The Island at the End of the World

by Sam Taylor

  ‘All will be revealed Alice. Come on, there’s no time to lose.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We can talk in the forest. Let’s go.’

  Tell me you’re not leaving promise me you won’t ever swear it or I’ll

  But I do not speak a word.

  We walk, the two of us, side by side. Some days, when we’re alone and can’t be seen, he holds my hand while we walk, but today he doesn’t. He is brisker than normal, almost like another person. I want to ask him where we’re going, but there is something forbidding about his face this morning. And besides, I am still floating on a cloud of my own relief. He hasn’t gone. He is here with me. The bad dream hasn’t come true. Not yet.

  Inside the forest it is as cool and dim as if the sun had not yet risen. I fall into a kind of trance, listening to the rustle and flap my trainers make as they hit the ground, tuning in and out of the birdsong, which grows more scattered the deeper in we go. Not knives now, but wood nymphs’ laughter. The path narrows, twists, sometimes disappears.

  I am following Will, though he has, as far as I know, been here only twice. I have been here three times. The first time I was alone, and frightened. The second time, I took Will to see my father’s wooden cabin, but it was locked. The last time, three days ago, he took me

  Bending down, touching the black windows in the ground. Talking to himself, like I was no longer there

  What are they?

  They’re solar panels, Alice. They make electricity

  He unlocked the door with a key and we entered. Will pointed at one of the white boxes on the desk

  You know what this is Alice?

  I shook my head.

  It’s called a computer

  A computer. As I said the word, the memory flickered within me. Pa had told us about them, once before. Last winter, I think, during those long dark snowbound days. What was it he had said? Special machines with the whole world inside them. Ask them a question and they’d tell you the answer. But people grew addicted to them, that’s what he said. They were dangerous because they were addictive. Once you started looking into the screen, you couldn’t pull yourself away. People spent their lives inside computers and forgot the real world in which they lived. And yet my father had one. Here. And never told us

  Contaminated

  Will touched another of the boxes. And this?

  I shook my head

  A printer. And these?

  I don’t know what anything is

  He touched my shoulder. Don’t worry Alice, you will. He stared away from me for a moment, then walked over to the books that lined the walls. Quite a reader your father. He pulled out a few books and flicked through them, said some of the titles out loud, laughed gently under his breath

  What’s funny?

  Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. What’s behind that door?

  I don’t know

  Will tried a few keys before he found the one that fitted

  Will, where did you get those?

  I stole them. He grinned at me

  But what if he

  Alice, I used to be frightened of your father. But I’m not any more. I’m stronger than him now

  Yes, I know you are. But he has guns, knives

  Not any more he doesn’t

  Oh

  We went through to the next room. It was full of boxes. Hundreds of them

  Are these computers too?

  No, he smiled. No. These are just boxes. The question is

  He walked over and picked one up

  What’s inside them

  A ripping sound and the top of the box opened out in two halves. Will looked inside

  What is it?

  See for yourself

  I moved over to him and peered inside. There was a pair of trainers, just like the ones I was wearing, only these were white, unstained, and slightly bigger

  He opened another box and another and another. Large boxes and small boxes, round boxes and rectangular boxes. Shirts, skirts, jeans, bikinis, boots, hats, underwear spilled over the floor, all bright and clean. A strange smell in the air. Quietly he said Enough clothes to last a lifetime

  We walk in the direction of the house. It is still quite dark. I watch as Will unlocks the door, then follow him inside and stare through the gloom. ‘Have you got a candle?’ I ask.

  He touches the wall and there’s a sound like an army of metal butterflies in flight, then a sudden blaze of whiteness, as if a hundred candles had all been lit at once.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alice, it’s just an electric light. You don’t remember these?’

  I shake my head, blinking in the dazzle

  XXII

  I tidy up the mess in her bedroom and put Daisy back to bed. There is no sign of Alice or HIM. I cross Finn coming into the ark as I go out.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

  ‘Nowhere. I’ve got something to do. I’ll be back soon.’

