by Tom Reinhart
I was never much for environmental causes either, but I nodded agreement to appease him. I wasn’t sure how much whiskey he’d already had and this didn’t seem a worthwhile time for a debate.
“We don’t care about the other animals on the planet either. Sure, we like them and all. I mean, who doesn’t love a cute puppy, right? But that didn’t stop people from experimenting on them and torturing them. I mean, c’mon man, we strap them down in laboratories and put shampoo formulas into their eyes to see if it burns before we sell it to the public. Really? How fucked up is that? We take wild animals that God put here; we cage and imprison them, then force them to perform tricks in circuses for our entertainment. Heck, we hunt them down and mount their stuffed heads on our walls. What the hell gives us the right? If I was God, I’d be pissed off too.”
He paused for another sip from his glass. I did the same, not having anything else to do tonight.
“Hey, did you know there are restaurants in Asia where they take a live monkey and trap its head through a hole in the center of the table. Then people whack it on the head with little hammers until its dead, and then they eat its brain? Are you kidding me with that shit? Yeah, I’d say humans are messed up.”
I’d have to agree with that one.
I let him just keep talking, taking it all in. He was becoming a little more animated, as if his own speech was exciting him. With each movement I watched the dust lift off of him and gently float down into his glass. He drank it either without noticing or without caring. His rambling went on regardless.
“And what we do to each other, that’s even worse, man. We can’t control our greed, so we rob and steal from each other. We can’t control our lust, so we rape our neighbors and cheat on our spouses. Hell, we make video games about it. And Hollywood celebrities glorify sexual transgressions and violence on the big screen, and we all worship it and make them into heroes. We place zero value on the lives of other humans, choosing instead to pursue our own selfish desires, no matter the cost to someone else. As a cop, I got to see the really evil people; the ones who tied children up in basements and did unspeakable things in the darkness. There are nuts out there that are eating other people. People are really fucked up man. And the worst ones? The worst are the ones you trust, the ones you least expect; the teachers, the priests, the family members, who take advantage of your naïve trust, not knowing that every one of them has evil inside them. Yeah, I can’t blame God at all for what he’s doing right now. We deserve this.”
“But there are good people in the world, right? We’re not all bad. I’m a good person. I assume you’re a good person.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t single out individuals. It’s a species thing. We’re all flawed, the whole damn human race. It’s in our DNA. It’s like God made us but he screwed it up, so now he’s going to wipe the slate clean and start over.”
“We can’t know that for sure.”
“I don’t think we can really understand any of this anyway. Did you ever take one of those little red laser pointers, and shine it on the wall and make a cat go crazy chasing it? Think about the difference in what you know, and the cat knows. The cat thinks it’s some insect he’s chasing, meanwhile you have a piece of modern technology in your hand that you yourself don’t even know how to make, and the cat’s mind can’t even grasp its existence. That’s humans and God. You think we can even begin to understand what sort of laser pointer God is taunting us with? Good luck with that. We are fools, thinking we can understand what else is out there in the universe. We’re just the cats, foolishly chasing the red dot.”
Things went quiet after that, as if the cop had run out of things to say, or just didn’t care to say them anymore. We sat quietly drinking whiskey together while the world died outside, and somehow, we both died a little on the inside washing down the despair with whiskey. After a while I heard the rustling of wings pass by not very far away, and the cop noticed me being startled. “There’s no point in running you know. We’re all going to die.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“It isn’t your choice anymore. Do you really want to live in a world like this anyway? I mean, all the brownies are burned and the spiders took our shoes.”
Brownies? Spiders with shoes? What the hell are you talking about?
Without looking my way, the cop placed his gun on top of the bar between us. “You should really take this now. I don’t need it anymore.”
“I don’t want your gun. You need it too. You’re still a cop, even in this world now.”
“Take it. I don’t want it anymore, and the bugs are coming. Shoot the bugs.”
What?
At first I thought it was the whiskey. His now strange behavior was making me uncomfortable and nervous, and I realized taking the gun from him was probably a good idea. As I moved closer to him to reach for the weapon, he leaned back on his barstool, allowing the candle light to better illuminate his full face. I could see now that he was dead. Even in the dim flickering light, I could see the pale color of his skin, the blue hue of his lips, and the deep dark circles around his sunken eye sockets. One of New York’s finest, now one of New York’s deadest. I couldn’t tell how he had died, but it was clear that like all maledicted, his oxygen-starved rotting brain was beginning to go insane. He would be dangerous soon.
“I’m dead you know,” he said suddenly as I took the .45 caliber gun off the bar top. “Yeah, I know I’m dead. Kind of obvious, right? Weird too, being dead. But it’s okay; my wife had a huge insurance policy.” He laughed, but he struggled to make the sounds. I guess when you’re not breathing there isn’t enough air in your lungs to do such things. In the candle light I could see the dust he was coughing up. I heard the wings again, closer this time.
