by Lex Sinclair
He brushed his haggard visage with his hands then threw back the quilt. ‘Oh, here we fuckin’ go.’
Once dressed, he crossed the landing to the bathroom and went through his mundane morning ritual. Quick shower, brush teeth, wash face and get some water. That achieved he ambled into the kitchen and Natalie dropping tomatoes into a salad bowl.
‘Morning,’ he grunted.
Natalie finished what she’d been doing before turning her attention to the young man she considered the son she and John had never had. ‘Guess what?’ she beamed.
‘What?’
‘The tomato, strawberry and potato plants worked. The potatoes aren’t quite ready yet, but there are strawberries in and tomatoes here. Do you know what this means?’
Perkins shook his head.
‘The garden outside is fertile. We can grow those apples and other fruit and veg now.’
Perkins was too weary to bounce up and down with elation. All he could manage was a meek smile. ‘Well, that’s something, if nothing else.’
Smokey, the black cat, announced his arrival by a short welcoming cry and trotted into the kitchen. He gazed up at Natalie expectantly.
‘Yes, yes,’ she said, knowing what he was thinking. ‘I’ll start a fire and cook you some fish.’ She glanced at Perkins, who was bemused by this two-way conversation between different species. ‘Little bugger.’
The young reverend laughed and coughed at the same time.
‘Where’s Jonesy? He still asleep?’
Natalie had turned back to the worktop and began washing the fruit with a bowl of water. ‘Yeah. He drank half a bottle of whisky last night.’ She paused in deep thought. ‘I know he’s your friend and everything, but is he all right to be around? I mean, he’s always cussing and drinking.’
‘Jonesy is a good person, once you get to know him. I know to look at him you’d assume he was another piss-artist you see staggering home on a Saturday night, but he speaks his mind. And although that can sometimes be a bad thing, he’s the type of guy that’ll tell you to your face if he doesn’t like you as opposed to stabbing you in the back. He’s a bit silly sometimes. I mean, he’s the type of person that would attend an AA meeting wearing a Budweiser T-shirt. Cook for him and try to ignore the irksome quirks and you’ll not only gain a friend but a guard for the rest of your life.’
Natalie nodded, trusting wholeheartedly Perkins’ opinion.
‘What about this Jane sort? I know they’ve both been here nearly five weeks now, but I know next to nothing about them. That can go either way. I mean, can we trust her?’
The troubled young man didn’t enjoy discussing other people when they weren’t present. It seemed improper. Before the End of Days gossiping and shit-stirring was rife all around the world. Cordial, benevolent folks would whisper and discuss other friends, acquaintances and neighbours’ lifestyles. They’d do worse than that though. They’d pass judgement, ignoring their flaws and faults. Instead focusing on someone else.
John Hayes had once told Perkins a story about a young man who lived with his elderly mother. She was deaf and needed her hearing aid to be able to have a conversation, listen to the radio or watch TV. Without it the world was without sound. In her old age she struggled to climb the staircase to bed each night so much so that the son converted the living room into a bedroom for her come nightfall.
When Perkins enquired who the man in question was, all John would say he was a man who had no time to attend church services but always donated generously when St Paul’s required a new roof to meet building standards and regulations.
The man worked at the steelworks in Baglan and did the paper route on Saturday morning. He dutifully drove his mother to the doctors’ and hospital appointments.
One day while he’d been at work his mum and fallen heavily down the stairs. A neighbour who had arranged to call that day heard the yelping of the woman and the thudding of her deteriorating anatomy as it rolled down the stairs. Peeking through the letterbox, the neighbour saw the crumpled form of her friend and immediately dialled 999.
The elderly woman had been very fortunate according to the doctor. As gravity had seized her in its ferocious grasp, one of her hands of a flailing arm gripped the banister and twisted her but also slowed her fall considerably from major to minor. Apart from some colourful contusions on her arms and legs and hip, along with mild concussion, the woman would make a full recovery.
However, three days after she’d been signed off to leave the hospital and recover fully at home, the lady died suddenly.
