by Amy Cross
"Fuck!" Joe says suddenly.
I look ahead and see that there's a seat to the side of the road. It's upside-down and on its front, but there appears to be a human leg dangling off from one side, and it's obvious that there's a body still strapped in. Nearby, there's a lump of burning metal. Joe carefully drives us around both items, but it's hard not to stare at the seat and think about the person who was sitting there. Just an ordinary person on a plane, and now he's dead on the side of the road.
"Ain't this the stuff of fucking nightmares?" Joe says quietly.
"I don't get it," I reply. "Why did this happen?"
"How the fuck should I know?" he replies. "It's nothing to do with us. We just gotta call it in and make sure they know about it. They've got people who'll come and investigate. Like, they'll be searching for the black box and stuff like that. Haven't you seen those documentary channels?" He sighs. "Fuck, this place is gonna be crawling with people soon, poking about and trying to find out what happened. Media, too".
We keep going, and I'm pretty sure I can see several more seats among the trees. It looks like the plane broke up when it crashed, scattering the seats far and wide. Eventually, however, it becomes clear that there's a little less debris on the road up ahead, and after a few minutes we seem to be through the worst of it. Eventually, Joe parks the truck by the side of the road and we sit in silence. It feels like we're supposed to do something, but neither of us knows what. It's not as if we're remotely equipped to deal with the aftermath of a plane crash, and there's clearly no chance of anyone having survived; at the same time, it feels as if it'd be wrong to simply drive away.
"Dear Lord," I say quietly, closing my eyes and lowering my head, "we pray to you that the souls of these -" Suddenly, I realize Joe's laughing. Opening my eyes, I turn to him.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks, with a big grin on his face.
"People died," I point out. "I thought -"
"Do what you want," he mutters, grabbing his phone and getting out of the truck.
"Where are you going?" I shout.
"Just getting a couple of videos," he says, using the phone to record the fire. "I might be able to sell this footage to one of the networks for some serious cash. They'll have to credit me, too. Imagine that. Footage from my phone being shown all over the world".
Sighing, I realize that even when he's just witnessed something as shocking as a plane crash, Joe's mercenary side kicks in and he starts looking for a way to make some money. Seriously, I just wish he's react like a normal human being, instead of standing there and recording a series of videos. I turn and take another look at Lydia, but she still seems to be out cold. I guess it's for the best; she was obviously totally shaken up by what happened, so she might as well stay passed out until we make it back to the farm. Turning back to look out the window, I see that Joe has moved a little closer to the edge of the road, presumably she he can get some better shots with his phone. I stare blankly at him for a moment, before finally I have to admit the truth to myself: today's the day I finally started to hate my brother.
ELIZABETH
Manhattan
"It's still burning!" Henry calls out to me. He's standing by the window, having barely moved an inch since the flames first appeared a few hours ago. It's almost as if he wants there to be something wrong, as if he hasn't quite understood that this isn't a video game. "Elizabeth," he says after a moment. "It's still burning".
"That's great," I reply. I'm sitting on the sofa, using the light of my phone to read a magazine. While Henry seems to be enjoying the drama, I've been trying to take my mind off what's been happening. Since my encounter with Bob Sullivan in the corridor, I've forced myself to calm down and stay positive. I'm fairly certain that things are going to be okay: the power will come on eventually, and our parents will walk through the door at any moment, and the explosion in the distance will turn out to be some mundane consequence of the blackout. I mean, it's just insane to think that these things won't happen. This is twenty-first century America; there are people out there who are working to fix things, and in a day or two we'll sit around and laugh about all of this.
"It must be fuel," Henry continues. "Wouldn't most other stuff have been, like, totally burned out by now?"
"Probably," I say, flipping a page in the magazine.
"Why would they let it spread? Why wouldn't they get out there and stop it? And where are the sirens?" He waits for me to answer. I guess he hasn't realized that I'm doing my absolute best to block his voice out of my mind. "Elizabeth, why wouldn't they put it out?"
I sigh.
"Elizabeth? Why wouldn't they put it out?"
"I have no idea," I say, as my phone flashes up a 'low battery' warning. Great. Why didn't I put it on charge last night? Putting the magazine down, I bring up my mother's number and try calling her again, but nothing happens. It's as if the entire phone network is down, which is kind of scary. I mean, even if there's a blackout in New York, the phones should be working. I guess maybe the network's been restricted to emergency calls only, so the police and fire teams can communicate; then again, Henry's right when he says it's odd that there are no sirens. It's as if everything's stopped.
"What are you doing?" Henry asks after a moment.
"Nothing".
"You trying to call Mom?"
"No".
"Who were you trying to call?"
"No-one".
"You were. I saw you".
Sighing, I turn the phone off. There's no point wasting battery when it looks like we might have to go a few more hours without power. Once the screen blinks off, I find myself sitting in total darkness once again. At least I've got the pen-light as back-up. Glancing across the room, the only hint of light comes from the window, where I can just about make out the outline of Henry as he stares at the distant fire, which is giving the horizon a dull orange tinge.
