by Micah Castle
Marco slowly made his way to Frederick’s desk. Written in his journal, scribbled in ink:
The Hole has revealed itself. I must crawl through. I am sorry, Marcus.
Marcus looked over the room again, then the journal entry once more. The strength of his legs gave out and he collapsed onto Frederick’s stool. He hunched over and put his face in his hands and began to sob.
* * *
The snow that stopped had begun again as he stood near the lamp post. The soft glow illuminated the downward drifting flakes of winter. Beyond the glass of the coffee shop his mother checked the register, grabbed the keys underneath the desk and walked to the door. She flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, then opened the door, went out and turned to lock it.
When she faced the sidewalk, she saw him standing there. His cheeks were streaked with drying tears and his nose was red from the constant wiping of his jacket. They stared at each for a few moments, then she asked,
“Don’t you have a show tonight?”
“Canceled.”
“Huh, well, okay.” She said, then after another few moments of silence asked. “Since it’s canceled, want to come to my home for the night?”
He nodded and followed her into the alleyway next to the building and up a narrow flight of stairs. She opened the crudely painted door and they went in. A studio apartment laid beyond. A wood burner stood near the inlaid window its chimney connected to, the same one from his childhood. A pile of chopped wood and newspaper laid near it. Apparently, he thought, there are just some things you can’t get rid of.
His mother set down her things on the kitchenette counter and went over to the burner, put wood and some paper into it, and threw a match in. Then she went into the restroom. The warmth that radiated off its black steel quickly filled the small home. Marcus sat down in a cushioned chair near the burner. He glanced at the scenic paintings hanging on the walls, his mother’s signature was written in the bottom corner of each one.
She returned in pajamas and held two blankets, throwing one onto him. She sunk into the loveseat against the wall, covered herself, and they both silently stared into the nothingness.
Abruptly she asked, “Where’s Frederick?”
“Gone.”
“Gone? Where’d he go?”
“Nowhere better than here.”
Never-ending Rain
I pushed open the creaky door of Langan’s Fishing Hole, an old-timey bar in the city, and shook the rain from my hair. My clothes were soaked through, but there wasn't much I could do about that.
“Bad one out there, aye?” The bald bartender asked from behind the polished counter.
“Yeah,” I said, walking over and sitting on one of the many empty stools. “Can I get a coffee? Need something warm before something cold.”
With a nod, the bartender turned around to fix my drink. I glanced over my shoulder to take in the place. Most of the old, ale stained tables were vacant, framed oil paintings of fishermen hung on the walls, and there was a stand with dusty fishing rods with a golden plaque above that read: Langan’s Poles. In the far corner, near a window, sat a man, nursing a pint, with messy hair and a wrinkly business suit with a yellow stain near the collar.
The bartender set a steaming mug before me, with two packets of sugar and cream. I thanked him and wrapped my cold hands around the warm porcelain. I looked behind the bar, waiting for my drink to cool. The seemingly endless rows of dark and bright colored liquor bottles stretched from one end of the wall to the other, above hung a curved mirror. A dozen or so trinkets hung on a hook screwed into the wall near the mirror.
Rain pounded on the windows and the ceiling. God, it never stops, I thought. It's been two weeks and the rain hasn't stopped once, not even for a moment. I haven't seen the sun in a while, and I just moved here for a new job. What's wrong with this city?
“Hey,” I said to the bartender, “do you know why it's been raining like this for so long?”
“Haven't the faintest clue. Everyone that comes in here complains about it too, but none have ideas why. Just do what I do and have patience. Rain like this,” he nodded to the window, “can't last forever.”
“I know why it does,” said the man sitting behind me.
I swiveled in my stool, facing him, and asked, “Do you? How?”
“Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you.”
I turned to the bartender and ordered a beer. A large, thick glass was set onto the counter, filled with a foamy amber liquid.
“Don't believe a word he says,” the bartender whispered. “He's a loon, went mad years ago when his wife passed, then he lost his job. No family, no children. He sits there every day, staring out the window, like something outside is going to change. Just entertain his wild stories, don't get caught up in them.”
As I picked up the glass, I thanked the bartender and went over to the man's table. I put the beer in front of him, then sat onto one of the rickety chairs nearby. Even from across the table, I could smell the rancid stench of urine, hops and vomit. He took a swig of the ale, belched, then asked, “So you want to know why it's been raining so much?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Some say it's just the weather, other say it's just that time of the year, and some small groups say that the gods are crying for the world. But you want to know the truth? The truth is it's time. It's time for the world to be cleansed.”
“Cleansed?”
“Yes, cleansed. The rain will wash away us and give birth to something new.”
“Give birth to what?” I asked, dumbly.
“A new species, one that can live in an endless sea. There won't be any more land, anymore towns or cities, no more people, just the blessed water from the sky. Their eggs will fall like hail and once enough cleansing has been done, they will hatch and grow. And the rain, it'll never stop.”