Rumours spread like wildfire around the local town. Neighbours gossiped whenever they got the chance. They suspected and strongly believed that the young man had finally snapped one evening and murdered his nagging mother one way or another. They said that he wanted his mother to hurry up and die as she was a burden on him for more than twelve years. Because of her he hadn’t been able to hold down a steady relationship. Also, as soon as Mother died he’d be able to inherit the house and her life savings which were a lot.
Of course none of that even closely resembled the truth. There was no suffocation, strangulation, food poisoning or fatal blow to the head. No, the elderly lady, the coroner deduced, had died of a nasty chest infection circulating the hospital the time she’d been visiting. Her lungs at her old age had been unable to shift it and eventually she’d succumbed.
That yarn of how the local townsfolk had wrongly accused and were forever embarrassed when they saw the young man stayed with Perkins as a reminder. He recalled the Bible stating “Judge not, lest he be judged”, and nodded in agreement.
‘I already told you ’bout how we met her,’ he said to Natalie now. ‘And yes, at first, I thought she was off-her-rocker. Then when she explained that she’d had similar, if not identical visions, as myself and others then I knew she was one of us.’
‘Where is she, anyway?’
Natalie shrugged. ‘I heard her in the wee hours of the morning. Someone opened the front door from the inside. I could hear the chain being taken off and the bolt being retracted. Surprised you or no one else heard it. Anyway, I pulled the curtain away and saw her standing on the doorstep. She was hugging herself, shivering. I kept thinking what a stupid girl she was and how she’d catch her death if she wasn’t careful. Then I fell back asleep.
‘Jonesy said something about how she’d gone for a stroll, but I wasn’t really listening. He babbled on about going down to the canal to “wash all that shit off me”. His profanities are beginning to rub off on Sapphire, y’know?’
Perkins nodded, absentmindedly.
‘The day before Sapphire was playing outside saying, “Shit. Shit. Shit,” over and over again.
‘Sue asked him this morning if he slept well. Guess what he said?’
Perkins’ mind was in two separate places. ‘I dunno. What’d he say?’
‘Sapphire said, “Fuckin’ shit, love.” Same as Jonesy says when he is asked the same question.’
The reverend laughed aloud. He shook his head and waited out the shuddering of his shoulders. ‘I’ll have a word,’ he said. ‘That has to stop for the little fella’s sake.’
‘It’s not funny!’
‘No, I know. Fair point.’ Perkins raised his hand, acknowledging his bad for laughing at something that was serious. Then he fell strangely silent again. ‘Did Jonesy say where Jane was headed?’
Natalie shook her head. ‘Nah, all he said was when he asked if she was all right, ’cause she looked as white as a sheet, she said, “I had a bad dream,” then walked out the house.’
Eyes falling to stare impassively at the Formica kitchenette table, Perkins whispered to himself, ‘A bad dream.’ Then he got up. ‘Where’s Jonesy now?’
‘In the bunker fiddling with all those guns. Why, what’s the matter?’
Natalie got no response. She pivoted to get Perkins’ undivided attention.
She was alone…
*
The keen still air jabbed Perkins’ cheeks wi
th invisible ice-needles. He gritted his teeth at the sudden and unexpected frost. He thought about heading back to the cottage to get a woolly hat and a pair of gloves, but chose not to waste valuable time.
He ran down the gravel path and hurdled over the white picket fence. His feet skated from underneath him on the frosted grass. Yet amazingly he managed to keep upright using his arms to correct his balance. Then without marvelling at his litheness, Perkins sprinted down the path.
The headstones were crooked, pallid sentries that had once been grey stone or marble. Now they looked like teeth of a T-Rex jutting out of the earth. The velocity of his speed caused a draught to blow on his face, so much so he had to blink away the tears.
When he reached the church Perkins’ air smoked out of him. He needed to take caution ascending the slight gradient in case of black ice. And as treacherous as this weather was it was a sign that the atmosphere was slowly clearing. Soon the world and the last of its survivors would be bestowed the gift of the heavens once more.
