by Rob Heinze
He panned the dead neighborhood. No doors opened; no children ran out to play; no cars pulled from driveways. He searched the trees lining the curbs, and for a moment he startled, for there was movement near the curb. He walked outside and down the steps cautiously. There it was again: a light flutter in a tree. He crept to the tree, and when he was underneath, he glanced up.
A small sparrow was flitting from branch to branch. Charley was stunned to see any form of life. Maybe this place wasn’t a void then; he had found Ray and now a sparrow. He called to the bird and held out his hand. The bird saw the incoming motion and took flight. Charley sadly watched as the creature fled across the blue sky. It was gone behind the vacant houses.
By midday, Ray had still not come back. Charley was starting to worry that maybe he had dreamed Ray up. He took his lunch outside on the front porch in the eerie quiet. He had PB&J that he’d taken from Ray’s horde of supplies. Eating it made him think about Sarah and his dream of her last night.
He finished his sandwich and sat in the windless day. The sun canted down, the neighborhood glowing beautiful. How could such beauty still exist when no one was left to enjoy it? He glanced to his right, down the long, long road. Roads seemed so much longer when no one was on them, he realized then.
He saw a figure in the distance. His initial instinct was to flee into the house and secure himself in the basement bedroom. As the figure drew closer, Charley relaxed; it was Ray. And he was walking with two bikes. Charley went out to greet him. Ray had a huge grin on his face.
“You had me worried for a moment,” Charley said.
“Sorry. But I didn’t want to wake you this morning.”
Ray saw Charley looking at the two bikes.
“I knew you were leaving,” Ray said, “and I got to thinking. I don’t know why I never thought of it before. I knew of this bike shop a couple of miles away, and I knew that they wouldn’t be too expensive.”
There was humor in the man’s voice.
He smiled and told Charley to take his pick. Charley walked over and chose the one on Ray’s left. It was a mountain bike, but it looked as if it had adjustable speeds too. Ray handed it to him and he felt the material of the seat. It was brand-new and shiny. The tires were pumped and ready to go.
“Then I’m thinking that, if you had a bike, you wouldn’t have to go through any tunnels. You could shoot up to the Queensboro Bridge. Then you could go up Manhattan to the George Washington Bridge. You wouldn’t have to go in any tunnels.”
“That’s a good idea,” Charley said, still examining the bike. He looked up at Ray, smiling.
Ray shrugged modestly. “I just know I wouldn’t want to go through the tunnels. Those are some long tunnels on foot, believe me.”
Charley nodded, looking back to the bike. He hadn’t ridden a bike in years. Jesus, he hoped that he still knew how. He got on it shakily. Ray smiled as he watched the young man start to peddle. Charley went slow at first, the bike’s front wobbling unsteadily, but as he started to push the peddles (which were easy to rotate), the bike moved faster and it stabilized. The wind whipped around his face and hair, the warm sun fell upon him, and Charley was happy for a brief moment.
He reached the corner and did a poor man’s turn, the front wobbling comically. He didn’t really notice the emptiness of the streets as he peddled back to Ray. For a brief moment, he had flashed back to blissful youth, to time when riding around the same suburban block for hours made him happy. He stopped in front of the grinning man.
“Thanks, Ray,” he said.
Ray smiled, and then he walked into the house, leaving Charley out on the street with his new gift.
13
He spent another night and day with Ray before he decided to move on. In the time that he had passed with him, Charley had come to pity the man. He knew that Ray would stay here, comfortable, hoping something would come to him. When nothing did, what would the man do? Charley had no idea. He didn’t want to think about it too much—thinking too much about it was apt to make him sad. Charley only knew one thing: he wasn’t going to get comfortable like Ray. Comfort often led to entrapment. He had to get back to Jersey. He would figure out something, someway out of here, and if he did, he’d let Ray know (though he suspected he would never see the man again).
Ray had decided that he would follow Charley to the first bridge, but that he wouldn’t cross into Manhattan.
