Flare (6 page)

“Yep,” said Raj. “They probably knew about the flare well before it hit, too.”

“Takes a lot of thought,” said Ash.

“Takes more than thought,” said Raj. “You make this paper with research, development, money and machinery.”

Ash stared at the sheets but couldn’t understand them. The one with equations was in a branch of mathematics that he wasn’t too familiar with, and he didn’t even know where to start on the one with symbols. He had cracked legendary puzzles, but if he had seen these on a basement chalkboard he would have moved on, because these were just too difficult.

“I don’t know who sent this, and I don’t know their purpose,” said Raj. “But whoever made these pages made them for a reason, and they have a plan.”

/***/

They had offered to take Raj home with them, but he was most comfortable in his store. They said they’d see him again, and he told them that they were welcome to return at any time. He even showed them a secret door to get in the store from the back if the front was locked.

They walked their bikes home with Raj’s food on their handlebars, too overwhelmed with new experiences and knowledge to say anything to each other. The night sky’s muted shades of green, blue and orange had all sharpened to a deep red over the stars, like blood spilled over ink. Heather told Ash that the night often became red as the sunrise approached.

Heather put a spring in her step and Ash kept pace. When they reached the house, they noticed that the curtains had all been drawn open.

“What happened…?” asked Heather, but her voice trailed off.

Ash held his hand up, and his sister became quiet.

“Someone’s in there,” said Ash, eyeing two shadows that flashed by the windows. “Some people are in the house.”

/***/

There were two men and a woman. The woman was small, tough and unsmiling. She had a bowl haircut and reminded Ash of a wrinkled acorn. The two men were big brutes, with large, slightly out-of-shape bodies like a pair of little-league coaches. One was tall and ungainly, with skinny arms and fat in all the wrong places. The other was short, beefy, thick and flat-headed. The tall one was half-burnt by the sun, not enough to render him an invalid, but he still had rubbery skin and a single blind eye.

There was a pile of leaded curtains by the door, and the big one had two draped over his shoulder. Ash got a bad feeling from him immediately, not one of menace, but of pure competition. This man wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t Raj either. He wanted whatever it was that Ash and Heather had, and judging from his rough skin he wasn’t going to walk away empty-handed.

“Those are ours,” said Ash, thinking of nothing else to say.

The big man nodded at the smaller one and he took a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Ash, quivering while he did it. The big one nodded at his friend again and then looked at Ash.

“We need them,” said the big one. “We’ll take these and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Those are ours,” said Ash. “You can’t just—”

“They’re ours,” said the big one.

The big one nodded at the woman with a bowl cut and she picked up the curtains on the floor. They were heavy and awkward, so she only picked up half. The flat-headed one continued to point the gun at Ash, but his hands had stopped quivering. He didn’t look like he had it in him to pull the trigger, but he might, so Ash didn’t want to try anything. Ash looked at Heather, and she was furious.

“Those are ours,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay here but you will
kill us
if you take these—”

“Not our problem,” said the big one, and he helped the woman with the bowl cut take the leaded curtains.

Ash thought about what he could do, but came up with no options. The sun was coming up, and these people didn’t look like they were willing to reason.

“You need to leave us enough of these curtains to survive the day,” said Ash. “If you don’t, you’re committing murder. You’ll have killed us both.”

The big one thought for a moment, and then he threw a single curtain from his pile to their feet.

“That’s all we’re gonna give,” said the big one, before looking at his two friends. “We’re leaving.”

/***/

Heather and Ash made a frantic run for survival, with no time to process what had happened, or even to choose the best decision. The night sky was now glowing red and they had to make a choice and see it through.

The three intruders had done a good job of raiding the house’s meager supplies and had even stolen curtains from the basement. There was a closet in the cellar but Heather said it wasn’t strong enough to keep them from the flare, because there was too much space under the door. They might be okay for a moment because the light was being filtered through the basement windows before a few shafts made it through the crack under the closet door, but they would be there for the entire day. The light would trickle in, and they’d slowly cook.

Heather took their lead curtain and hastily draped it over the closet door, before nodding that they’d be good as long as it stayed in place. Ash looked for a hammer and some nails, and finding none he settled on a roll of duct tape. He hung the curtain on the door until the bottom dropped down on the floor, and then duct-taped it in place. He patched the rest of the cracks with the duct tape itself. He didn’t know if it would hold the light out, but it had to. The flare, as strong as it was, was now being filtered three times, and this had to work.

Heather yelled for Ash’s help, and he ran upstairs. The entire house was now bathed in the red glow of light before sunrise. She was holding Dr. Shaw, and he was seizing again, with the bags from Raj’s store now laid at his feet.

“Help me bring him downstairs,” she said.

Ash put his arms through the bags’ handles and did as he was told. Dr. Shaw kept trembling, but Ash gripped the man’s pus-covered legs and lifted him with Heather. Together they brought the shaking man to the basement, forcefully dragging him down the stairs like two guards carrying a prisoner. The man’s quivering legs were still strong, and he kicked Ash twice in the sternum, making him lose his grip. Ash was halfway down the stairs and facing the wrong way on the second kick, so he fell backwards and the bags on his arms fell too, scattering their contents all over the place.

Ash got up and could barely see what had happened, because light was coming in through the window and putting spots in his eyes. His skin started to hurt too, as if he were being stung by wasps.

“Let’s get inside, now!” he yelled.

With eyes closed, he threw the bags of groceries into the closet, or what he thought was the closet. He shuffled back towards the sound of Heather’s voice, head bent and eyes shut, and then he thrust his hand on the ground, trying to grab onto one of Dr. Shaw’s sticky, shaking limbs. He finally found what felt like an arm and yanked it backwards.

