, though, it is their northward passage to the country, as it leads out of town to the hills and farms that dot the area, and to the rough dirt roads that cause most traffic to avoid them.

  Rachel knows exactly where Jonah would head if he was there. The only logical conclusion that she can come up with to explain his absence is that he is either dead or held up by something he cannot get free from. She does not bother to consider the fact that he may have abandoned his family: Jonah simply isn’t like that. And he can’t be dead.

  I would know. I would feel it if he were gone from this earth. Only I wonder what that might feel like, and I wonder if this might be that feeling.

  The children walk quietly by her side, frightened, but glad of their mother’s presence.

  …

  Jonah

  The Metropolitan Church rears its monolithic cross high above me as I pass under it and through the great arched doors. The last time I was here was at Christmas, when we came to hear Handel’s Messiah performed by the choir. The kids had been enraptured by the music, and sat silently through the entire performance – a first for Gwyn, who rarely sits for more than a few minutes without fidgeting or crying.

  The memories bring up pangs of fear that tear at my soul as I cross the threshold into that hallowed interior. It is nearly enough to swing me from my path at the head of the column to race eastward towards my family. Yet the crowd, as it rushes through behind me, will not allow for such a display of humanity. And rightly so, I tell myself, for they seek their families also, do they not? Glancing back, I see Herb watching me warily, possibly wondering if I would turn so easily at the first chance to flee – or possibly wondering why I have brought these people here to be entrapped anew within a useless building.

  Useless it may seem, since only a few people have thought to come and pray here, and they stand now, wide-eyed as the place fills in behind me whilst I advance to the front. There i
s a minister there, in the pulpit, an elderly woman with a torn stole about her shoulders over a stained blue dress. She looks haggard, yet her wry smile is unmistakable.

  “I usually sit in the fourth pew on left,” she says to me. “Since I retired fifteen years ago, but if it’s going to be this crowded I’m glad to be up here, where at least I can see.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to lead everyone in a prayer,” I say. “This is my first time up front in a place like this. But feel free to tell everyone to sit down. I might need a few minutes to find what I need.” I scan the shadows and corners around the raised area. “Where are the stairs to the basement?”

  The woman looks at me, taken aback. “There is no basement in this church, everyone knows that.”

  I blink. The crowd is beginning to press forward a bit and Herb and Steve and the others are giving me the eye, wondering what they are supposed to do next. “This might be a good time for a prayer then, a long one.”

  While she raises her arms and everyone quiets to listen to her, I pace around the stage looking for signs of a trap door or recent renovations. Nothing. I jump around a bit, listening for any sounds of a hollow floor: hard to tell. The minister drops her arms and crosses them across chest, looking at me sideways.

  In a moment of inspired madness, I grab the edge of the carpet and tear it from the floor with a loud ripping noise that interrupts the quiet whisperings of several people in the silent building. A gasp replaces the silence, and without waiting to think about it, I grab the heavy stone urn from the font, and slam it directly though the floorboards in the middle of the stage. I lose my grip on the wet stone and it drops through to bounce with a loud echo below.

  “I think I found the basement,” I say to myself, however in the breathy silence of the church, my voice is clearly audible, and the tension of the moment is broken, briefly. I turn to face the people, seeing that the press of people reaches far out into the street. I take a deep, calming breath before I speak.

  “People of this city – we are all in danger. If we do not find food in the next few days, the old and weak among us will begin to grow weaker, and later, to starve.” And I think that someone will be here to kill me soon, too, to steal the secrets of the formula. “Now, I don’t know why this is happening,” I continue. “But I have been shown a way to get us all out of here to safety.” The silence still holds sway over the undertones of panic that are beginning to permeate it, but murmurs begin to sift along the pews and through the open doors.