“You could come, Ray, you know that?”
“I know,” the man had replied. “I know.”
Now they stood on their bikes in the street. Ray had locked up the house for the time that he would be gone. He had packed Charley a backpack filled with food and water and some supplies he might need: Advil, Pepto Bismol & toilet paper, sleep-aids, vitamins. The one thing that Charley truly wanted, Ray didn’t have. Charley only had two pieces of Dentyne left, and already he was chomping one. He felt frightened now. Whatever human instinct to avoid change that had festered in Ray had also worked its sharp, painful claws into Charley. Leaving this house, leaving Ray, going out alone—everything seemed suddenly that much more frightening.
“Guess we should start,” Charley said.
Ray moved his mouth as if to say something, and again Charley saw something behind the man’s glasses, something in his eyes that he had seen before.
He wants to tell me something, Charley thought. Then why doesn’t he?
Charley could remember plenty of times when things had bothered Sarah and she hadn’t wanted to tell him. He knew she would, but he had to prod and coax her until she did. He couldn’t do that to Ray—if Ray wanted to tell him, he would. If not, so be it.
They started to peddle down the empty street. Soon they were traveling faster. Ray was at his side, quiet. Charley didn’t speak either. They passed houses, vacant stores, and cars without owners.
Before long, they were at the on-ramp to the bridge. They got off of their bikes and walked on foot up the slope. The bridge was a massive, rust-colored structure that looked slightly frightening in the dead world. He could see that the wind was moving across it, for a lone paper moved erratically and frantically under its touch. And it almost looked as if the bridge were swaying. Beyond the bridge waited Manhattan, lifeless, and Charley felt his skin crawl. Riding his bike through a suburb had been bad enough; he didn’t want to imagine a city—
They stood for a long time at the edge of the bridge. Neither of them said a word. Finally, worried about waning daylight, Charley turned to the man in the glasses and wished him farewell.
“Thanks,” he said, putting out his hand.
Ray shook it; his palm was slicked with sweat and his grip was slightly frantic. For a moment, Charley thought that Ray might not let go of his hand. But his grip lessoned and soon he let go. Charley sighed and turned to face the bridge. He got on his bike and began to peddle. He wasn’t a few dozen feet before Ray called out:
“Wait! Charley, wait!”
Charley stopped and looked back. The man was peddling after him. Is he coming with me? Charley didn’t think that the man could have had a change of heart so quickly.
He stopped next to Charley, panting, and began to talk:
“There’s something I never told you. I followed that thing, remember? What you called Those of the Light? Well, there are others. There are others, Charley. I have seen them in my dreams, in that dream you had the other night. And I’ve seen them while I wasn’t dreaming. They are black shapes. I don’t know what they are, but when I see them my blood runs cold. I know that nothing good can come of them. I have no understanding of what these two things are, the light and dark, but I know they’re opposites of each other. The white figures, seeing them is frightening. It’s like dreaming of a dead relative, Charley; you know they won’t hurt you, but you’re scared all the same. The dark figures are just a nightmare.”
He finished his speech and stood, quivering, as if being on the bridge were making him nervous.
Those of the Dark, Charley thoug
ht automatically, and shivered.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you. I guess I just wanted you to be prepared.”
“Why are they here?”
Ray shook his head and adjusted his glasses with his fingers. “I don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just knew you were leaving, and I didn’t want you to be afraid. If there’s a way out of here, and there has to be, then I know that you will find it. And you’ll tell me someday.”
The look in Ray’s eyes told Charley that they would never meet again, and that Ray knew it.
“Thanks again, Ray. For everything.” He hesitated, and then looked the man in the eyes. “The way out…it might be with Those of the Light.”
Ray, who was obviously not a virgin to the thought, added: “Or the others.”
Maybe that’s why he won’t leave—fear of them.
Charley hesitated a moment longer, wishing that Ray had told him about Those of the Dark earlier. If there were these things, apparent opposites, then wouldn’t their existence have a purpose? He wanted to stay and expound upon the subject further, but Ray was glancing around nervously, as if Those of the Dark might suddenly emerged.