  We look at each other.

  ‘Where did you go?’ I ask.

  ‘Nowhere.’

  O Finn.

  But I do not have time to deal with this now. I walk quickly through the gardens and up through the orchard. The sky is darkening, not with the onset of night, but with that bluish bruising that presages a storm. The wind whips my face as I mount the plateau. On I go until I reach the Afterwoods, and from there follow the path to the cabin. Between the solars, to the door. I slide the key into the lock, but the door opens without me turning the key. I frown, walk inside. Did I forget to lock the door last time I was here?

  I switch on the lights. Tinny humming. I squint through the neon glare. There, on the desk – not locked in the drawer, as it should be – is my journal. I stare at its black cover and feel like I am staring into a bottomless abyss. No. They must never. I take my lighter from the drawer, flick its sparkwheel and touch the blue flame to the edge of the journal’s pages. My words are eaten up, the past consumed. The smoke makes me cough, it brings tears to my eyes. I hold on to the book’s cover until the heat becomes unbearable, then I let go. It drops to the floor and I stamp out the fire. Black ash stains the boards beneath my boots.

  Gone, all gone. A lifetime ago, a world away.

  In case of my death or disappearance … but it is too late for that now. My hope is dying, my dreams disappearing. I must act to save them, even if it means …

  Whatever it means.

  I walk to the back room, but that door too is unlocked. Inside, boxes have been torn open and there are clothes strewn all over the floor. The wasps murmur inside me. Calm, stay calm. I walk to the cabinet.

  The shotgun has gone. The pistol has gone. And so has all the ammunition.

  I am going to fucking kill you fucking.

  Eye for eye tooth for tooth burning for burning wound for wound blade for blade.

  Calm down, calm.

  HE has been here. I look around. What has he seen? What does he know? What does SHE know?

  Fear and fury, like two halves of a fiery wheel rolling inside my mind, each flashing up their side in turn. Fear. Fury. Fear. Fury.

  FEAR.

  FURY.

  FEAR.

  I walk back to the ark, talking to myself to soothe the wasps’ buzzing. I need to remain cool, calm, composed.

  There is a conversation we need to have.

  It is coming. That which is crooked cannot be made straight and that which is coming cannot be stopped.

  O let me do evil, that good may come.

  For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.

  To every thing there is a season. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to RIP UP that which is planted from the ground. A time to love and a time to hate, a time to build up and a time to SMASH DOWN into tiny pieces. A time to kill and a time to kill and a time to FUCKING KILL YOU YOU FUCKING.

  Calm, calm down. Listen to him first, it may not be what you think. It may not be wh
at you fear.

  Fury.

  Fear.

  Fury.

  Fear.

  Back in the ark, I fix supper

  XXIII

  I shake my head, blinking in the dazzle.

  ‘Well well well,’ says Will, and I look to where he’s looking. On the floor by Pa’s desk is a book, its cover spread open, and a heap of black ashes.

  ‘What is all this?’

  ‘Something your father didn’t want you to read, apparently.’

  I bend down and pick up the book. On the front page, written in the cramped, jagged handwriting that I recognise as my father’s, are these words:

  IN CASE OF MY DEATH OR DISAPPEARANCE

  What you are reading now you should only be reading if I have died or vanished from the island. Leave it a day or so, children, but no longer than that. If I’m not back after two days, then something is wrong. I would never leave you that long.

  (Do not read this book if am still here or I will be very very angry.)

  I look up at Will. ‘You know what this is?’

  He nods. ‘Your father’s journal. It’s a shame he burned it. I should have taken it earlier, when I had the chance.’

  He walks behind me and looks over my shoulder. ‘I think there’s still enough for you to get the idea. Do you want to read some now?’

  ‘Do we have time? I thought you were in a rush.’

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to do here, so you may as well read while you wait. I’ll tell you when it’s time to go.’