“I should be going now.”
“Yeah,” he started, still coughing out dust, “be going now. The spiders will be here for your shoes soon.”
Yeah, I need to get away from him.
I actually thought about taking one last sip of the whiskey. Alcohol is funny that way. Smartly though I turned and stepped through the broken glass and back out onto the sidewalk into the darkness. I couldn’t see any sign of the angel we had heard, and I quickly began the short walk back to where Margie and Steve were sleeping. Behind me, I could hear a dead New York cop slowly losing his mind, singing and old Simon and Garfunkel tune with all the wrong words.
* * * *
The next morning we made our way to the west end of Staten Island, walking the Outerbridge Crossing into New Jersey. Steve made a joke that it was a toll road, and I told him I would wait for them to bill me. Now on mainland USA the congestion and traffic jams of abandoned vehicles were behind us, and in the parking lot of a Walgreens we found several cars to choose from, all still full of gas. It took three cars before we found one with a battery still able to turn over the engine. Once it fired up and spit ash out of the exhaust pipe, we found ourselves on the Jersey Turnpike. For a couple hours we weaved our way through crashed cars, wandering maledicted, and an apocalyptic countryside. At some point during the night we turned onto a highway heading northwest, wanting to avoid Philadelphia. A short while later I saw the headlights reflecting off a sign that said “Welcome to Pennsylvania.”
We spent the next few weeks settling into to the rural farmlands, which hadn’t offered us quite the respite from the chaos we had hoped for. Still, less congested, less populated, and less claustrophobic, it was still more appealing than the city. If I had to die, I preferred to do it out here.
Chapter 9
The Evil That Men Do
“Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts
of your father ye will do.”
~ John 8:44
The old farmhouse held little of value. Its treasures of canned goods and usable clothing had been ransacked and carried away by other scavengers long before us. Looting was now a way of life for us all, although it really wasn't looting anymore, just survival. More of
ten than not, the former owners of the things we took weren't around to need them anymore. This home now held only memories and ghosts.
The farm was a beautiful place, like a painting. A small two story house nestled under a huge oak that shaded it from the sun, its long hanging branches gently caressing the roof. It sat upon acres and acres of farmland, once covered with thriving crops; now overgrown with tall weeds and the ever present dust of human remains, a constant reminder of the world's latest extinction event.
Mankind wasn't quite extinct yet, but it had to be getting close. As the weeks wore on, the world became increasingly quieter. The wispy souls that flitted across the night sky became less noticeable, and signs of human life became harder and harder to find.
As Margie searched the second floor for anything we could use, I sat upon the couch in the living room, staring at a picture on the side table. The old photograph was of an elderly couple, posing on the porch of the house with a young woman. The farmer, his wife and probably a daughter, all caught in a Kodak moment tribute to the American dream. Now it was all gone. I wondered what kind of people had they been and how their judgment had gone. Shifting slightly on the couch, I noticed a thin cloud of dust rising into the air, its tiny particles shimmering in the beams of sunlight coming through the large front window. The disrespectful feeling that I may actually be sitting on that farmer made me stand and walk out onto the porch.
I called out "Margie...", and waited for a response from upstairs." Margie!”, a little louder. I could hear her rummaging through dresser drawers.
“Yeah?”
“I'm going out front. Don't take too long. It's pretty wide open around here. I don't like it.”
“Okay.”
Wide open spaces were bad. Like hawks, a Judge could spot you a mile off. Staying near cover was a life extending necessity. Not lifesaving really, only life extending, because we all knew it was only a matter of time before you were caught, and your judgment came.
The porch offered a magnificent view of sprawling farmland bordered on all sides by thick woods. A dirt road heading away from the house disappeared into the trees. A breeze carried the smell of rain in the distance, and with the rain came a respite from breathing in human remains. Wet dust couldn't float and instead turned into clay upon the ground. Large heavy clouds drifted by, and between them strong rays of sunshine wandered across the farm illuminating patches of ground as they went; the fingers of God, always searching for us.
I felt something tickle my ankle, and looking down I saw the cockroaches crawling over my boots. I brushed them off, noticing many more scrambling across the porch. Apparently safe from the wrath of God and without human control, insects were becoming alarmingly prevalent. I guess the meek really were inheriting the earth.
The still and quiet morning air erupted with a new sound off in the distance; a mechanical, rhythmic popping sound. A nail gun, like something roofers would use to put shingles down on a roof. It meant people for sure, but no one was doing roofing work these days. A couple hundred yards away a large barn stood at the edge of the field. Aging and under siege from the vines and foliage growing upon it, the banging of nails reverberated from within. I stood motionless on the porch, listening intently. The popping sound of the nail gun echoed off the wall of trees at the edge of the farm, and along with it I could hear the faint sound of laughter, of men; taunting, celebrating. I had to be cautious; other survivors could be as dangerous as Judges, often even worse.