This guy is crazy, I thought. “Oh… okay, well thanks for letting me know.” I got up, patted him on the shoulder, and instantly regretted it, something sticky covered his suit. “I'm going to go finish my coffee and get back home. Maybe I’ll catch you again next time I come in, and we can talk more.”
“You won’t see me again after tonight.”
The uncomfortableness of the conversation was palpable. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, then I tried again. “Why not?”
“I will be given life in a new form, for my devotion to those who will do the cleansing, be one among the many that will live under the water.”
This guy isn’t crazy, he’s fucking nuts “I, uh… okay, then. Well, nice talking to you.”
“Peter,” he said.
“Yes, thank you Peter. Have a nice night.”
Sitting at the counter once again, sipping at my coffee, I stared aimlessly into the mirror behind the bar, watching the man in the reflection look out the window and empty his drink.
I finished my cup, laid down a ten, told the bartender to keep the change, and left the bar. I ran through the sheets of rain to my car, got in, then drove back to my apartment.
II
As I sat in my office at work a week later, staring out the window and watching the downpour continue, I thought about what Peter said. It was crazy, absolutely, but why was I stuck on it? Like that could ever happen. Aquatic people rising from the water and all us humans being drowned by the rain… It'll stop, the rain will stop soon and then everything will be great. I’ll be able to finally go out and hike those trails I've been wanting to for weeks. Guess I should've waited to buy those hiking boots, though.
An entire month had passed but the rain never ceased. Downtown was underneath nearly ten feet of murky water, and on every local news station there were blaring flooding alerts. We were instructed to get away from the city until the rain passed, make sure that our belongings were stored on high grounds, and if possible, surround our homes with bags of sand, to block out the water.
None of these things I could do, s
ince I lived in an apartment on the 20th floor. All flights out of town were booked, although from what I’ve read online, rain like this was everywhere. I stared down through my apartment’s large window as the water slowly rose in between the buildings and alleyways, and the abandoned cars stopped on what was once sidewalks. There were a few people rowing kayaks through the streets, which I thought was funny to see happen the city.
I wanted to go to the bar again a week later, to talk to Peter, to maybe better understand what the hell was going on, but all the doorways of the apartment building were sealed off and blocked by sandbags. The National Guard stationed soldiers in some of the buildings with survivors still left, before the rain become as bad as it was. One stood before the door. He was bald, tall, and young, no older than twenty-five. He must have been a new recruit for the Guard, I thought.
He instructed everyone standing around in the lobby that now the water was too high, and no one could leave until it calmed down. Supplies were in the cellar, which use to serve as a fallout shelter in the sixties.
I returned to my apartment, turned on the television and looked out the window. The water was so high now that I could make out its ripples.
“Please, if possible, stay with your loved ones outside of the city. We encourage anyone to call our toll-free number if instructions are needed for safety, or to speak to the authorities.” The female newscaster said on the T.V.
They keep telling everyone to leave the city, as if that would help… It was like this everywhere. I pushed down the steadily growing fear in the back of my mind. It'll pass, I thought. This can't keep up, it just can't. Eventually it'll stop.
The following day it began to hail. The hail didn't seem to be normal hail, for the balls of hard ice appeared very large, almost the size of bowling balls. They had a soft pink and yellow tint too, like an ice cone with cherry and lemon flavoring. Where these the eggs Peter spoke about? Where these the things containing the creatures?
I shook my head as I watched they come down like boulders from the sky, crushing windows, and tops of buildings. I heard from the news that an airplane's wing was destroyed by one somewhere in Ohio.
No, they can’t be… That’s impossible. Creatures from the sky? Am I really starting to believe what Peter said? Get a grip on yourself.
Minutes later, the hail ended as abruptly as it started.
One week after the hail, we were escorted from the 20th floor to the 32nd floor, three levels below the roof of the building. The water was now too high and liable to break the windows and flood our apartments. Before I was pulled away from my apartment, I took my wallet and car keys instinctively, as if I was going to use either of these in the future.
There were eight of us who were instructed to sleep in the hallway. It was surprising there were so few of us left in the entire building. From what I gathered, everyone else either flew out of the city the moment they got a whiff of the danger coming, and others simply took to the streets, in hopes there was safety elsewhere. Cots lined the walls, and cans of food, blankets, and bottles of water laid near the vending machine.
Under the dim yellow glow of the emergency lights, I saw that people really believed the rain wasn't going to end. They didn't have to say it, but I could see it in their faces. Their wide eyes, lined with red and purplish bags hanging underneath. The deep-seated fear practically screamed from their movements, their sudden jolt when someone came up to them, their head jerking towards the ceiling when the rain picked up, and the crying… God the crying, throughout the night, as they curled up in balls on their cots.
I wanted to tell them it was going to be okay, that it was just rain, but even I didn't believe that anymore. The crazy man from the bar was right, his story was true. Now, I thought as I slumped against the wall, holding back fear creeping up the back of my mind, I was a part of it.
III
I was pulled out from my sleep, as if I was being yanked out from underneath the water. The hallway was pitch black. A man was pulling me up by my collar, shouting, “Get up! The electricity went out! The water is on our level! We gotta move!”
