In a crowded world, filled with over seven billion people, that number increasing by great magnitudes every hour, people had no value. Space was at a premium. People like me had to work harder and harder just to get away from others. In a world with only two people that I knew of, I was filled with an overwhelming desire to keep her close.
And what about all those people I’d pushed aside? I’d had longer relationships with disposable razors than with most people. I’d felt less guilt toward the people I’d discarded than toward the recyclable packaging I’d sent to the landfill. I would never have the opportunity to make it right with any of them, which of course caused me to feel an overwhelming desire to do just that.
In the past anyone had been a phone call, email or text message away. I’d had time to make any amends I’d needed to, and the technology to track down and get in touch with anyone. Even way up north there had been plenty of Internet and wireless signals to be found. More all the time, in fact. It was gone. All of it. We’d run out of time, and the technology that had kept humanity interconnected, though it had turned out to be more resilient than the humans that had used and built it, had failed.
Even if she were still alive, I couldn’t contact the last girl who’d engaged me in something resembling a serious relationship; couldn’t apologize to her for leaving and never looking back when I’d imagined her crowding in on me. I couldn’t contact my mother and apologize for all the times I hadn’t come home. I even regretted that there would never be an opportunity to make things right with my asshole father. In the back of my mind, somewhere far below the surface I realized that there had always remained a hope, slight though it was, that reconciliation could happen someday. It had been a possibility, however remote.
The thought of my newly discovered love for human beings brought to mind the article that I’d read on the plane. A holographic universe? A simulation? If there were any truth to it, the programmers were fucking bastards allowing all this to go on. If it was somehow true, did they know what they’d done or were they just letting a model play out? Did the horror and the death mean anything or was it all as senseless as our popular films and video games? Did anyone apart from the lonely humans left alive know how the multitudes of real people had existed and suffered?
And what about those other theories? What about anthropy, the idea that the universe only existed, or at least only had meaning while intelligent life could observe it? Now that there were so few people left on the planet, what did it mean? Was our little corner of the universe now suddenly less valuable? Less existent? Or had this great catastrophe simply increased the value of each human that had been spared? What did it all mean? Or did it mean anything at all?
I chewed slowly as my mind worked its way in circles, seeming to cover a lot of ground while always looping around to the same few nostalgic and melancholy thoughts. Thoughts and questions that had no answers; no resolution. Megan, too, ate quietly.
I silently thanked her for finding the speakers and batteries so that the music could play and hide the empty silence that seemed to press in on the room. I involuntarily cocked my ear towards the speakers as a new song came on. It was an old lo-fi jazz tune, maybe from the thirties or forties. The muted trumpet warbled, trading the melody with a fuzzy sounding violin and a smooth clarinet. The song was mournful and matched the atmosphere in the room perfectly.
I realized just then that a multitude of media productions with post-apocalyptic settings used old jazz and swing to set the mood. I wondered if this type of music fit the apocalyptic atmosphere as a result of some natural and universal human perception; because the melodies or the sounds of the instruments just hit some nerve the right way or if it was because it evoked a nostalgic response, thoughts of the past. Or perhaps it was simply because some director at one time had decided to use the music and everyone else had followed the trend until the music was standard fare in such media.
Maybe it was the musicians and songwriters themselves who suited the atmosphere because the writers and players of the music had witnessed a dark and terrible time; the worst war in history, and the music was an extension of that collective mood. Aside from the last few weeks, there’d hardly ever been a time that offered more inspiration to the apocalyptic genre than the Second World War. It was easy to see how people working with the genre had used the war imagery as inspiration. How wrong the movies had been, at least compared with what we were living right here and now. For now, at least, the apocalypse was marked by silence and stillness rather than fire and ruin.
The buildings, the possessions, the vehicles and devices all waited patiently for humanity’s return. Certainly, they would crumble someday; perhaps it would not even take very long. For now, however, they remained purposeless but unspoiled, waiting for the people who had created them and given them meaning and value.
“It’s from my college days,” Meg said, breaking the silence. They were the first words she’d spoken in what felt like ages, and the first words she’d spoken since the afternoon that hadn’t simply been necessary communications like ‘pass the salt,’ or ‘how much wine?’
“Huh?” I asked, startled out of my thoughts.
“The song,” she replied. “You looked surprised to hear it. It’s from my college days. I studied at Grant MacEwan… contemporary music. Had to learn a lot of jazz standards. Used to sing at the steakhouse.”
“Oh,” I said, catching up with her train of thought after being startled out of my own. “I was just thinking how… fitting it seemed.”
“I know. Eerie, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I got you something,” I said, speaking before I thought it through. My heart leapt into my mouth. I still did not know if this was the right thing to do; if she would appreciate it. She’d just spoken to me again now… did I want to jeopardize that on a gamble? Too late now… She was looking at me expectantly.
“I just… I found these when we were looking for… things… food I mean…” I stammered away awkwardly and finally handed her a few boxes of tampons wrapped in a rustling plastic bag.
