Eternity's Echo

by H. C. Southwark

There was a collective murmur of discontent from the reapers around Ellie, but it was hard to tell who was making the noise specifically. Beside her, Shawn was still.

  Shawn had not said a word.

  Anna held up her hand for peace. “I know, it’s a large number. But we clear out the large populations first, then we scatter and get the stragglers. Best way.”

  “One hundred souls an hour,” said Marcus Greeves, behind Ellie. In his life, he had studied economics at university, when Black Friday came. He had heard the news, run to his professor’s office, just in time to see the man jump. And he had followed.

  “Suppose we all manage that number,” continued Marcus, “and there’s what, maybe forty of us in the entire El Paso County? That’s forty reapers for seven hundred thousand souls at one-hundred an hour. Seven thousand hours of work total.”

  He paused, continued, “So we’re each looking at at least a week of nonstop reaping. Are the stars going to fall before then? Y’all made it sound eminent.”

  “There’s eight reapers in solitary being released,” said Anna.

  “So we don’t go to solitary anymore?” came a murmur, and Ellie saw Shawn perk up.

  Oh no you don’t, she thought, Cookie’ll tear you to ribbons without solitary... really, idiot, solitary is there to protect you from her. Hells, I’ll help her if you give me a reason.

  “Okay,” said Marcus, eyes rolling toward the ceiling as he recalculated. “So, taking into account all of seven hundred thousand souls, and like fifty of us. That’s still five days and a half. And only if we all hit one-hundred souls an hour. Impossible.”

  Sven Holzmann, another reaper beside Marcus, piped up, “Marcus, you’re counting only the people in Colorado Springs. The whole El Paso County is twice that.”

  “Well then we’re at twelve days of work,” said Marcus. “Are the stars going to hold?”

  Anna pressed a hand to her forehead. “What do you want from me? Are we going to stand and argue or are we going to just get started? We have the earth to reap, too.”

  “All I’m saying is,” said Marcus, “there has to be an easier way to do this.”

  “You don’t think we’re already on that?” said Anna, frustration reaching a boiling point. “Look, you get started now, we mentors upstairs find a better way, we come and tell you. Okay? We need to start. Seven hundred thousand souls, people.”

  “One million four hundred thousand,” corrected Sven.

  “Whatever!” Anna said. “Get down there! Start big: hospitals, malls, stores, schools, apartments, offices, stadiums, the DMV, the universities. Go wild.”

  “What about the airport?” someone said. “The air force base?”

  “Exactly,” said Amelie, sounding relieved. “Y’all get it now.”

  One reaper said loudly, “I call Peterson’s museum! I’m totally getting into those planes and whooping with my hat off like Dr. Strangelove.”

  “Moron,” another replied, “there isn’t time for that.”

  “But there never will be time again,” laughed the former, and he pulled out his reaper’s tool, some kind of gyroscope. Before he could twist it, however, Anna called out:

  “A couple more things, guys.”

  As a unit, the reapers around Ellie paused. They looked almost miffed—they had been ready to go, and now there was another delay.

  Anna held up three fingers. “Three new rules, everyone.”

  Oh joy, thought Ellie. Three ways for people to mess up, despite having no solitary.

  “First, no fighting. Ever. Y’see what happened to Shawn Vasquez here.” And Shawn reddened when everyone stared at his ball and chain. Ellie held back a smirk. Anna continued, “Those ain’t no one-ball limit. And there are worse things up our sleeves.”

  The assembled reapers looked a little more respectful now, Ellie thought.

  “Second, no chases. Obviously, don’t let any souls run if y’can help it. Best way. But if something happens, one of em gets out, you don’t go chasing after. Ain’t time.”

  A reaper who called himself Darius-the-Beat, asked, “But what about demons?”

  “Well, if they’re in your way, squish em,” said Anna. “But don’t go chasing em. ”

  There was a collective murmur of disapproval. Most of the reapers assembled had seen a soul being eaten by a demon, and those who had not seen had heard stories.