“You hear that?” I heard Margie whisper as she came up behind me.
I nodded, but made no sound, trying to continue listening.
“Let’s just go. There’s nothing here anyway,” she urged.
I turned to her, thought for a moment, and then looked back towards the barn. “Just wait here. If anything goes wrong you head the other way.”
“What? Don’t be an idiot. C’mon Adam. Let’s just go.”
“Just stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Damn it Adam,” I heard her complain in a near whisper as I began moving towards the barn. Perhaps it was foolish. I had no idea who or what was in the barn, and I had a good distance of open ground to move across to get to it. I was risking being seen by a Judge, or finding hostile humans inside. In this new world of survival though, there was also the occasion of finding people like ourselves, who realized the value of helping each other to survive. Perhaps there was a family in there, just nailing boards over the windows, securing a shelter. Perhaps they had food. Perhaps we could work together to survive longer. I had to know.
The weeds brushed across my legs just above my knees, making swooshing noises as I went. Through the hole in my pants I felt those damn little prickers sticking into my skin as grasshoppers by the dozens complained and leapt out of the way. I tried to move quickly, keeping an eye on the sky for Judges, while not making enough noise to be heard by anyone in the barn. I had been calm on the porch, but now my heart raced. The distance out in the open was terrifying, yet every step closer to the barn scared me as well. The nail gun sound had stopped, as did the laughter. There was different conversation now. It was definitely the sound of several men, cheering each other on about something.
Reaching the outside of the barn, I wedged myself into a space of shadows between a large bush and the wooden wall. I turned towards the farmhouse momentarily and could see Margie crouched on the porch. Peering into a gap between the wooden slats of the barn wall, my heart sank from the vision before me.
Looking through the wall to the other side of the barn, I understood what the nail gun was about. Three men were there; rough, redneck types. Somehow they had actually captured a female judge. She was standing with her feet on the ground and her back to the wall. Her wings were fully expanded, spread out against the wall of the barn, pinned there with the nail gun. Dozens of rusty nails had been shot through the feathers and into the wooden wall. There were nails in her arms and hands as well, pinning them outstretched on the wall like a crucifix. There was no blood, even though the nails had clearly penetrated through flesh and bone and into the wood.
Like all judges, all the human anatomy was there, and there was a great physical beauty about her. If not for the wings and the golden eyes, she was in every other way a human woman. With her femininity and nakedness fully exposed and unprotected, the men were violating her, in the way that only human men can do when allowed to run unchecked.
A vibrant, powerful rush of emotions swept over me as I watched. I was horrified, appalled, and yet somehow not surprised. There was no limit to what men were capable of, to the evil that men do, and these three idiots were proving the very reason the Judges had come to get us; proving why mankind was being wiped off the planet.
The Judge never struggled, never resisted. She showed no sign of pain or even distress. She simply watched them, seemingly without emotion, as they took turns raping her. Her golden eyes studied them intently, and every so often her lips would move and I heard her say a single word; “Lust”. She was judging them, even though she couldn’t get her hands on them to turn them to dust.
I struggled for several minutes on what to do next, as my emotions pulled me in different directions. My natural reaction was to do something to stop this. But I was alone with only Margie, Steve having stayed behind to rest his injured ankle. I had maybe six bullets left in my .45. I could kill them, but the sound of the gun would bring Judges from all around directly to us. I was never much of a fighter either, and three against one I knew wouldn’t go well for me. And what of Margie? I couldn’t put her in danger. I knew exactly what they would do with her as well if they caught her.
Motherfuckers, I’m glad God is wiping you out.
Margie yelled out whispers behind me. “What is it?”
I quickly turned and put my finger across my lips, urging her to shut up. Turning back I could see the men hadn’t heard, still caught up in their evil deed.
Suddenly I heard the flapping of great wings, and Margie screamed out, “A
dam!” When I turned, she was already running through the doorway back into the house, away from the Judge that had landed on the roof of the porch. I probably should have just stayed where I was and let Margie find a place to hide, but my knee jerk reaction was to run to her. I began sprinting towards the house, the tall weeds swooshing against my jeans.
The Judge was leaning down over the side of the porch roof, looking for Margie. I was halfway between the barn and the house when he noticed me. He turned to me, his golden eyes piercing into mine. The male Judges always seemed to have a different look about them than the females; the expression on their faces more grim, more determined, signaling their ominous intent. I continued running for the house, to Margie, and with forty yards to go I saw the Judge’s wings begin to spread. In another second he would come for me.
