Ping - From the Apocalypse (3 page)

Chapter F
our

Husband
on the Couch

(January 10th,
Year One, Post-Apocalypse)

“Jon?”

The screen door slammed behind her.
Her view to the red couch at the back of the house was partially blocked from where she stood in the dining room. She gazed at the bottom half of his legs, his blue jeans and gray socks, unable to bring herself to move any closer.

Instead of going to him
, she wobbled over to the nearby table, sat in a chair, and shoved her art supplies out of the way, so she could lay her head on her arms. Several pieces of drawing charcoal rolled from the edge of the table, clinking as they landed.

She was no longer Kate.
Only a ghost of herself had returned home — a ghost that needed her husband.

“Jon
,” she said, trembling, “Jen and Josh, and even their poor little children have died. Dad was going to call an ambulance for you, but I — I guess nobody came.”

She breath
ed out a long, shaky sigh. “The electricity’s still out… and not a soul answers their phone. No-one has even tried to clear off their car — not one of the neighbours.

“
I got sick too Jon… and things are not looking good.”

She stared ahead of her through a glistening tear that had appeared in the corner of her eye, and
sniffed, unable to lift her head. The familiar cottage air drifted to her nostrils: smoky wood, oil-paint drying on canvases, the pot of soup on the stove — and there was a trace of something else blending in with the sour odour of her long, vomit-clumped hair, which lay across the table.

She
wanted to die right then and there, so that she’d never have to make another decision again. Finally at home, she wished to be somewhere else. Her emptiness was unbearable.

T
he air whistled in and out of her nose and she held her breath for a few seconds to listen to the silence, praying that her ears would pick up a noise out on the street, or in the distance, just, something.

“Jon?
!” She abruptly sat up, and held herself stiff, waiting for a response. “Oh, I thought you were—”

She
staggered up from the chair and stood for a second, gazing over at him. Then she began to walk through the dim cottage, thinking that it would be dark soon. At a pile of logs on the hearth, near the edge of the couch, she stopped and peered down at Jon’s face.

Then s
he dropped down on her knees. “I’m back sweetie.” His silence was like a nasty insult that stung to her core.

The numbness that followed was more endurable.
His skin hadn’t been affected like hers, just a slight rash — not even as visible as on Jen’s baby. That made sense.

But then, s
he gaped at him in astonishment. His chest — it was rising and falling. “Oh Jon, you know I can’t do this without you,” she whimpered.

S
he touched his cheek. Her hand recoiled and she glared at her trembling fingers as if they had betrayed her. How could he be so cold, and breathing at the same time?

“
I’m going to build you a fire sweetie, that… should help. Jon?”

W
ringing her hands, she waited. She squeezed her index-finger until the tip of it was red, slid the salty fingernail between her teeth and bit down.

“I
—I can see you breathing.”

How could h
is chest be moving — when she couldn’t feel any warm air seeping from his nostrils or parted lips? She stretched out her long, shaking finger and placed it on top of his eyelid, which felt firm, and unyielding — like ice. She slid it up toward his brow — gaping at his deep brown irises, which had been so incredibly sensitive, and full of life.

“Oh my God
!”

She guided the lid back down,
letting her head drop like a dead weight between her shoulders.

“What am I
going to do now?”

She did not want to face another freezing night alone. Pacing back and forth, she pressed the phone to her ear, the coiled wire stretched across the kitchen, and as the flames of two candles distributed their flickering light around the room, she slammed the receiver back down on its base, screaming, “Fucking hell!”

With
sticky blood oozing from her scabs and seeping into the cracks of her fingers she dragged three of the logs Jon had stacked on the hearth into the fireplace, stuffed newspaper into the gaps beneath the wood, and staggered back to the kitchen for the matches. She lit the paper and watched the crackling flames grow.

Then
she pushed the recliner close to the heat and collapsed into it for a while, gazing into the blaze. Eventually she pulled off her boots, and still clenching her teeth, delicately guided on some soft slippers. She brought a couple of heavy blankets back from the bedroom, put the recliner back so she could stretch out, and lay in a daze, listening to the hissing of the logs as the flames consumed them.