Dr. Shaw howled in pain, and most of his body fell to the floor, but Ash continued to pull, screaming at Heather so she’d come with him. Ash finally yelled at her to just hold on to Dr. Shaw’s leg and she did so, using the man’s withered body like a guiding rope. Ash pulled until he felt the opening of the closet behind him and then fell backwards. He yelled to see if Heather was in, and she was. Ash slammed the door shut, and his though his skin still stung, he felt like he was safe and opened his eyes.

He still saw spots, but they soon faded and Ash could see. They were indeed protected, trapped in the closet that was now lit by the faerie-light coming from the cracks around the door’s edges. Ash found the duct tape, covered the door’s borders with three layers each, and soon it was completely dark. All they heard was Dr. Shaw’s faint whimpers as he slipped back out of consciousness.

/***/

The closet protected them, but the day soon proved difficult. Dr. Shaw awoke and started to yell again, and Ash couldn’t find anything without fumbling endlessly first. Heather suggested they take off one sliver of duct tape, and Ash agreed. He slowly peeled off one edge of the closet door, and though the sliver was the size of a fingernail, they could see again.

They hadn’t brought all of their supplies, but they had bottled water, ten fruit pies, a box of bandages, and a flashlight, which they promptly turned on. They had the full contents of the closet of course, but it held only neatly folded sweaters, piles of encyclopedias, atlases and books from medical school, and boxes of loose pictures from Heather’s past. It was just a closet, and Heather’s things wouldn’t be of much use to them. Heather had some medication for Dr. Shaw in her pocket and put it in a corner. They would survive, but they had no answer if Dr. Shaw started to seize again, nor did they have an answer if the thieves wrapped themselves in Heather’s lead curtains and opened the closet door. They had no real food, and no way to go to the bathroom.

But they had made it to the closet, brother, sister and a dying man, and they were safe.

/***/

Dr. Shaw began to shake again two hours later, and this time it was more serious than before. Ash had empathy for the man and knew that as uncomfortable as the closet was for them, it was much worse for Dr. Shaw. Ash gave Heather a look stating that they needed an answer for him, a resolution to this problem, even an ugly one. Dr. Shaw was beyond repair, a cowboy returned after being scalped, and they weren’t doing the man any good with their current course of action. Heather gave Ash a look of resigned frustration in return, and it was clear that she understood they had to do something too.

Ash knew that they couldn’t kill Dr. Shaw, though he might have wanted it. Heather had seen plenty of death in her time as a doctor, but neither she nor Ash were killers, not even close. Ending a man’s life just wasn’t who they were, even if Dr. Shaw was suffering and even if it was the right thing to do.

She’s still loyal to him too
.
She’s been loyal to me my whole life, and she won’t give up on this man, a man half alive with his own wife and kids probably lying dead somewhere as he moans.

“Can you give him something to ease his pain?” asked Ash. “Something that would knock him out? At least until nightfall?”

Heather nodded, and she took a syringe from her pocket and injected Dr. Shaw.

Heather’s not just loyal,
thought Ash,
she’s always prepared too.

The sedative calmed Dr. Shaw, but only for an hour. He awoke and seized more violently than before, yelling and kicking with a fury Ash hadn’t thought possible from such a sick man, and his feet got dangerously close to the door. They turned him around and his arms flailed about, brushing the lead curtain. Ash went behind Dr. Shaw and clasped him around the chest, dragging him backwards, harder than he should have. He brought Dr. Shaw to the back of the closet and draped him perpendicularly against its length, and Dr. Shaw’s bandaged head was now up against the side wall.

“Ash, stop,” said Heather.

“We need to survive,” said Ash. “He’s going to kick the door open and—”

“Ash, stop!”

Dr. Shaw seized again, this time banging his head against the wall. Ash tried to hold him, but Dr. Shaw was too squirmy and Ash kept losing his grip. Heather pushed Ash aside and he moved away, soaked with Dr. Shaw’s melted skin and still sore from his kicks. Heather pulled Dr. Shaw’s rigid, quivering body away from the wall and let him continue his seizure unobstructed.

Ash was relieved to see her do it. Heather was in control now and Dr. Shaw was safe. The man was still an invalid and beyond repair, but he was safe. All three of them were.

/***/

Four hours later, Dr. Shaw began to cough and wheeze, no longer a threat to the closet door, but a threat to himself. He had the long, slow rasp of an emphysemic, and each breath was a pain to him. If Dr. Shaw was still conscious, Ash knew that he couldn’t be in anything but utter agony. His skin had melted, his eyes were dark, and now he began to drown with each breath.
He’s a man,
thought Ash.
If he can think, he’s begging us to end him. It’s not fair to keep him like this.

Heather gave him a dose of pills from her pocket, crushing them and placing them on his tongue. Dr. Shaw received the pills and was still coughing ten minutes later, but his breaths were relaxed. Heather reached into her pocket to get a pen and paper. She scribbled a message and handed it to Ash, and he could read it, even in the dim light from the cracks in the wall.

The pills will ease his pain,
wrote Heather.
But I don’t know if he’ll last the hour.

Ash motioned for the pen, and she gave it to him. He wanted to write that Dr. Shaw’s end would be good for him but couldn’t write that while the man was still alive.

Ash handed the pen back and nodded grimly, and Heather looked at Dr. Shaw and then shed a tear. She reached into her pocket and picked up five pills and crushed them. She put them in Dr. Shaw’s mouth and this time he received them clumsily, with bits of the powder sticking in clumps on his dry tongue. The clumps soon dissolved, and Heather pushed the pieces still on his lips inwards until he took them too. His gasps and shallow breaths continued, but he soon began to sleep. Though he still coughed and wheezed, he no longer appeared to be in pain.

Heather knelt over him and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and Ash felt for her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but here they were. Whatever her conflicting emotions were, her feelings were real, and this was the end.