  Nervously, I sit in my father’s chair and read the first, half-burnt page.

  There was an earthquake yesterday. It was only minor – 5.5 on the Richter scale – but since then I just don’t seem to see anything the same way. It’s like I’m looking through new eyes, like what I saw before was a movie screen and it’s suddenly been ripped away and only NOW am I seeing what was behind it, all that time. I look out the window at the pool, the electric fence, the ocean, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something unreal about it all, something prideful and doomed, like this is the Tower of Babel and soon it’ll come crashing down. I look at the clothes in our wardrobe, I look at the faces around the table at meetings in work, and I just want to laugh. Or vomit. Or scream. It’s crazy, nothing seems to matter or make sense any more. Nothing but Mary and Alice. Mary keeps telling me to lie down or take a holiday or a happy pill but she doesn’t understand, this is …

  Below that, the paper is ragged and blackened, the words unreadable. I stare at the words I’ve just read, pulse racing. My father wrote this? I skip a few pages and read on.

  … most humiliating night of my life. The maid let me in and showed me through to Christian’s office. I entered and he was sat behind the desk, pretending not to have heard me, his face all serious and concentrated. Just because he wanted to make me clear my throat, the prick. Then he looked up and smiled and said ‘Ah, Ben,’ in that phony, manly, all-friends-together voice of his. Two hours later he finally offered me (with the most incredible condescension) a job digging swimming pools for a company called Deep Blue Heaven which is run by an old college buddy of his. I think he was pretty surprised when I accepted. He thought I’d blanch as soon as I heard the salary etc, but as much as I hate and mistrust that bastard, I have to say this job sounds perfect. Physical, outdoors, stress-free, and I’m home by six every day. Of course we’ll have to tighten the …

  I don’t know who Christian is, so I keep flicking through the pages, scanning for that magic name, those four letters which signify my mother: M-a-r-y.

  … heard another child from the neighborhood got kidnapped today. The same Sins Of The Fathers group suspected. Mary says she knows the family. That’s seven now, and the video of the last one being crucified is on the fucking net. Mary keeps repeating what Christian says about it, that the ringleaders should be executed on live TV blah blah but she doesn’t see that killing these maniacs will change nothing, that the real culprit is all around us – in all the bullshit pouring from the moving mouths on TV, in the Coke and Sprite we drink and the Nike and Gap we wear, in the Stars and Stripes that hangs from the wall of Alice’s preschool and the pledge of allegiance they make her recite every morning. Mary says I’m so full of hate she hardly knows me, but I don’t WANT to be like this. I hate the President for MAKING ME HATE. I’m angry at being made so goddamn angry. I just want to forget this world and love my kids, bring them up somewhere they won’t be ‘white Americans’, where they won’t be tainted by …

  … sad and frustrated at not being allowed to even say hello to them, and it was so fucking hot and I felt suddenly sick of digging pools, sick of everything, so I quit on the spot and didn’t say goodbye, just got in my car and drove. Left the city behind. Went east and north. Slept by Mono Lake. The next morning was beautiful but there were tourists fucking everywhere so I got back in the car and kept driving, turning off major roads whenever I could and following smaller mountain tracks. So many times, this led me nowhere and I had to turn back, but late afternoon on the third day I found a track that passed between two hills and entered the widest, most gloriously empty valley. Not a single habitation or vehicle or human being anywhere to be seen, only forests and lakes and meadows, wild goats and circling hawks … and, at the far end of the valley, lonely and magnificent, this mountain. Soon as I got here, I knew it. Everything crystallised. This is the place. This is …

  … I’m learning to almost enjoy the lying. I do it so often now that I have forgotten how it feels to be honest. In some ways this depresses me, in other ways it elates me.

  Lying is wrong. I do believe that, with all my heart. But, at this (crucial) moment in time, lying is the only way to achieve what I know to be right. So I do it, and I do it well. My conscience is clear.