“Thank you,” she said, peaking inside the bag. Her voice was short and tight. I couldn’t decide what it meant, what emotion she was expressing. At last she met my eyes and tried to smile, a glistening drop in her eye. “This really is… just… you’re very sweet,” she smiled again and there was warmth in her expression. “It means a lot that you’d do that for me.”
There was another pause. The song ended and a less fitting one came on, one which was much more suited to a nightclub than the current atmosphere.
“Look,” she said at last, “I’m sorry. I get it, you know? I understand. It’s just that this whole thing has made me realize how many opportunities I’ve missed in my life; how many people I’ve lost. One or both of us might be gone tomorrow. There may not be a tomorrow. Maybe this is the biblical apocalypse. Divine judgement, fire and brimstone and all that. Who knows…”
“I know,” I said, “I was just thinking about that. All the people that are gone now. All the people I won’t get to see again; the ones I won’t get to make things right...”
“Right,” she nodded. “So what’s the point? We’re two people with nothing better to do than each other. I know you find me attractive. You seem to like me and I feel the same way about you so what’s the fucking point? Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”
“Meg,” I began apologetically, “any other time, any other situation and I would’ve been all over you the second you showed even a hint of interest. But look at the world. Look at what’s happening around us. I just want to make sure we’re giving ourselves enough time to… deal with all this. Properly. I was bad enough at relationships before all this. Imagine how I’ll be now.”
“How long do you need?” Megan asked, her voice brooding, but I could also hear understanding in it.
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know.” I chuckled a little and Megan looked at me quizzically. “I doubt it’ll be long. Righ
t or not, I won’t be able to keep away from you for long.” I winked at her.
“Challenge accepted,” she said, a gleam returning to her eyes.
Eighteen
“Are you awake?” Megan whispered in the dark. Her voice was close beside me, her warm breath lightly brushing my ear. It was completely dark; the only dim light came from the pale blue flames of the quietly hissing propane heater nearby.
“Hmm?” I mumbled, trying to orient myself.
“I said I heard something moving around out there. Maybe we should take a look?” I could hear her fighting to control her breath, which came soft and shallow, hissing through her teeth.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered back. “It’s probably just animals. I caught some coyotes going through the trash a few nights ago.”
“It might be… them,” she said. The last word was barely a hiss.
“Even if it is, they can’t get in here. Nothing to worry about.”
“We should get rid of them, what if they block us in like at the motel?” she insisted.
“In the dark it’s more danger than it’s worth. You saw how quick they swarmed us. I don’t want to deal with that without light. Besides, all the noise just seems to attract more of ‘em. Better to let them be.”
There was a long silence and I could tell Megan hadn’t moved. Her breath had stopped for a moment and I could tell she was listening. I listened as well. Without all the white noise that people were used to; the hum of electricity, the hiss of air circulating, the vibration of fans, the whir of motors, even the far off drone of car engines, the smallest sounds seemed to echo loudly. I heard Megan swallow, heard her breathing pause and restart a number of times, heard the hiss and bubble of the propane flame, but that was all.
“I don’t hear anything,” I whispered.
“They’re out there,” she replied with grim certainty.
“I know,” I replied. “But they’re not in here. It’s ok.”
“Can I… um…” she didn’t finish the thought but she remained where she was, still and waiting. It took me several moments to realize that she did not want to return to her cot.
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound more welcoming than I felt. I’d hoped she’d been joking when she had declared it her mission to seduce me. In the silent darkness I couldn’t tell if this had been part of that mission or if she truly was too frightened to be alone. She’d faced some traumatic experiences, probably more than I had and I couldn’t blame her for wanting to feel someone close to her. It had only been a few days since she’d been suicidal.
Even in the cold, lonely night, even in desperate need of comfort, even with the promise of a beautiful woman, possibly the only woman, who could be mine the moment I gave the ok, I still had reservations. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that we were both too unstable, that with only each other to rely upon it would be a dangerous mistake… More importantly, I realized, sex, already complicated enough before all this, would have many more risks and complications in this new world. It wasn’t a simple matter of protection. There were uncertainties. Nothing was one hundred percent reliable. Pregnancy could end up being a death sentence in the current state of things. The normal, every day health concerns hadn’t gone away either. Even if civilization hadn’t ended, even if away in some compound or military base there were doctors and medical equipment, the state of the town medical center was disastrous. There was no way it was going to be up and running any time soon even if the government came back tonight.
“I’m not trying to seduce you…” she said, sensing my hesitation. “I heard them. Close by. I don’t want to be alone. And it’s cold.”
I zipped open my sleeping bag and held it open for her. She crawled in and shuffled to get comfortable. I closed my eyes, counted down from ten, thought of all the very unattractive things I’d seen lately and wished she would get settled and stop squirming against me. At last she settled in, breathing a large sigh.
Her back fit nicely against my chest, each contour seeming to fit like a piece of me I hadn’t known I’d been missing. Her hair smelled sweet, like honey and cream, and tickled my face, clinging to my beard. My mind was racing and all fatigue had melted from me. In the darkness my sense of smell seemed heightened. I could make out the shampoo that Meg had used and could smell the conditioner separately.