  “Look,” Anna said, “chances are, y’don’t need to worry anyway. They’re in their bodies. When you pull em out, y’gonna be holding em. So just don’t let go. Have your reaper’s tool set to the correct place, and click, then there’s no need to worry. No runners.”

  The murmuring quieted, as the reapers saw the logic.

  “Finally,” Anna blew out her lower lip, sucked it back in. “This one is tricky. Normally, y’all wouldn’t have to worry about it. But—” And she leaned forward, looking very serious— “there’s things other than demons and mortals down there.”

  Ellie had heard as much. Claims that their mentors did not reap normal humans like the rest of them. But what was rumor, and what was truth? That was harder to discern.

  Some mentors, like Carson, would tell stories, but seem at the same time to be laughing at your expense. Others told you they would not talk about it—like Niles. Or, in his words, “It is skulduggery to trade these rumors that render you all into gobemouches.”

  Who knew how real anything was, anyway, Ellie thought.

  “So,” said Anna, “You see anything that’s not a demon, and not frozen in time—you leave it alone, understand? You call us. Don’t get near it. And—” she leaned forward, raising her voice, “If it’s stuck in a body, absolutely don’t let it out.”

  There was a pause, as the assembled reapers contemplated the new order. Ellie watched them process that at least some of the rumors concerning their superiors were true, and when Anna waited for a response, several nodded. Ellie did not.

  Anna relaxed. She grinned, the gap in her tooth wide. “Well then: Go get em, tigers.”

  Reapers began to vanish, returning to earth for the last of all reapings. One behind Ellie said, “This is just like smallpox back in the old days,” and another hummed back as if in solidarity. They both disappeared, without even a flash of light to mark their passing.

  A reaper Ellie knew only a little, whom everyone called Yellows, turned to those remaining and said, “UCCS, anyone? I figure the dorms are a good start.”

  Several nodded, and then there were more reapers tools, more dials clicking into place, more knobs pressed. Ellie raised her own pocket-watch and entered the location information, thinking back. In all the talk, the questions had been wrong.

  Logistics. Time frames. Locations.

  Ellie had waited for the big questions to come, but they never did. She almost asked them herself, felt courage rising in her, but then the conversation was over. Even as she finished dialing for the campus, Ellie watched the others go, wondering.

  Nobody else is going to suggest trying to re-start time?

  * * *

  Ellie appeared in the faculty parking lot below Kramer library. The building was lopsided, with the single clock tower as a turret, a giant arrow pointing at the sky connected to a curved square-oval rather like the Colosseum in Rome.

  All four sides of the tower had enormous clock faces, frozen, hands locked in place.

  Ellie turned and viewed the mountains, just for a moment. Growing up in Colorado Springs had meant they were always in view, and the sight of them calmed her. The mountains had always seemed to her to be cosmic, somehow, great earthen pillars that God had carved out with His hands. They would stand as silent witnesses forever.

  But not for much longer, came the thought. ‘We are now in a demolition phase.’

  Impossible, she thought to herself. Nobody could reap the Rockies. They’re too big.

  Everything about this frozen world was strange. There was no wind blowing. The clouds h
overed in the sky, motionless, unreal. Like they were a painting. And everything was so quiet. No birds, no cars running, nothing. The air was dead.

  Among the twenty or so vehicles in the parking lot, there was a young woman stepping out of a white Bronco, her foot almost touching the ground. Her dark hair swirled around her face as though being whipped by the wind. Her nose scrunched in discomfort.

  Imagine having that expression forever, Ellie thought, walking up to her.

  Ellie peered into the woman’s face. She looked to be a student here, probably no older than twenty. She had hoop earrings and a bit too much blush on her cheeks. As far as Ellie could tell, the woman was completely unaware that she was frozen. Which was good—would have been horrible, if the living were trapped and conscious.

  If I hadn’t died... Ellie thought, and was almost unable to finish the sentence, but somehow managed: ...then I could have gone to college here, and you could have been one of my friends. I would have majored in linguistics, maybe. Something so I could learn Greek and Hebrew, and maybe be a pastor someday. Just like Dad.