I dreamed of them last night, Charley thought. Those dark shapes…
Charley sighed and extended his hand. They shook once more, and then Charley turned and began to peddle.
This time Ray didn’t shout for him to turn back, and when Charley was half-way across, he glanced back and saw that the bridge was empty.
14
He slowed down as he reached the decline in the bridge. New York stood waiting silently, no motion, no sound, no life coming from it. He stopped and took in the sight. It was odd to see the streets without action. Living in Jersey, he was no stranger to Manhattan, but he had never seen it in a lull. Now it was in more than in a lull; it was comatose.
Symbolic, he thought. Maybe Ray was right. Maybe we are in comas?
He glanced back across the bridge, but the other end was hidden by the rise in the structure’s center. He wondered if Ray had gone directly back to his home? Maybe the man would find the courage to leave someday; Charley didn’t know. He sighed and took his packet of gum from his pocket. He popped out the last piece and chewed it.
He started peddling hard, and soon he was in the city. He would head up 59th Street, past Central Park, and then he would swing up one of the avenues to the GWB. He was already trying to imagine what it would be like in Streamwater. Lifeless, likely, but he couldn’t let go of the hope that something might be there.
The city blocks went by quickly on a bike. He stayed in the center of the street, away from buildings. The potholes were large in some spots, but it was easy to maneuver around them. The sewer grates from which steam and smoke had once arisen were all inactive. He glanced up to a tall building, and saw the thousand windows gazing down impassively at him. For some reason, he imagined a sniper holed up on the top floor with their cross-hairs snug on his head.
It didn’t take much longer for the city’s stillness to get to his psyche.
He was having trouble steering; his hands were shaking. He tried to think about Sarah. For some reason, her mental-image was fuzzy and distant, like a friend from the past with whom he was long out-of-touch. He didn’t like that at all. It didn’t seem normal. Central Park was on his right now. Trees, wind-kissed, were the only noise. He peddled faster, panting, his legs burning.
He was on Eighth Avenue now and heading uptown. He saw a general store nestled between other dark stores, and he slowed down. He rode over and stopped, placing his feet on the ground. The silence fell over him now, full and heavy. He could hear a low drone as wind scurried between the buildings, the noise like the hum underneath deep ocean water. He didn’t want to stop, not really, but he needed the gum. His comfort habit had become…well, a habit, and he couldn’t break it.
He looked into the dark store. The daylight penetrated the first half of it, and he thought that he would be okay if he went fast.
He took the empty packet from his pocket, looked at it longingly, and then tossed it to the ground. He approached the store, thinking only of the sweet mint aroma/taste. He reached the door, glanced around him, saw no one, and pushed it open. The smell of warm sweetness wafted out at him. The store was dead. Darkness huddled in the back half of it, waiting for someone whom it could embrace and love.
Hello, Stranger. We haven’t had anyone in these parts a long time now. Why not sit a spell and die with us?
Swallowing, Charley walked into the store and let the door carefully slide shut. The sound of the droning wind fell silent.
No one’s here, he told himself, glancing at the empty rows. No one’s here. I’ll be fine; no one’s here.
He stood in the doorway, too afraid to move. He scanned the store for the gum aisle. To the far right were a couple of coolers, powerless, which held bottles of sodas and drinks like a museum display exhibiting primeval relics. The clerk’s counter was on the left. Along the front of that counter were packs of gum, placed in the strategic, eye-level marketing position for bored, complaining kids.
Charley took a deep breath and stepped up to the counter. It didn’t take him long to find Dentyne. He took ten packs. He decided that it wasn’t enough. He took off his backpack and stuffed the whole box in, and then he stuffed in another box. On a whim, he went over to the cooler and took out a couple of bottles of soda. He moved fast and careless, spilling a bottle to the floor where it bounced and foamed but didn’t break. The bottles were piss-warm, but he didn’t mind. He only planned to drink them if he really needed to.
