Don't Fear The Reaper

by Lex Sinclair

  What good would it do him anyway?

  Perhaps the dark, monstrous figure without a face is a symbol of the dark times of the present and the future, he thought.

  Frank had to admit though, the vivid depiction seemed very real, even now, wide awake.

  The mass feeling of desolation was suffocating. He had to stand at the mouth of the cavern and remind himself to breathe. What with everything else going on, taking up his time, not to mention the lack of sleep, it was easy to forget.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, he repeated to himself.

  And never had something so instinctive been so hard.

  It was at times like these that if it wasn’t for Sammy and little Elias, Frank would have put himself out of his misery once and for all. It was times like these that he understood why some people chose to end their suffering. They were suffocating. Breathing was hard. So very hard for those with scarred souls and broken hearts.

  The creature that he saw in his dreams never said a word. It never revealed the visage beneath the hood. Yet it communicated by its presence alone. In the third visionary dream the creature or whatever-the-hell-it-was stood directly behind young Elias. Alarm had rung through Frank’s heart like the school lunch bell. Ding-a-ling-a-ling! over and over again. But he remained paralysed.

  In the dream he wasn’t aware that it was a dream. He forced his arms and legs to hurtle forwards and snatch Elias as far away from the entity as possible. Instead nothing happened. His body was uncooperative. Disobedient. And Elias and the hooded entity stood, unmoving, staring at him without expression.

  What Frank found most disturbing was that Elias seemed at total ease with this supernatural stranger. By day, Elias was often timid around people. He only really spoke fluently in either his or Sammy’s presence. After all, Elias had the misfortune to witness stampedes, brawls and became well acquainted with death from a young and impressionable age.

  Perhaps – in the dream – that was why Elias was depicted as nonchalant. If it happened for real though, Frank was certain Elias would be terrified.

  ‘What d’you want?’ he’d asked it in desperation.

  No response was forthcoming.

  He tried to coax Elias away from the entity towering above his son. But Elias stared impassively at him. It was as though Frank was standing behind a two-way mirror in a soundproof room. No way would Elias have ignored him. He would have at least raised his little hand and waved.

  ‘Elias! Come over here!’ he’d called.

  Elias blinked, but apart from that he could have been a statue.

  ‘Elias. It’s Daddy,’ Frank said. As young as his son was, Elias wasn’t that stupid that he didn’t know who he was.

  He reiterated for his son to come to him in a soft voice.

  Elias shook his head. ‘No, Daddy,’ he said in an unwavering, grown-up manner. ‘It is forbidden.’

  ‘Who says it’s forbidden, Elias?’ Frank asked, having a pretty good idea who had put that notion into his son’s head.

  ‘The Grim Reaper.’

  The matter-of-fact tone in his young son’s voice injected poison into Frank’s bloodstream. Elias was the one who spoke the words, and yet it was unfathomable that they could be his own. Yet when he said it he spoke the words with an evocation full of meaning and emphasis.

  The Grim Reaper? That was some sort of bogeyman. A symbolic figure relating to death. That was all the limited knowledge Frank had of any such name or title. What he couldn’t fathom was what the Grim Reaper had to do with being unwilling to permit Elias from running to his embrace like he would if it wasn’t a dream.

  ‘Well, don’t listen to the Grim Reaper, son,’ Frank said, keeping his voice as even as he could. ‘Listen to your father instead. Okay?’

  ‘No.’

  Frank could feel his heart miss a beat and his breath catch in his throat. ‘You are my son, Elias. And I’m telling you to come over here. Your mum and I need you.’

  Elias stared at him, unblinking. His gaze was filled with wisdom way beyond his physical years. They were the eyes of an old, wise man that has seen much and has the knowledge and prudence of a wizard. ‘I am son of no one…’

  The words echoed in the valley of Frank’s ears causing a tremor within.

  ‘You are my son…,’ he said, weak in speech and mind.

  Elias shook his head once again. ‘Physical bearers and guardians, until the time comes for me to rise and take control of this defeated ruin. For your care, kindness and consideration in the following years you shall be given a choice.’