"Is there anything out there at all?" I ask eventually. "Like, any lights anywhere?"
"No".
"Not even in the distance?"
"Just the fire".
"Any flashing blue lights?"
"No".
I sit in silence for a moment. How can it be that after almost half a day, the whole of New York is still without power? Seriously, there are people who are paid to make sure that things like this don't happen. There must be back-up systems, and secondary back-up systems, and yet everything's gone totally wrong. I hope someone gets completely fired for letting something like this happen. I mean, people might die if there's no power soon. It's pitch-black out there, so how are people meant to find their way around. I guess car headlights are gonna work for a while, but it's still pretty insane to think that the city seems to be out of control. I mean, if that Bob Sullivan guy had turned out to be dangerous, what would I have been able to do? It's not like I can call the police. The longer this blackout goes on, the more worried I'm starting to get. I still have faith, though, that everything's going to work out in the end.
Suddenly I feel the room starting to shake again, and there's a loud rumbling sound from above.
"Another one?" Henry asks, unable to hide the fear in his voice.
"It's different," I say, as the furniture starts to vibrate all around us. "It's closer".
"I don't see anything!" Henry says, staring out the window.
Getting up from the sofa, I walk over to the window and stare out at the dark city.
"It's getting louder," I say, feeling the vibrations against the soles of my shoes. In fact, everything is shaking: the floor, the walls, the furniture, the window, the ceiling. Everything. I swear to God, even the fillings in my teeth are starting to rattle. I can't shake this overwhelming feeling that something terrible is about to happen.
"It's coming from above," Henry says. He looks up; there's just enough moonlight for me to be able to see his face, and his eyes are wide with fear. "Do you think it's -" he starts to say, before suddenly there's a huge roar and something large and bright
flies directly over our building, just a hundred or meters or so above the roof.
Blinded by the bright lights for a moment, I shield my eyes as the whole building shakes so hard, it seems as if it might collapse and send us tumbling down into the street. Finally, the sensation passes and I see that the object that passed over us was an airplane.
"What the fuck!" Henry shouts.
"It's okay," I say quietly.
"It's not fucking okay!" he shouts.
"It's okay!" I shout. "It's going to be okay!"
We watch as the plane banks to the right, as if it's trying to avoid the buildings. With the rest of the city still completely dark, the plane is easy to pick out as it veers first in one direction, and then another. Finally, it disappears behind some buildings for a few seconds, before there's a huge explosion. A fireball bursts in all directions, and once again the building shakes. Wherever the plane went down, it can't have been more than a few blocks away. Henry grabs my arm as the building continues to vibrate. After a moment, I hear a cracking, splitting sound; at first I'm not sure where it's coming from, but finally I realize it's the glass in the window.
"Get back," I shout, suddenly pulling him further into the room. A fraction of a second later, the window shatters, sending a shower of glass toward us. Fortunately, however, we just about miss the worst of it. Finally, the shaking stops and we're left standing in shocked silence, with an icy wind blowing through the broken window. In the distance, a huge fire is raging in the heart of the city.
"See?" Henry says, looking excited as the distant flames light up his face. "I was right. It's the end of the world".
Day Two
THOMAS
Oklahoma
"Hey," says Joe, wandering into the kitchen. He seems tired, and kind of deflated, as if the events of the day have finally taken a toll on him. He loiters by the table, waiting for me to reply, but I'm not interested in talking to him; I just carry on carving the piece of wood I brought in from the shed earlier. With the power still off, this is literally the only interesting thing I can find to do. I'm not even good at carving, so all I'm doing is cutting off little chunks and hoping that it'll eventually look like something. I'm not tired, though, so I figure I'll sit here until the candle burns all the way down to the stump.
"So you're not talking to me now?" he asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge and cracking it open. "Seriously? I just get talking to Dad again after God knows how many years, and now you clam up on me, huh?" Again, he waits for me to respond, but I refuse to even look at him.
"The rest of us have been talking it over," he says eventually. "We're gonna fill the truck up in the morning and head to Scottsville. This power-cut's gone on for too long, and Dad's starting to get worried. I told him what Lydia said, about Scottsville being deserted, and he said he didn't believe it. I could tell it got to him, though. Truth is, when Dad's worried, I get worried". He takes a sip of his beer. "You noticed that the fire's still burning in the distance? No sirens, no nothing. It's as if that fucking plane crashed and no-one's noticed".
Trying to get another piece of wood off the block, I accidentally let the knife slip. The blade nicks the end of my thumb, slicing the skin slightly.
"You cut yourself?" Joe asks.
"No," I spit back, watching as a bead of blood starts showing through the split in the skin. Determined not to let Joe see that I fucked up, I carry on carving.
"You a liar now, boy?" he says.
I continue to ignore him.
"I hate what you did," I say.
"What I did when?" He sounds genuinely shocked, as if he doesn't understand.
"Today". I put the carving down and, finally, I look at him. "I hate the way you pissed on that man when he was dying, and then I hate the way you stole that stuff from the gas station, and then I hate the way you were taking videos of the plane crash like it was some kind of freak show. And I hate the way you were looking at that Lydia woman, like you were so sure you were gonna get her into bed!"