  And that was painful. To think of her father, at home, wearing those stupid dog-faced slippers with the tongues pointing out of the seam over his toes. The tongues would flop as he walked. Maybe that was how he would go to Heaven—with those tongues flopping all the way up the path to Jesus, wherever Jesus was.

  But he’ll have to go without me, Ellie realized. Reapers aren’t allowed past the gate.

  I wonder what it’s like, squeezing past that bloody cloth; how long does it stay narrow like that? I guess claustrophobes are out of luck, maybe Dad can force himself?

  Once he and Mom and Robbie go through... I’ll never see them again.

  The world will be over. I won’t even be able to travel back to see any memories, either.

  Again, the question came: What happens to reapers when there’s nobody left to reap?

  Shaking her head, Ellie regarded the young woman once more. Somewhere, this woman had a family. They probably planned to attend her graduation, to celebrate with her. Maybe if she was a good daughter, she called them every week to chat.

  But the stars are going to fall, Ellie thought.

  I don’t know what will happen to you, if you’re still on Earth when they fall. I suppose I had better reap you so you’re not here. I imagine it would be terrible.

  More terrible than being reaped, right now?—the question came, even as Ellie was reaching out her hand to touch the woman’s wrist. She paused. Indecision hovered over her like it, too, was frozen in time, a choice unmade suspended forever.

  And then Shawn’s voice: “You know, they said no more solitary.”

  Ellie whirled, hands bunching into fists, but usually she and Shawn did not grapple. That was Cookie’s way of besting Shawn. Ellie preferred snark and cutting remarks.

  “What?” she said, not grasping what Shawn had said. Was he planning something?

  “I’m just saying,” said Shawn. He looked strangely unlike himself; the underlying smugness was there, but combined with something harder to place, something like contemplation. But that seemed too intellectual for him. “You don’t need to reap with the rest of us, is all. You can just sit it out. They won’t waste time doing anything to you.”

  He’s right, Ellie thought. I could. I could just sit on my hands. Maybe even rebel. Let loose every soul I see, a whole parade of confused and terrified people, so many that maybe the mentors will see this won’t work, and decide to save the world instead.

  Shawn stuck his hands in his pockets, observing her. He wore a coat that was overlarge around his beanpole shoulders. On his ankle, the chain clinked, drawing her attention.

  Or, Ellie amended, Maybe rebelling will bring punishment. Anna didn’t say they wouldn’t stick someone in solitary, just that those there right now would be released. I’m sure if I bring more trouble than I solve, I’ll be chucked in. And who knows what Shawn will do without a babysitter—at least Cookie should be here.

  And underneath, came a sneaking thought: How can I save the world if I’m locked up?

  But that was a stupid idea. A foolish ridiculous notion. Ellie did not even know where to start. Besides, she told herself, Whatever needs to be done, I’ll bet saving the world is harder than just following orders. Even Niles won’t consider helping.

  And I don’t know what to do. How does one re-start time?

  What is this ‘Spindle of Necessity’ thing, anyway?

  Her shoulders slumping, Ellie said to Shawn, “What, let you have all the fun?”

  “Right then,” and Shawn grinned, chuckled, a little overeager. He took a step forward and reached out a hand. “You gonna get that hottie, or should I?”

  Realization came over Ellie: Ugh, serves me right. Shawn is a creeper.

  She whirled and grabbed the woman’s wrist before he could come any closer. A tug, and the soul came free—Ellie stepped back to allow it room to stand and remove itself from the flesh suit. But like all removed souls, the young woman was naked.

  “What?” she shrieked, eyes popping wide. Ellie felt goosebumps spread over the skin she held, saw the pebbling of nipples. A scorch of heat—like all new souls freed from bodies—singed her hand. But then before anything else, Ellie clicked the knob on her pocket-watch. And the woman was gone. Ellie’s fingers curled around air.

