Flare (18 page)

“Times are tough, Colm!” said Foster. “People are doing crazy things! Give this flare a year, and your less-rational brothers are gonna start tribalizing, and they’re gonna use that bible of yours to justify some awful, awful stuff.”

Colm took another piece of jerky and chewed it, mulling over what Foster had said. The old man then took another sip of water and offered his canteen to Zeke. Zeke accepted the water and drank it.

“I think religion will always have a place in this world, perhaps no time more important than now,” said Colm. “I will shun neither science nor rationality, for both are holy gifts from above. But tell me, does our science currently hold all the answers? Let’s say the flare would last a hundred years, or perhaps forever. Would science hold all the answers then?”

“Maybe not,” said Foster, “but if some atheist in a lab creates a metal dome somewhere or some kind of suit that helps us survive this thing, I’ll be the first in line to use it, and you’ll probably be right there with me. And if that guy in the lab doesn’t have the answer, he won’t say the
world
works in
mysterious ways
and then pray. He’ll say
I don’t know the answer, but I’m working on it
, and that’s something religion doesn’t have the humility to say.”

“Science doesn’t hold all the answers,” said Colm.

“It
might
not, I agree,” said Foster. “But I
know
that religion doesn’t have the answers. It doesn’t have the answers to the sun, and it didn’t have answers for Archangel. His answers came from chemicals within that mushroom, which were brought from evolution as a means to help them survive. Our silent friend here was smart enough to wrangle them into a soup and push him off with dignity, but I guarantee you your prayers didn’t do a damn thing.”

Foster paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, and then looked directly at Colm.

“If there is a God,” said Foster, “it’s clear that he really doesn’t give a shit. So yeah, think of that before you pray to your invisible ghost in the sky, the bearded man who loved us so much that he let the sun wipe us off planet Earth just as we were getting started.”

Foster thought about his own words and then laughed to himself. Colm laughed too, and it eased the tension that had been raised.

“I went a little too far with my rant there,” said Foster. “But yeah, I guess I showed you my perspective. I’d … like to hear yours.”

Colm nodded, absorbing Foster’s diatribe and thinking of what to say next. 

“I hear what you’re saying, son,” said Colm.

“Do you?”

“I really, really do. And I can’t get into a Bible-quoting contest with you because once again, the Bible’s filled with incongruities and I’m going to lose. But you need to hear me when I tell you the Bible’s not a history book, a book of facts. It’s a book of
truths
, truths that have shaped our society—perhaps ninety-nine percent of it—for two thousand years.

“These truths are at the core of our message: there is but one God, love your neighbor, and turn the other cheek if that neighbor strikes you.
Those
are the core truths of my religion, and most other religions too, and I’ll be the first to admit these tenets are rarely followed, before the flare or even now. The rest of the world follows
your
creed, Foster, and it doesn’t lead to a sustainable end.

“I ask you this: Say we were to encounter two places of shelter tomorrow night. The first is a well-defended military outpost, filled with modern technology, some rationality, and its denizens come from all creeds and religions. The only catch is that it’s run by a modern-day warlord who’s known to throw people into the sun if they break his rules.

“The second place is a simple monastery, run by Jesuit monks. All you know is that it’s safe, and the monks truly believe in their own calling. Which place would you choose to spend the night?”

Foster grimaced as he thought about this for a moment.

“Assuming none of my party needed any medical attention, I’d probably go with the monks.”

“As you should,” said Colm. “The monks fulfill a basic human truth: that fundamentally we’re drawn to a higher power. They reflect the fact that we must rely at times not on logic and rational selfishness, but
compassion
, a compassion that extends beyond the explainable. A love and acceptance that truly gives without expecting anything in return.”

“These monks aren’t as selfless as you say,” said Foster.

“How so?”

“They’re responding to a self-serving kinship of the species, protecting humanity in times of stress. I’d doubt they’d let us in if we were a group of rabid dogs or a group of swarming insects.”

Colm stroked his hands against the dark interior of the tent, and it sounded like a knife grating against burlap.

“Perhaps your point brings another level to God’s truth that I haven’t heretofore seen,” he said. “Maybe one day God’s truth will be so profound that it will apply to the animals as well, and the monks will open their doors to man and beast alike.”

“All right,” said Foster, laughing. “I can’t argue with that. But I see one more flaw in your reasoning.”

“What’s that?”

“These monks don’t exist,” said Foster. “We might run into some warlords, and in fact we just did, crazy guys who did a number on Archangel. I’d love to run into your monks, but they just aren’t here.”

“They’re here, son,” said Colm.

“Where?” interrupted Foster. “Where are these compassionate holy men ready to give us shelter?”

“You’re looking at one,” said Colm.

Foster put up his finger to make a point, but then withdrew and started to laugh.

“You got me there, Brother Colm,” said Foster. “Push comes to shove, you keep your faith, and I’ll be the first to admit that the world needs more monks like you.”

Colm smiled and drank another glass of water.

“I said that only to win the point,” said Colm. “I’m not a monk.”

“What are you, then?”

“I’m a courier,” said Colm, “and nothing more.”

/***/

The sun set, and they walked ten miles until there was a small pass between the mountains to the left of them, and Foster announced to Colm and Zeke that it was time for their ways to part.

“You’re kidding, son,” said Colm, aghast. “You’re truly kidding. Where are you going to go?”

“The dockyards,” said Foster.

“The dockyards,” repeated Colm.

“Yeah,” said Foster. “That was the deal when I joined you guys. You’re welcome to come too, of course.”