"Woah!" he says, feigning surprise. "Where did all that come from?"
"Don't you care about other people?" I ask. "Don't you care about what God's gonna think of you?"
"God?" He laughs. "Sweet Jesus, Thomas, do you really believe in that stuff?"
"You shouldn't have done what you did," I say, staring at him. I shouldn't have mentioned God; Joe always reacts badly to that kind of talk. I'm not surprised; he probably knows he's already done enough bad stuff to guarantee he's gonna burn in hell.
He smiles. "Yeah, well... I move in mysterious ways, kid". He pauses for a moment. "And I don't owe you or anybody an explanation. Just remember that whatever I did to that fucking cop, it was the result of years and years of built-up frustration where I didn't have any way to fight back at people like him. When they get their teeth into you, there's nothing you can do to make them let you go. Nothing. And they've got the full force of the law behind them, backing them up and patting them on their fat little heads and telling them that they're right. So yeah, when I saw that guy today, I did something dumb and mean. And you know what? It felt good. And you know something else? I'd do it again. Because they've been shitting and pissing on me for years".
He takes a deep breath. "She's fine, by the way, in case you were wondering".
"What?"
"Lydia. She's fine. I assume that at some point, in-between judging other people and praising the Lord, you might actually find a moment to ask how another human being is getting along?"
"I'm glad she's fine," I reply sourly.
"Looks like she just fainted," he continues. "Mom took her some food up to the spare room. She seems pretty embarrassed about the whole thing, but I reckon she'll be absolutely fine tomorrow. I guess we'll just give her some gas and she'll be on her way, although I wouldn't mind if she stayed for a few days. She's pretty hot. Besides, she seems to have a cold or flu or something, so maybe she'll be in no fit state to drive away". He takes another swig from his beer bottle. "So what does your God reckon is going on right now?" he asks eventually.
"What do you mean?"
"The power's gone out. That plane came crashing down out of the sky. Apparently fucking Scottsville is a ghost town. Does your God have anything to say about all of that?"
"They'll fix it tomorrow," I say firmly.
He smiles. "Okay, kid. I'm gonna let you believe that. Anyway, you might be right. I hope you are". He sits opposite me, placing his beer bottle on the table and starting to peel the label away. "Sure feels like something's going on, though".
"You not going to bed?" I ask.
"Not yet," he says, still picking at the label. "You?"
I shake my head.
"Truth is," he continues, "I don't much want to fall asleep. After all that stuff we saw today, I don't know what I'd dream about. Burning bodies and jet fuel and bits of wreckage. I don't want to have to have those kinds of nightmares".
I take a deep breath. The weird thing is, I feel the same way. At the same time, I don't want to get into some big conversation with him about what's happening, because I still hate him. Instead, I go back to carving my chess piece, while Joe sits quietly and drinks his beer. This goes on for almost an hour before, finally, I get up and - without saying anything - I turn and head up to bed. When I get to the top of the stairs, I pause for a moment to listen to the sound of Lydia coughing in the distance, and then I head through to my room.
ELIZABETH
Manhattan
Opening my eyes, I stare up at the ceiling and try to pretend that nothing's wrong. It's not actually that difficult: sunlight is streaming in through my bedroom window, and it could almost be just another normal day in Manhattan. The electricity could have come back on, and the taps could be working again, and my parents could have finally got back from the airport. All these things could have happened, and we might end up sitting around and laughing about how crazy things got.
Except...
I know things aren't back to normal.
My bedroom is completely silent. No air conditioning. No computer. No noise of any kind. And there's no noise from outside, either. To be honest, I never noticed all the little background noises until they were gone, but now it's seriously creepy to be flat on my back in bed and surrounded by a wall of nothingness. I just want it all to come back; any moment now, the power could be restored and suddenly the air conditioning would click back into action, and my computer would beep as it starts up again, and then the front door would open and my parents would come storming back with tales of their nightmare overnight stay at the airport, and I'd finally be able to apologize to my mother for being mean to her the other day...
Looking over at the table on the other side of my room, I see the birthday gift that's waiting for my mother. She and I have been arguing all the time lately, but I was hoping that maybe I could make things better by getting her this big glass teapot that I saw in a store downtown. It seems kind of pathetic now, but that teapot was supposed to be my way of showing her that I care about her. If she never comes back, she'll never know that, and I'll never get to apologize. Even if this is the end of the world, I hope she at least gets home and sees the teapot. I keep imagining the smile on her face when she sees it. If she sees it.
After a few minutes, I get out of bed and wander through to the front room. The first thing I notice is that it's freezing cold in here. The window broke last night, and a cold breeze is making the curtains flutter. There's glass all over the floor and, with the lights still off, the whole room seems strangely dull and gray. There's dust everywhere, presumably from the huge cloud that was sent into the sky when the airplane that hit the ground. Grabbing my mother's over-sized winter coat from the hallway, I figure I might as well stay warm. I slip a pair of shoes onto my bare, sockless feet and finally I make my way across the broken, dusty glass until I'm standing at the window.