  In the car, the body was still suspended, foot almost touching the ground. But Ellie could feel the difference—the coldness of the corpse, a reaper sixth sense telling her that nobody was home. The eyes were vacant, like those of a marble statue without pupils.

  “Ah, well,” said Shawn. “I’ll get the next one.”

  And he bolted for the steps leading up to the library proper. Ellie tore after him, trying not to ask herself the obvious question:

  Yes, time is frozen. Yes, the world is ending. Yes, the stars will fall soon.

  But this woman wasn’t specifically slated to die.

  Did I just kill her?

  Chapter Eleven: One-Hundred Souls an Hour.

  Shawn ran ahead on the steps, pulling out the souls in front of him. Ellie was annoyed that he was better than her—she could count up to three seconds—“one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three”—for each of Shawn’s reapings.

  Not that they were really seconds, of course. Time was frozen.

  Any other day she would not have cared. Would just have concluded it was weird to see Shawn work so hard, and done her own thing. For now, however, she found the competition a welcome distraction from what was happening.

  There were a half-dozen people walking up the stairs. Shawn had a head start but Ellie passed him while he took care of these souls. He yelled, “Bitch!” as she ran by, but there was no venom in his voice.

  Ellie forced herself not to wonder why he was behaving this way. He’s a maniac, she told her curious self, trying to quiet her own mind. Shawn is a wacko who murder-suicided his girlfriend. Nothing he does has to make any sense.

  From there, at the library entryway, Ellie began to get into the swing of it all:

  Don’t pause. Just touch and pull. Ellie already knew how to remove souls, that was easy. But the moment they were out was also the moment to click the knob of her reaper’s tool. Grab, yank, click. Not even time for them to say anything, or better yet, for Ellie to have to look at naked people. She was not embarrassed at nudity anymore, but that did not mean that she wanted to see rolls of fat jiggling.

  Ellie could see how it was possible to hit one-hundred souls an hour. Maybe more.

  The front lobby had lines of students with books. Ellie went down the first line, one-two-three-four, then reaped the bearded hipster at the checkout. Then the second line, plus two extra people chatting with a friend struggling under a stack of books, and the Asian girl at that checkout. Shawn got the third line, started on the fourth.

  Ellie worked the tables by the pickup shelves. Like the childhood game: duc
k, duck, duck, goose. Next table: duck, duck, duck, goose... Next table. And the next.

  They moved into the computer room that took up the other half of the first floor. Students in rows, hunched over typing and clicking. A young man with a buzz cut, his face distorted by a sneeze, spittle floating midair. An older woman, perhaps a professor or returning student, biting her lip and pecking at the keyboard with one finger.

  Then there were lines at the printers, including a young man in the middle of stealing a girl’s hat, and the people heading up the first flight of stairs to the second level.

  As Shawn began to work his way up the stairs, however, Ellie held back to reap the boy waiting for the elevator. He was wearing a yellow beanie and had his finger pressing the elevator button, which was on the verge of lighting up when time had frozen.

  Beanie-boy must have had fast reflexes, because when Ellie yanked his soul out, despite the confusion he managed to speak before she clicked her knob—

  “What the—”

  And then he was gone. Amusement rose in Ellie, and she snorted. Wondered what the tail end of his exclamation could be, when he landed in the holding room upstairs.

  But that moment of introspection was a mistake. The question came again, but harder now, each word like a hammer in her skull:

  Am I killing these people?

  Ellie paused. Looked over the first floor of the library, counting noses. Had to be at least fifty people down here. And those outside. Each now a husk, vacant eyes like dolls.

  Seven hundred thousand people in Colorado Springs. And, memory resurfacing, Sven Holtzmann’s voice: “One million four hundred thousand...”

  How many people were in the world? Something like seven billion...

  Without her even pulling on her scarf, her neck was smarting.

  This was the death of everyone. Obviously. This was the Apocalypse. Had to be a mass extinction event, complete with falling stars. The words of the red-haired girl came:

  But people will go extinct anyway. The world will end sometime.

  Right, thought Ellie. I just didn’t expect ‘sometime’ to be ‘right now.’