He hastily made his way to the rear of the church towards the stone steps leading to the bunker. As expected he found the door unlocked and slightly ajar. Already his hands were numb. Perkins had to forcefully shake them to feel his fingers move. He had no torch or candle flame in his possession, although he knew the way now to the main room at the centre. It took less than five minutes to reach the door that offered the main room. Perkins knocked and opened the door.
Jonesy whirled around, eyes bulging in Stygian interior, lit only by the light of his torch. ‘Who goes there?’ he barked, pointing the barrel of a double-barrel shotgun at the door.
‘It’s me,’ Perkins said. ‘Put the gun down before you hurt someone with it.’
‘Shit. Sorry, buddy.’ Jonesy slapped his furrowed brow. ‘Eyesight’s fucked. Couldn’t see shit. No excuse though for pointing the gun at you though.’
Entering the makeshift living quarters he’d believed would have been his burial tomb, Perkins waved his hands dismissively at Jonesy. ‘No need to apologise,’ he said, crossing the bunker. ‘Shoulda called out before entering.’ He stood over Jonesy who had laid out guns and ammunition.
‘Thought you were still catching your beauty sleep,’ Jonesy said. ‘What happened? Shit the bed?’
Perkins shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that. Listen, I just spoke with Natalie…’
‘Nice lady,’ Jonesy interrupted. ‘Sorry. Go on, my man.’
‘…and she said you talked to Jane this morning. You said she left. Is that right?’
‘Yeah. Somethin’ fucked up or not?’
Rolling his eyes at Jonesy’s choice of words, Perkins said, ‘Did she say where she was headed? Natalie said that Jane told you she’d had a “bad dream”. Is that right?’
‘Oh, fuck aye. Poor mare looked as though she’d shit herself or seen some fucked up shit. She answered me n’ all, but she was off with the angels. Y’know what I mean?’
‘Maybe,’ Perkins said averting his gaze to the far wall. ‘Oh, and another thing. You gotta stop swearing. Sapphire has started copying you. He’s at an impressionable age right now. Everything he sees and hears is gonna rub off on him. If he is our only hope of salvation then people will have to listen to him. They won’t if he’s using foul language in every sentence though.’
Jonesy nodded approvingly. ‘Scouts honour,’ he said, making a half-arsed salute. ‘That boy sure has himself a potty mouth though. Am I right?’
Perkins firmly reminded Jonesy again. Then he asked, ‘Did you at least see what direction Jane was headed in? This sounds urgent.’
After scratching his arse Jonesy blurted, ‘I saw her round here for some time. I think she was gonna follow me in here. But if I remember correctly, she followed the trail that leads through the alder and birches. You know where we parked that day you got me and her.’
The young reverend thanked Jonesy then departed in haste.
He jogged around the rear of the church, only then noticing the stone edifice covered in dust and ash. The exterior had crumbled and cracked right the way through and appeared not only dilapidated but hazardous too.
Without any hesitation Perkins ascended the slippery path. He stepped over the overgrown brambles that clawed at the cuffs of his jeans. Only recently had he ventured outside. For a couple of years he’d stayed immobile, walking only to and fro from the vicarage to the bunker. All of a sudden the lack of exercise had caught up with him. His slender shape felt every exhalation. However, in less than five minutes he’d reached the top of the path and slowed to a halt when he saw Jane. She was sitting on the top step, bent over, hugging her knees close to her chest, shivering.
‘Jane!’
Jane looked up and snivelled and wiped her eyes. Tears had frozen on her scarlet cheeks. It gave the appearance that icicles had melted from her almond eyes.
‘What’re you doing up here? You’ll catch your death out here.’ He edged closer at a leisurely pace so as not to alarm her.
‘The air’s fresh.’
Perkins nodded. ‘It is. It’s also very cold.’
By now he’d reached her and towered over her huddled form.
‘I’ll be down soon,’ she said, resisting the urge to sob.
‘Is there room for one more on that step?’
Jane scooted over and patted the smooth stone.
Perkins lowered himself next to her and saw the crispy leaves crumbling to nothing beneath the branches. ‘What’s wrong, Jane? Jonesy said you had a bad dream. Wanna talk about it?’
Jane snivelled again. ‘Remember we talked a little about the premonitions you had and your sister that came true?’