  Lying to Christian in order to make him help me find this job was sheer pleasure, the subtlest kind of revenge. Lying at work is easy but unchallenging; no one in the agency would ever guess that I was laughing at them behind my furrowed brow and pursed lips.

  But lying to Mary is harder, and I feel bad about it. One day soon I will tell her, but not now. She wouldn’t understand. As it is, she suspects me of deceiving her. But she thinks I’m having an affair. Ha! Maybe when she finds out the truth she’ll be relieved rather than horrified? …

  …

  mini-digger

  trailer

  cement mixer

  circular saw/chainsaw/hacksaws & bowsaws

  spades/forks/hammers etc

  readymix cement × 100 bags

  wooden planking (600m?)

  electrical wiring (ask JP)

  guttering/roof tiles/foil insulation/tarpaulin/plastic sheeting

  woodburner & kitchen range

  sand/gravel/pebbles

  candles/matches/lighters + fuel

  liners/pumps/filters

  …

  … thank You Lord, thank you President Mercer, this war is exactly what I’ve been praying for. I never thought I would write that, but on top of all the other disasters of the past six months it was enough to tip Mary over the edge. She cried on my shoulder, watching the news tonight. We could hear Daisy breathing through the baby monitor and M said ‘What kind of world have we brought our children into?’

  She sobbed. I comforted her, hugged and kissed her, then asked how she would feel about moving away from the city. Moving to a place where the war would never reach us. A place far away from all the earth’s troubles.

  ‘Oh God, if only we could,’ she said.

  ‘What if I told you that we can do exactly that, Mary?’

  She stared at me then. I had her attention.

  ‘You think I’ve been deceiving you, don’t you?’

  ‘I … what? No, it’s just that …’

  ‘You were right. I have been deceiving you Mary. But not in the …

  … It’s 1.30am as I write this, and in two hours we will leave. The dead of night. I’ve written the note to Christian, telli
ng him we’re going to Mexico and not to follow us, and Mary’s copied it out and posted it. She was reluctant to do this as she hates dishonesty, but I persuaded her it was necessary. She does whatever I tell her nowadays. Fear makes a person more malleable. All she cares about is the safety of the children.

  For the last few days she’s been twitchy, desperate to go, but personally I’ve enjoyed saying goodbye to LA. Going through the motions at work, counting down the hours, knowing everything was ready and in place. Savouring those small miseries of city life – freeway jams, toxic smogs, junk food – sweetened by the knowledge that I was about to leave it all behind, that this would be my last styrofoam cup of bad coffee, my final breath of gasoline-tainted air. I’ve never felt calmer or happier in my life.

  Looks like the rain’s stopped now …

  A touch on my shoulder and the details of the present reassemble themselves around me. Inside my father’s cabin. Will’s voice saying, ‘Time to go, Alice. Don’t worry, you can read the rest later.’

  Obediently I pass the book to Will. He drops it into the rucksack, and we go outside. The tyrant’s strange words are circling my mind, like half-glimpsed memories, or faces seen in dreams.

  Looks like the rain’s stopped now

  I don’t know what to think, how to feel.

  We walk until we reach a fork in the path. Will, unhesitating, goes right. I follow. I am now deeper inside the forest than I have ever been in my life. I begin to guess where we must be headed.

  Something flickers in the corner of my eye

  XXIV

  Back in the ark, I fix supper and then check on Daisy. I change her sheets and pillow, which are soaked, but her forehead feels much cooler and her eyes are brighter. Finn is more relaxed too, or at least not so miserable. I guess he’s been talking to Snowy. The other two keep out of my way.

  In the evening we all eat together, outside. No one mentions what happened this afternoon. We talk about the sky, which is blue-black in the west, and the air, which feels thick and charged. Another storm is coming. As we tidy away the empty plates, sheet lightning illuminates the whole island. The Afterwoods rear up in brief flashing silhouette, then vanish into darkness again.