  ‘A choice?’ Frank could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Stand by me during the wrath and dark days and you shall be spared,’ Elias went on. ‘Accept fate for what it is, and be grateful for your life.’

  ‘What’re you talkin’ about?’

  ‘My destiny. The fate of the new world, burnt to cinders into a living hell.’

  Not through lack of endeavour Frank Benullo with all the qualifications and certificates behind his name was at a loss for comprehension. ‘And if I don’t stand by your side for this rampage on this living hell? What then, son?’

  ‘Then the Reaper shall end your mortal existence and keep your skull for treasure.’

  At the mention of its name the cloaked figure that had to be over seven feet tall arched its head back and pulled back the hood. The face glowing incandescently was that of a maniacal, grinning skull. Neither alive nor dead it saw Frank and stared. The chasms of its eye sockets were fathomless yet filled with something too horrifying to articulate. The chasms swallowed the deafening cries of Dr Frank Benullo until he startled awake and smacked his head on a glass bottle.

  He hadn’t wanted to return to sleep even if his body cried out for it. Fear was a factor that took complete control.

  Now standing at the mouth of the cavern facing the devastation all around the dream felt more and more real with each passing moment. Of course, the image of the Reaper appearing in the flesh was ludicrous, he told himself. But what irrevocable damage was being done to Elias’ mind? From the moment Elias had been born the world he and Sammy and the rest of civilisation had known ended. All he knew was of the crying of those dying and suffering.

  Prior to the worldwide events Frank often envisioned taking his son out on fun daytrips. Perhaps going on holiday in the summertime. Enjoying Christmas and New Year in each other’s company, laughing, playing and seeing the joy on his little face as his eyes lit up with new presents.

  Perhaps the dream was a sign of the rage his son and other youngsters would feel. They had been robbed of their youths and the luxuries their elders had enjoyed. Instead hunting for food and doing their utmost to survive on a daily basis would consume their existences. It wouldn’t be long before they realised how pointless life was.

  What Frank found most distressing was how Elias was the only person under the age of fifteen who had endured the impact and survived the aftermath.

  As Elias had said in his dream, the world had burnt to cinders in a living hell. That was undoubtedly true. The panorama before Frank squashed any doubt of that argument. Therefore, was it Elias’ fate to grow into a man who became a leader? A man full of utter contempt? A man who would go on a killing spree the likes of which the world had never known?

  No. Frank shook his head as though someone else had been whispering those brusque words into his ear. No, it couldn’t be true. If it was then the dream, Elias who said he was son of no one, wouldn’t be his. That was not true. He was his son. And in spite of the melancholy all around them, both he and Sammy had given Elias all the love a child could ask for. More even under the circumstances. They’d lost everything else. All they had was each other. They would be more than bearers of life to Elias. They would protect him from all evil.

  22.

  THE FIRST DAY of 2012 was a cold one. Reverend Anthony Perkins sometimes had to pinch himself to make sure he was alive. It stunned him to think that he, Sue, Natalie, Sapphire and
the young black cat (Smokey) had all lived. The global tragedy had hit them worse than Perkins ever could have envisioned.

  Sure they were all grateful and relieved to be alive, but so far there had been no sign of many other survivors. They had still yet to receive any news through the portable radio or through physical communication. The drastic alteration prior to the comet strike and the aftermath were polar opposites. What was even more strange was Sapphire had just turned five and knew of no other existence. Smokey also appeared to be unaffected. For a cat he didn’t venture far. Normally the most he travelled were the few hundred yards from the crumbling church to the vicarage (which surprisingly had no damage at all).

  Sapphire’s days were spent listening to Sue and Natalie. They taught him rudimentary English and mathematics. They told him stories of a place where people travelled from place to place in vehicles, performing jobs and errands. The toddler sat for hours straight, captivated by these yarns. It reminded Perkins when he was a wee boy reading H.G. Wells and Ray Bradbury stories. What was rather sad though was Sapphire’s wonder and intrigue believed the yarns to be farfetched and implausible.