‘I remember everything. At least, everything of great importance.’
‘Last night I had one of those vivid dreams, as you called them. They are dreams, ’cause I was fast asleep. But it was also something else. Something too vivid to be fantasy.’
‘Tell me about your dream or vision, Jane,’ Perkins said. Then he added: ‘We’re all in this together. The only way we’re all gonna survive is by being open and honest and working as a team. There’s no need to live in fear.’
At that last comment Jane’s eyes bulged. Two glass orbs challenging his last comment. ‘Oh there is,’ she said. ‘There’s lots and lots to fear… and I do fear what’s coming.’
Taken aback by her answer Perkins took a few seconds to regain his placid composure. ‘What’s coming, Jane? Tell me!’
‘The Grim Reaper and its gang of disciples.’
The icy cold stinging his cheeks to the point of numbness all faded into the background. A much frostier cold shot through Perkins’ system. Goose pimples arose on his flesh beneath his layers. The warmth of exercise in his muscles ebbed away. Now all that remained was Jane’s harrowing premonition.
‘The actual Grim Reaper?’
Jane nodded solemnly.
‘And its disciples?’
Another nod of confirmation.
‘Tell me what you saw in your dream or whatever the hell you wanna call it.’
Jane regarded him with sad, fearful eyes that were a mere reflection of what festered away in her soul. ‘I dreamt I was flying…,’ she began.
The young reverend who no longer believed in God listened to Jane’s recitation of her pertinent vision. His face never altered expression, not once, but inwardly he felt as though he were being electrocuted over and over and over again.
He had no idea what to make of the images of the Grim Reaper using its inhuman powers to clear the motorway of burned out vehicles and corpses in order to permit its disciples to ride through. The days of far-fetched were long gone. What he used to read and considered fantasy were now reality. As far as being incredulous went, this wasn’t something to be scoffed at. The Grim Reaper was as real as Jane, himself and all the members of their close group. What made the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck bristle was hearing how these disciples were no longer human. They’d been transformed into demons with extraordin
ary powers that threatened their mortality if they crossed paths.
What made his soul shriek inside him however was when Jane told him about flying over the land to the outskirts of their small town. From there she’d floated down the chimney chute out of the hearth and hovered over her own body.
What made the whole yarn even more tangible was when Jane mentioned that she’d opened her eyes and clearly depicted the exact same image of the Reaper he’d envisioned as he listened.
After much quiet and deliberation, Perkins spoke. ‘This cannot be ignored. We must act now or die grovelling at their feet.’
27.
NUMBER 3 could scarcely believe how well he manoeuvred his Yamaha motorbike. The air he cut through at tremendous speed buffeted him. Yet still with his brown mane of hair blowing back off his metallic brow he experienced no fear for his mortality. The roads were blanketed in white dust. The sky overhead was hazy, as though the sunrise still hadn’t managed to lift heavy fog. However, it was much better than the thick, black billowing smoke and debris that induced wheezing and clogged his lungs.
As he looked down past the handlebars at the road it seemed like the journey was eternal. Of course that wasn’t the case. In fact the three of them had made good ground. They’d slowed to take in the fallen dilapidated vehicles and their owners filling the ditches and pastures. But that soon became background props.
What perplexed Number 3 was how he’d not felt even slightly ravenous. Nevertheless, he and his compatriots had stopped to fuel the bikes (using petrol cans from filling stations) and ate out of some unspoken obligation.
The refrigerated food had long gone past its sell-by-date. Yet Number 3 found it odd that his stomach hadn’t once grumbled out of protest for not being fed or being fed mouldy food.
Number 3 knew he’d eaten and drank in the hidden chamber in the sewers during the aftermath. What he couldn’t recall was anything prior to that. All he knew was his life as a human had been one of misery and sadness. He couldn’t recall his life or family or friends or pets. He wasn’t sure why this was the case. If he’d forced himself to make an assumption, he’d have said it had something to do with the transformation the three discussed back in London outside the ruination of the famous Buckingham Palace. Perhaps the Grim Reaper had erased the bad, painful memories and wiped the slate clean. Or in this case, his memory clean.