The embers were still glowing beneath the grill. She blinked at them and then gazed over at the glass doors that led out to the yard which was still deep in shadow touched only by a hint of dawn. Her gaze soon shifted to Jon.

She
stared at his subdued features, unable to take her eyes off him, mesmerized by the steady up and down motion of his chest. It continued as the sun rose above the horizon and in the revealing light it was too much for her to tolerate any longer. She struggled out of the chair and nearly dropped back down from the pain, gripping the back of it, and then, after the initial agony had subsided, with the blanket wrapped around her, she shuffled towards him.

“I
’m going to try to eat a little something,” she mumbled, hobbling past his unresponsive body to the kitchen. Huddled in the warmth of her blanket at the table, she sipped some water until satisfied her stomach was going to cooperate. Then, from the power-deprived freezer, she took out a still-frozen slice of bread, and toasted it over the coals.

N
ibbling a small bit of it, she then set the toast on a plate and tackled the fire again, building it up to a roaring blaze. After finishing the entire slice with a full glass of water she lay back down, dozing for most of the day.

A beam of afternoon light was creeping across the floor, nearly touching Jon’s head when she woke. She waited for it to reach him, and then watched his blonde stubble light up, glimmering over his round cheeks and angular chin. His wayward brows shone like strands of gold and the crimped wisps on his head were standing up, ablaze.

Finally, she
leaned back in her chair with her hands pushing inward against her skull. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she squeaked.

When the sun was low again, she prepared another piece of toast, this time spreading some peanut butter on top and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. She ate in her recliner, while continually observing Jon, and a few hours later she forced herself up.

The bathroom was warmer now
. She sat on the toilet reviewing her reflection in the mirror. She sniffed, pulled her sweater to her nose, and stared at the tub beside her for a moment, before hanging her head in despair. Eventually, she dragged herself to the front window and gazed out at the driveway. No vehicle could possibly budge in snow that high.

“
There’s no way out of here,” she screamed at Jon. “What the hell am I going to do?!”

That night, she sat under a blanket in the recliner, with her knees tucked up to her chest, eating cold ravioli from a can, as the flames sent surging heat over her. She glared at Jon the whole time, while the shadows gyrated across the wall and ceiling above him. She could no longer stand the silence.

“I’m
okay. Are
you
okay?!” she snapped.

The pasta, which she’d
pressed against the roof of her mouth, suddenly tasted disgusting and stuck in her throat like a wad of cotton. She lifted the can high and hurled it abruptly over his head, where it crashed into the wall and conveniently landed in a blue-bin, which had been left in the corner of the room.

S
he turned away from him. The tall flames were seething as they licked the base of the chimney. Noticing a bloom of red, seeping through her sock where she had picked off a scab, she dragged her bloodied finger across her jeans.

Then she glared back at Jon
, waiting, as if he was going to finally respond, and pulled a coil of hair — stiff as dried glue — away from her eye. The darkened glass doors behind him reflected the potent, oscillating flames and took her attention away from him for a moment. But soon she gazed past them, out into the yard. And then she jumped up.

Striding
past him, she pushed the door, rumbling along its track. Breathing the pine-scented air that drifted inward, and focusing on the silvery shadows at the back of the yard where their tall maple tree strained to be seen beneath the stars, she made a decision.

The sun was well above the horizon. Kate sat in the kitchen, tears dripping past her chin onto the table. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, gazing over to the cocooned bundle on the floor by the couch. She stood and pulled on her coat, then walked solemnly over to him, gripping a flap of blanket.

She
dragged Jon’s wrapped body across the floor and stepped outside, sinking deep into the bright snow. The sun was so warm on her face, it almost felt like spring.

“
Who would have thought this would happen?” she huffed, hauling him through the door, where he glided easily, over the untouched drifts. “I just don’t believe it’s true,” she grunted, and then released a long, hacking cough as she dragged him along. After several yards she needed to catch her breath.

“You were healthier than me!”