He found an aisle in which boxes of condoms hung limp and useless. He had slept with other women before Sarah, and he disagreed with what people said about men not needing an emotional connection. True, those other women had been okay, but sleeping with Sarah over-shadowed whatever paltry sensations he had felt with those other women. If that was cliché, it didn’t matter because it was a thought only for his mind. Staring at the condoms, he realized that he had never felt Sarah the way in which God had meant. He had never felt the true warmth of her body’s temperature, the feel of her skin; they had always used condoms for fear of an unprepared-for pregnancy. Charley regretted never doing that…at least once, so that it would have been in his mind—now, when he needed it.
He might never get to see her again. He might never hug her, kiss her, smell the sweet scent of her hair, or feel the smoothness of her hands as they traveled along his arms, legs, and chest.
No, he thought stubbornly.
“I will.”
Something in the store’s darkness stirred at the sound of his voice. Immediate terror overcame him. He turned quickly, grabbing his bag without zipping it and knocking a counter-display over. He sprinted towards the door, blood rushing through his head, he imagining some monstrosity with blue-clawed hands reaching for him—
He stopped dead, felt his heart halt, felt his lungs open, and he did something he hadn’t done since he was a child:
He screamed.
Those of the Light stood outside the store. They gazed at him. Two of them, bright, shimmering, their faces featureless but contoured to that of a human face. They were tall shapes and their wavy consistency made him feel as if he were hallucinating. They appeared to expand and shrink even as he stared at them. Charley began to tremble. Ray was right, oh fuck was Ray right! This was a dream of your dead relatives; he was afraid, he didn’t want to see them, but he knew, somehow he knew, that they wouldn’t hurt him. That did little to stop the fear he felt.
They made no motion of moving. They looked in without eyes, but Charley knew that they saw him. The glow they shed was powerfully beautiful.
The coming of the White…
How long have they been there? He wondered.
Abruptly the white shapes turned and started to walk away. They didn’t walk so much as float. Charley stood for a long time, unable to move. He watched as they crossed Eighth Avenue. At the other side, both of t
hem stopped and looked back at him. They grew taller and shrunk in various speeds.
What do they want? Why are they looking at me?
He remembered the message (omen?) he had seen from the highway overpass: Follow Those of the Light.
God, I don’t want to. What if they touch me? If they do that, I’ll scream.
Somehow Charley Allen managed to move to the front door with his backpack. He managed to open the door, greeted by the sound of a terrible wind. He never took his eyes from Those of the Light. They waited patiently. He was outside now fully, despite the quake in his legs.
“I-I know you won’t hurt me,” he said, his voice empty of conviction.
Those of the Light stood stock-still. One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed; then the creatures turned and entered a small apartment building through a door that had been open. As they moved, Charley noticed the entrails of vibrant white that fluttered off of them like hallowed smoke, only to vanish in the air. Charley shivered; watching them move was like nothing he had ever seen. Had he ever dropped acid, he might have been able to recall similar visions, but he never had. He stood for a long time—long after they had vanished into the building.
Follow Those of the Light.
He thought of Sarah.
They are the way out.
Sarah. Sarah. I love you, baby, and if you married me and we grew old together and lived in a small cottage in the hills and had children I would die happy.
He started to move across the street. His feet felt heavy, his steps were loud. A light wind coasted down the avenue at him, as if aiming for him. It made him shiver. He was across the street and looking at the door into which Those of the Light had gone. He took a piece of gum from the newly acquired pack (thank God for that!) and began to chomp. He shakily put the packet back in his pocket.
They won’t hurt me, he told himself, and then he entered the building.
15
The building was an old apartment building. There was a staircase in front of him and on the right side of the staircase there was a hallway down to apartment doors. Darkness was thick in the hallway, but it wasn’t a total darkness, for there was a single source of light in the hallway. Charley stood marveling down at it.