Colm was upset and walked off to compose himself, and after doing so came back to Foster and Zeke, still upset but calmed.

“Indeed it was our agreement,” said Colm. “I guess I thought you’d see our way and come with us all the way to the Salvation.”

Zeke remembered hearing Foster’s words about the dockyards, and he’d heard of others going that way since the flare had begun. People were living in the protected metal shipping containers that lay in hangars on the shore, and some supposedly lived in the bowels of the wrecked ships off the coast. Zeke had heard of this place and that it was safe from the sun. But he’d also heard that some bad things happened there as well.

“You’ll die there, son,” said Colm. “Come with us.”

“A friend of mine visited the dockyards,” said Foster. “It’s tough, but there’s a lot of space there, and it’s shaded and—”

“Gangs run the place, and it’s no better than the prison we’ve just run from,” said Colm.

“I’ll find a corner and hide,” said Foster. “I’m good at hiding. There’s still fish in the sea, or so I’ve heard, and they have a few working freshwater taps there.”

“The gangs will find you immediately. You won’t last a minute.”

“And you will?” asked Foster. “What will happen when you reach
your
destination?”

Colm had no response.

“I’ve met people like you,” said Foster. “Guys that have been to the Salvation, and they all found nothing! They couldn’t find the opening, got rejected, or
whatever
, and now they wander around with these little silver tents.”

“I—”

“Have you already been to the Salvation, Colm?”

“Well, it’s not—”

“Have you been to the Salvation? Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“And could you get in?”

“No.”

“Did they reject you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest you stop beating on a door that doesn’t want you and come with me to the dockyards. Both you and the big fella over here, I still don’t know his name.”

Foster looked at Zeke, who nodded in return.

“His name is Zeke,” said Colm. “I call him Ezekiel.”

“Colm and Zeke, you guys are welcome to come to the dockyards,” said Foster. “It’s dangerous, and yeah, we might run into trouble, but we got a few tents and can always run away. It might not be the Salvation, but it’s an answer, and it’s real.”

Zeke and Colm didn’t move, and Foster took the hint. He shook his head in acceptance, and then hugged them both.

“I hope you find the Salvation and they let you in,” said Foster to Zeke. “And whatever the case, Colm, I think you’re a monk, and a good one at that, and yeah … there’s real truth to what you say. If the world was filled with men like you, we’d be able to survive this flare for a thousand years, probably more.”

/***/

Zeke and Colm walked all evening in silence, as if Foster had taken all of Colm’s words and left the old man as mute as Zeke. Colm’s body was re-energized though, and he picked up the pace, beating the ground with anger as he walked. Zeke brought up his speed too but sometimes let Colm walk ahead alone. They traveled through the night not seeing a soul, and soon the sky became streaked with red and they had to find a place to camp.

It was windy and there was no shelter in the flat land around them, so they used a web of strings tied to their anchor points so that the gales wouldn’t rip the tent apart, and then put rocks in the corners of the interior to ensure their shelter wouldn’t blow over.

Colm said a prayer that evening, asking the Lord to give him strength, and wishing Foster the best, and that seemed to calm the old man. He gave Zeke the same soft smile that he gave him when they’d first met, and it seemed that Colm was once again at peace. They ate jerky and dried plants, and they drank water that was slightly brackish but had been sterilized, and it slaked their thirst.

/***/

The wind beat them mercilessly after the sun rose, and it felt like they were going to blow over at any moment. Colm woke up in a panic, mainly worried about a flap on the side of the tent becoming detached and letting the burning light inside. Together they listened as the wind howled without forgiveness, pummeling their shelter relentlessly, letting up only to gather itself for another blast.

The tent would most likely hold because Colm and Zeke weighed it down, but the flap had concerned Colm, and now it concerned Zeke. An outer piece of the tent was loose and blowing in the wind, and as it blew in the wind it struck the exterior of the tent rapidly. It was noisy and sounded like a helicopter’s blades cutting through the air.

Colm looked gravely at Zeke to let him know that this was serious, and Zeke understood. If the flap blew open, they would die. Colm took his flashlight and felt the interior of the tent, trying to see if he could close the flap from the inside. He couldn’t, so he looked for objects within the tent to act as a barrier in case the flap failed. Colm put his bag in front and attempted to cover the gap with duct tape. He worked at this for thirty minutes, but he couldn’t quite get it secured. The flap was on the outside, and could only be fixed from the outside. Colm threw his hands up in the air, out of ideas, when Zeke started to peer at the flap.

Zeke looked at it for five minutes and then pulled out his tent from his own bag. He gave it to Colm, and Colm shook his head.

“We can’t set another tent up in here,” said Colm.

Zeke shook his head again in return. That was not what he meant.

“Oh, no,” said Colm. “I can’t let you—”

Zeke gave Colm a calm look to let the old man know everything would be okay. Colm understood and stopped fighting, as if he had been hypnotized by Zeke’s stare. The old man nodded and then covered himself with Zeke’s tent until he was just a man in a silver sleeping bag.

Zeke took out a thin glove from his bag and put it on his hand. He couldn’t use his thick gloves, which would have been safer but didn’t offer him the dexterity he needed to fiddle with the flap. He concentrated on what he was about to do by closing his eyes and visualizing himself sticking his hand through the flap, cinching the zipper by pulling it down and then sealing it with duct tape, all in one quick motion. He prepared the roll of duct tape by ripping it into pieces and performed the action in his head once more.
It’ll be like putting your hand on a stove;
there’ll be a few seconds of calm before the nerve endings send the pain to you.