by Rod Rayborne
The thin suit jacket Gordon wore did little to still his own shivering, teeth chattering like a cheap front yard Halloween prop. He no longer felt his hands or his cheeks stinging with pins and needles. His hair and eyelashes were Kris Kringle white.
"You ever heard the one about the Titanic?" Gordon asked Sofia, grinning. "What did the Captain say when the Titanic hit the ice berg?" She said nothing, patiently waiting for the punch line, he knew. "Ship happens!" He looked at her and chuckled. His smile faded when she failed to respond, her face white, head rocking gently as he walked.
The houses of the Hollywood Hills were in worse shape than most of those below. The monstrous wave of high energy pressure that followed the blast had encountered no resistance before it crashed into the buildings that covered the hillsides. The Hollywood sign was entirely missing along with much of the chaparral that had given its surroundings their beautiful cloak of green.
Griffith Park Observatory however, still stood, though one of the domes had collapsed, leaving the night viewing telescope exposed to the elements.
From this height on York Ave, he could see the leaning towers of Century City. Closer, a huge crater where the ten kiloton bomb had been remotely exploded. Ground zero, he realized. Though the city was mostly white now, no snow could cover the red-hot center or the mile wide rim. Here flames continued to rise, heat blistering the charred debris around it.
The falling flurries were lit from below, melting and evaporating hundreds of feet above the pit. No building stood anywhere within a ten mile glowing radius of the site save one old church, it's tilted steeple still miraculously pointing to the sky. The rest were simply mounds of blackened debris that delineated the roads as intersecting lines of rubble.
At the top of the hill, the wind wailed inconsolably, whipping the leafless aspens back and forth like torn sheets. With difficulty, Gordon found what remained of his home, a mess of torn trees and buckled stucco. He had quietly hoped, despite the massive destruction around him, that his own home might somehow have miraculously been spared. It was not to be. Three partial walls still stood, defining where his bedroom had been but the roof was down and the rest of the house was made up of blackened concrete, splintered wood, exposed pipes, chunks of drywall, smashed furniture and blocks of chimney lying forty feet away from where it had originally stood, all covered with branches, leaves and soot wrapped in white. Jasmine, his cat, was no where to be seen.
Gordon moved towards the lean-to the walls of his bedroom had become and looked inside. There his bed still sat, a heavy layer of filth scattered across it, blankets rippling. Gordon tried to push away a large tan colored plastic recycle barrel that had wedged itself between one wall and the fallen roof. The address written on the barrel was from a house miles away. The barrel had melted onto the bare floor and hardened there.
He had to kick it several times to free it, though slivers of the plastic remained irrevocably attached to the concrete foundation, the carpet having melted away. Then, bending to avoid the downed ceiling, he pushed his way inside, rolling the wheel barrel against the bed. He pulled the blankets off and shook them out as best he could. Icy wind from the storm outside raced through the room, whipping the blankets out of his hands. He ran and caught them before they flew out into the sky.
Then lifting Sofia gently, he put her down on the bed, tucking the blankets beneath the mattress as tightly as he could, her rigid body resisting his efforts. He pulled the blankets up until only her face was exposed, then sat on the bed and looked at her. Her skin was alabaster, matching the snow mounding at the foot of the bed. Her hair rippled in the frigid breeze.
She was smiling at him, watching him quietly. Patiently. A puzzled expression crept across his face and he looked away. When he looked back, her eyes were closed again, head to the side, mouth slightly open.
Gordon stared at her for several minutes, a tiny flicker of hope sparking just behind his eyes. But her face was impassive, ashen, quiet and he sighed instead. He bent then and kissed her lightly, holding the moment. Her lips were unyielding, ice. He didn't notice.
His own shivering had slowed as the temperatures plummeted. He could no longer feel his face or hands and had difficulty seeing through the small icicles that had formed on his eyelashes. Even his breath had ceased to fog as his body cooled.
Then he stood shakily, hardly able to feel the ground beneath his feet. Something in his pants pocket pushed itself into his thigh. Reaching in, he pulled out the pocket watch he had found on the man outside the bank days before. With trembling hands, he pressed the button on top and popped it open. In the glow of the light from the crater below, he focused his eyes on the inside of the lid and read,
When the World of man has lost its way,
Heaven shows its power,
A year on Earth in just a day,
All Summer in an hour.
He closed the lid, a small tear freezing almost as soon as it was shed. He looked at Sofia and stretched the watch and chain out on the pillow next to her. Then he stood, stepping past the fallen ceiling into the tempest outside.
He walked to the slope from where he could see the city far below. Night had fallen, black, ominous. The 50' deep crater glowed savagely, a hot yellow core of merciless fury, rhythmically pulsing like a vengeful, scheming heart. He watched for a moment, two. Then turning, he thrust his hands in his pockets and walked out into the enveloping night.