  Smokey enjoyed the life of being constantly cuddled and stroked by Sapphire. The young boy doted on the cat. Smokey took immense pleasure in this daily, unwavering treatment. The world may have been scorched and in ruin, but Smokey’s days were filled with pure, unconditional love.

  Perkins felt a twinge of envy towards Sapphire and Smokey. Their ignorance to the worldwide events permitted them peace in abundance. Smokey slept either on top of or next to Sapphire on the spare bed in the vicarage. Meanwhile he would be tiptoeing through the cottage. His insomnia invaded him completely. Every thought or notion a dagger piercing his brain. When he did lie down on his mattress in the living room (Sue and Natalie shared a bed in his bedroom) and closed his eyes, his brain buzzed. He’d lie there staring into the dark, his eyes adjusting. Then in the next instant the dark began to ebb away and the first grey tinge of light came through the window. Before he knew it Sue and Natalie were waking and getting ready.

  Even during the day when the food had been cooked and there was nothing much else to do Perkins’ body refused to shut down. He’d retire to his armchair in the living room with a Scotch and let nature take its course. Nothing happened. It was as if his anatomy was no longer physical in the human sense. It was as if his anatomy had sent all conscious thought and emotion to a robot. Bit like the film Robocop he’d seen in the eighties.

  And here’s the thing Perkins learned about insomnia that people who have never suffered from it could ever know. You are never fully awake or asleep at any time. Instead your body goes on vacation and leaves you on Auto Drive. You had conversations as you would normally, the only difference was you couldn’t remember exactly what they were about five minutes later. It could have been something pertinent or insignificant. It didn’t matter. At least not to your brain.

  He’d been in this stupor for a long time. And if he were honest, Perkins wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it either. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know that depression, melancholy, anxiety and too much contemplating contributed to his symptoms. Nevertheless, if he wasn’t inflicted with those emotions Perkins presumed he’d cease to be human. To not care would be inhumane. Yet as one there was nothing he could do about the situation.

  The provisions situation was getting worse and needed to be addressed.

  While Sapphire played hide and seek with Smokey in the living room, Perkins, Sue and Nadine sat around the kitchenette table.

  ‘So, what is it you’re trying to say, Anthony?’ Sue asked, sipping milk from a carton.

  ‘The convenience stores and local supermarkets are running out of supplies. The meat that’s left that is not frozen and uneatable. There’s still snack food there, such as bags of crisps, Doritos and sweets. Plenty of booze. God knows this time and age would be paradise for alcoholics and chain smokers.’

  ‘What’re you proposing?’ Natalie said. Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of fuel. I checked the transit van – it still works.’

  ‘So?’ Sue pressed.

  ‘So, I think it’s time to go farther afield. The environing towns and the city are full of convenience stores, petrol stations and supermarkets. But I can’t do it on my own. I’ll need someone to help me. For protection.’ He paused and finished his Scotch. The liquid burned the back of his throat, making his eyes water. ‘In our district it’s safe to say that if there are – or were – any survivors then they’ve sadly perished. Or gone insane. But beyond our little community there are bound to be others. It’s inconceivable to think we’re the only survivors.’

  Natalie shook her head, hand on her brow. ‘What d’you mean, “For protection”? Protection from whom?’

  Perkins faced Natalie. ‘Forget everything about what used to happen before. Those days are long gone. They exist now only in our memory. These are harsh times. These are also desperate times. People are desperate. They see me loading a van full of goodies and they’re gonna try to take advantage.’

  ‘I think people ’round here have witnessed enough destruction to last an eternity, Anthony,’ Sue said.

  ‘That maybe so, but I can’t rely on someone having a clear conscience.’ He regarded both women solemnly. ‘People who have lost everything and are starving and dying of thirst are apt to put their morals to one side. If you were in their place you’d do the same…’

  No one spoke for a minute.