I didn't have time to put on my shoes as I blindly scrambled down the hallway with the others towards the stairwell. We went up the polished cement stairs, that felt cold against my feet, until we were on the 34th floor. The man who woke me came out from behind us and turned on a flashlight. He swung the beam of light around, then instructed us to sit along the wall.
Passing by him to sit down, I could see he wore an army uniform, camouflage pants and coat. From the sound above us, the rain had strengthened. How many people have died now, I wondered. What it was like in other places in the world, like Australia or Japan — were they completely underwater now? If I was on an airplane flying over them, would I even see them? My eyes stung with a sharp pain and tears began to slide down the sides of my face.
I was an idiot, oblivious to what was happening before it happened and now there wasn't anything anyone could do. I felt an irrational guilt, as if believing Peter initially could have let me change the outcome. But even if someone did believe him, would or could I or anyone do anything? What could stop something of this size?
“This is all stupid…” I muttered to myself, like a spoiled child not getting his way.
I laid down onto the hard carpet, resting my head onto my arm. My mind felt like it was full of lead and my body felt exhausted, heavy, as if I had run a marathon. Before I drifted off, I wondered if this would be the last time I would ever sleep again.
I heard a large rumble underneath the continue downpour. Then another, and another. The windows below us, I assumed, were caving in. As I got up, I realized everyone else was still sleeping. I groped the wall and went to the stairwell, opened the large steel door and looked down in between the sets of stairs. Water gushed through the openings down below, quickly filling the stairwell.
Keeping my composure, I went back into the hallway and to the sleeping soldier. He had a holstered pistol attached to his belt. Hurriedly I undid the holster, took the pistol and put it in my pocket. In some part of my mind I knew that things may get hectic if the rain continued, people get crazy in situations like this: floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, so on; I’ve seen it in movies dozens of times. I needed protection, even if the world was going to be underwater.
I shook him and told him what was happening. His eyes widened, and he jumped up, and screamed at the top of his lungs for everyone to get up and move onto the roof.
We rushed up a small flight of stairs and onto the roof. I stopped mid-run, mouth hanging open. The overcast was a sheet of gray stretching out to the horizon in all directions, while a dreary ocean rippled and ebbed underneath. The tops of other buildings could faintly be seen, but not many.
We’re going to drown all the way up here, I thought. No matter how high we go, the water will never end.
The cascading rain crashed against the cement, the sound of which overwhelmed everything. The soldier shouted to us, but I couldn't hear him, nor could I hear the voices of everyone else screaming. The horrifying, awe-inspiring sight of what had happened to the city, and the white noise of the downpour put me in daze. I was in disbelief. The world seemed to blur in front of me, the rain, the water, the clouds; a dull smear of gray. It’d had only been a couple weeks since the rain began, and now the city was submerged, sunken, underneath a hundred feet of water. There was no hope for us, the world, me; no one was going to save us, nothing could stop the cleansing.
I must have started walking towards the edge of the buildings, because when the soldier grabbed me and turned me around, I didn’t remember ever moving from the fire exit. He shook me out from the daze and pointed at the ventilation system a few yards away. Everyone was huddled around it in a circle, shivering. I took a deep breath, pushed my thoughts aside, nodded, then ran over to the rest of the group.
IV
Standing together, the soldier leaned forward, rain running down his bald head, �
�We have to remain calm. I sent an S.O.S. to home base through my handset before it died. A helicopter will come soon to pick us up. We just have to remain calm and wait.”
A helicopter? I thought. A helicopter couldn't hold the everyone. I’ve read on the Internet the max a helicopter can sit is six, including the pilot.
I looked around the group, counting them.
There were eight of us. One was a mother with a child, another was an older man, and there was a teenager. They wouldn’t choose me, a normal, average man over a mother and child, or someone old or young. Someone like me wouldn’t be a priority.
A throbbing began in my temples and I closed my eyes, inhaling the cold, damp air. I needed space, needed to be alone to figure out my impeding thoughts.
I opened my eyes and started to break away from the group, but the officer grabbed my shoulder, stopping me. “Where’re you going?”
“I have to piss,” I said and walked away, moving behind the large steel ventilation system. Pretending to urinate, I mulled over everything. I had to be on the helicopter, I refused to be stranded up here on this god forsaken building. I clenched my fists and a heat radiated from my body, despite the rain. The throbbing in my temples grew and grew.
Then I remembered… I remembered what would guarantee me a spot on the helicopter. A serene, relaxing sensation blanketed me, the pressure in my head gradually faded away, my body became cool.
I unclenched my hand and slid the pistol out from underneath my shirt.
Before I walked back, I took a few deep breaths, collected myself, and hid the weapon behind me. Everyone was silent, shivering in their drenched clothes. Some were weeping, others had their eyes closed and their lips clenched shut, as if they were trying to block out the horrible situation they were in.
“When’s the helicopter due?” I shouted to the soldier.