I could smell just a hint of her sweat, left over from her exertion in the street battle we’d fought. It was strangely delicious and musky. I could smell the lingering aroma of dinner and wine on her hands and breath. I could smell just the faintest trace of gunpowder, a berry scented lip balm she had used after dinner and the strong mint freshness from her recently brushed teeth. I was lost in a swirling mass of scents I’d barely paid any attention to before. Simmering darkly beneath my whirling senses the hunger burned within me, never far from my mind.
“You’re cold,” she hissed in surprise.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize…” I mumbled. She pressed closer against me.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so dark. They’re out there,” she said again. The terror was evident in her voice and whether from the cold or the fear, she was trembling slightly. I put my hand on her shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring, comforting, but non-sexual way.
“It’s ok, I get it,” I replied. “Try to get some sleep.”
We lay there together for several minutes when I heard it. It was a similar clattering to the sound I’d heard several nights ago, all alone in the same cot.
“I heard it,” I whispered. “I think it’s just the coyotes again.”
There was a thump that came from the glass storefront. I jumped involuntarily.
“And that?” she asked. She might as well have been saying ‘I told you so.’
“Yeah…” I admitted. “It’s ok. You saw them; they’re just wandering aimlessly. Bumping into things.” I had to admit it was unsettling. No, it was terrifying. I let my breathing turn slow and heavy, hoping Megan would be calm if I was calm, hoping she would sleep if I pretended to sleep. She seemed to have fallen asleep, but it was hard to tell. Her eyes may have remained wide open and alert as mine did until the blackness began to lighten ever so slightly. At last, as the blurred grey borders of objects began to emerge out of the night, I was able to shut my eyes and drift off into a troubled half-sleep.
Nineteen
When Iopened my eyes the next morning, the entire world looked different. Megan still lay in front of me. We hadn’t moved since falling asleep. The room was no longer washed in the over-bright, watered down sunlight that glared through the cold, thin atmosphere. Instead, the light was dim and heavily filtered. It was clearly full daylight but the room remained dark and shadowy. The weather had turned. I was unsure how to take this news. Would it be for the better or the worse? I was surprised at how much apprehension I felt as a result of not having access to an accurate forecast. I propped myself up on my elbow, trying to get a better view through the window. It was too heavily frosted to see much.
“What time is it?” Megan croaked, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Dunno,” I said. “Weather’s come in.”
“What kind of weather?” she asked.
“Dunno,” I repeated.
“Worried?”
“A little,” I admitted. A blizzard could snow us in for weeks, maybe even months. Without access to the heavy equipment needed to get everything ploughed even the Jeep would be next to useless. Up here with the government shut down, it could be late spring or even summer before things cleared up enough for travel. “We have everything we need to survive for months, even years,” I said, more to remind myself than to comfort Meg. Still, the thought of being stuck within easy walking distance… maybe even stuck in the building for days or weeks constricted my breathing and I began to feel the room swimming around me. The walls closed in. I realized with alarm that Megan was blocking the zippered opening to the sleeping bag and felt my chest tighten painfully. “Sorry,” I managed, “wan
na get up.” I gave Megan what I’d intended to be a gentle push but my arms moved on their own and gave her a somewhat forceful shove. “Sorry,” I repeated as she moved, clearly taken by surprised.
“What’s the rush?” she said, a little bite in her voice.
“Sorry,” I said again. “Just want to check on things. Sometimes I get a little… crowded feeling.”
I went to the door and scrubbed away a swath of the frost that had formed on the glass. The scene out on the street was beautiful and haunting. Thick, heavy snowflakes were falling gently but in huge quantities. Already, a foot of it had covered the cars parked along the street. It was eerie to see thick layers of undisturbed snow blanketing everything, unblemished by footprints, wheel tracks or shovels or snowploughs; a fitting reminder of how alone we were.
Across the street I noticed drops of water falling from the eaves indicating that, as often occurred during snowstorms, the temperature had risen considerably from the previous days. The snow was thick and moisture laden. Warm, humid air from the coast had slipped over the mountains carrying a great deal of precipitation. The heavy looking clouds above threatened that there would be much more snow still to come.
It was unusual at this time of year to get a storm like this. Usually such patterns were reserved for the south of Alberta; the north remaining frozen and dry until spring. When snow did come, it came with an arctic blast that turned the flakes into ice crystals and wind that blew the already brittle snow on the ground up into a blinding and painful storm of whirling pellets, the snow as hard as grains of sand. These warm weather Chinooks, as they were called, that blew thawing and wet heat from the west coast rarely came so far north. I wondered absently about all the reports and articles about global warming. The weather had seemed abnormal the last couple of years. I wondered if mankind’s substantially reduced numbers would cause the weather to return to normalcy.
The Penance of Leather (Book 1): Ain't No Grave Page 16