  ‘Imagine us lot had survived but had no sanctuary. No food. No water. And imagine we saw someone who had everything and we had nothing. What would you do?’

  ‘I’d kindly ask where that person got their supplies from and ask to give me something they could spare,’ Sue said.

  Perkins shook his head in defiance. ‘No you wouldn’t. You’d run after them full-pelt. Your words you said you’d speak are those of someone who has food and water and is still rational. It doesn’t make someone a bad person because they’ve acted on insanity and starvation.’

  ‘But what difference would it make it if one of us was there with you?’ Natalie said. ‘If they’re as mad as you say we wouldn’t be able to stop them.’

  ‘Instead there’d be only one to look after Sapphire and Smokey,’ Sue added.

  ‘What possible protection could we offer?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘As we are by ourselves… nothing. Armed we’d at least be ready and able to fight off any immediate attacks.’

  Sue put her carton of milk down on the coaster, frowning. ‘Armed? What do you mean, armed?’

  *

  The main road leading into the small town of Briton Ferry could have been any wreckage from around the world. Terraced houses had been crushed flat. Pubs and bars mere fragments of mortar, concrete and glass. A church spire protruded precariously from the rubble. A dust cloud reduced visibility, which Perkins was glad for. Nevertheless, the town he’d grown up knowing was unrecognisable. Where the main road had once been about fifteen feet of destruction blocked any entrance via vehicle.

  Perkins steered the transit slowly around the roundabout, swerving to avoid colliding with an upside down Heineken lorry. The transit rolled to a halt, riding the kerb and coughing up a plume of grey dust.

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Sue asked, staring through the windscreen at the town that was no more.

  Perkins cut the motor. ‘Listen, I hope if we do get some weapons and ammo that we never have to use them. But as the adage goes, it’s better to have something and not need it than it is to not have something and need it.’

  Sue sighed and unfastened her seat belt. ‘How can you be sure the gun shop is still there anyway?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Perkins said. ‘I’m hoping it is and we can get what we need and leave. As claustrophobic as it is residing in a bunker and my home it’s a far cry from being beneath all this.’ He gestured to the mountain of rubble and debris.

  T
ogether they departed the transit and stood motionless.

  ‘Where’d the gun shop used to be located?’ Sue called out.

  ‘About a hundred yards from where we are on the left-hand side.’

  Sue came around the transit. ‘The quicker we take a look the quicker we can get outta here, right?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Side-by-side they crossed the main road. Sue chose to follow Perkins. She swayed as she clambered over a pile of bricks and mortar and God knew what else. Perkins snatched her hand, steadying her. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, watching where she placed her feet.

  They passed a local café. The windows had been blown out of their frames. The frames themselves were crushed down to five feet. If Perkins or Sue wanted access into the café they would have been forced to duck and stoop down.

  Across the street the café’s advertising awning flapped lightly in the breeze. A chrome-legged table lay at the top of a heap like an overturned spider. Both Perkins and Sue decided not to glimpse the interior of the café lest their eyes fell upon carcasses of the fallen. The convenience store that displayed an array of fruit and vegetables out front spilled most of its contents out into the street. The building that housed the store itself had begun to fold inwardly. Amidst the dust Perkins and Sue could see the tangerines, apples, bananas, grapes, carrots, spuds and grapefruits scattered about.

  Perkins slowed to a stop. His chest heaved. The pang in his chest hurt more than the crucifixion Christ ever could right then. Nature and humankind had coexisted in peace. The proof had existed before him in all the thirty plus years he’d been on the Earth. People often accused humankind for destroying nature. And perhaps, to a certain degree, they did. But here in a town that he was as familiar with as his own had shown that nature had aided humankind to enjoy the succulent tastes and pleasures and goodness no artificial food could ever replace.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Perkins shook his head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Guess this is what 9-11 must’ve been like for all the New York residents,’ Sue said. Her mind’s eye callously replayed the memory of the second aircraft flying into the World Trade Centre edifice where good, noble hard-working folk suffered unthinkable consequences.