She stared at the unresponsive bundle. “You told me I could die first — that you'd be here for me 'til the end. Do you remember that?” She was beginning to wheeze. “Fuck this apocalyptic shit Jon. I wasn’t supposed to be the one left all alone. It isn’t right. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now. Just fuck it.”

S
he fell back into the soft snow and squinted up. Then she covered her eyes with her arm and began to sob. “We had plans… so many plans. We were just getting started.”

The sun
radiated down on her in soothing waves and she wanted to stay there, it was the only comfort she had felt for a long time. She took a deep breath, spread out her arms and legs, and made an angel in the snow. Then she turned her head and gazed at Jon. “Nobody knows me like you do.”

The
cold was going through her coat. She began to pull him again, inch by inch, until finally reaching the maple tree in the corner by the back fence, where sitting down on top of the wood pile she waited to catch her breath. It was peaceful there — though the sight of so many dead birds peppering the snow near the trees was like a cruel fist crushing her heart.

S
he knelt beside him finally, pulled the blanket back and peered at his handsome face. With her palm on his cheek she began to whisper.

“I sense we're not alone
Jon. That’s how I feel right now, even though I can't explain it. I know, you would laugh at me, if you could. But things have changed in a way you will never know.”

She turned
behind her to the provincial forest on the other side of the fence and gazed through the trees, searching; it had been a conservation area and a sanctuary for the animals. Then she stood and looked all around her as far as she could see.

“This
stillness is unbelievable. Even the animals Jon. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this.”

She knelt down again.

“Bless you sweetheart. I’ll love you forever and… I suspect I’ll be joining you soon.”

She pulled
a small jewelry box from her pocket, opened it, and held a locket in her fingers. Inside she had placed a picture of the two of them together. She slid off her wedding band and put it in the box as well. Then she tucked the package over his heart and wrapped the blanket securely around him again, covering his face.

“Don’t
you laugh at my sentimentality Jon — under the circumstances, it really isn’t funny.”

Chapter
Five

As the Crow Flies

(January 15th,
Year One, PA)

Kate
trudged through the shallower, knee-high drifts wherever possible, aware of the trickle of melting snow streaming into the gutters, the handle of a hammer sticking out of her coat pocket. She pushed across her front yard and up the curving steps to Wendy’s garden, finally jiggling the latch to her neighbour’s front door. Then she pulled out her hammer and shattered the glass.

I
t seemed extraordinarily hot in there; a horrible stench hit her immediately, and she backed out onto the porch, gasping, and coughing a hacking cough. Holding her coat collar up to her nose, she re-entered, devastated that her friend was on the floor close to the entranceway. The gas fireplace was still burning.

“Oh Wendy,” she
cried. “Somehow, out of everyone — I thought you might have survived this.”

Stepping around the body
she proceeded to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was jam, almond butter, cranberry juice, a package of processed cheese slices, carrots, onions, and potatoes; everything else was not worth the risk. She laid the items out on the counter and began to search the cupboards, selecting canned beans, instant soup, salsa, and an assortment of crackers, cookies and chips.

While packing the food into bags,
a sudden clang of metal left her standing still, trying to figure out what it was; it had come from another room, not too far away. Then, after a second abrupt twang, she slowly pulled a knife out of the cutlery drawer.

Kate was not small in stature, a
lmost as tall as Jon — who had not only trained her in self-defence, he’d been fairly impressed by the manoeuvres she’d proven worked on him. But, in her sapped condition and a gazillion unknowns still to be resolved she regretted even leaving the house.

Dashing
past Wendy to the entranceway, she was nearly out on the porch when a disparaging peep stopped her in her tracks. She sighed with relief and gazed across the room. How could she have forgotten? Keeping the knife just in case, she crept around the corner past Wendy’s bedroom and peered into the office doorway at the end of the hallway.

“
Oh God… you’ve got no food or water,” she exclaimed, gaping into the tall cage that was sitting on top of a table. “Where has my mind been?” Two sparsely feather cockatiels, one white and one grey, stared at her with eyes that bulged in desperation. She promptly opened their door and they staggered out onto the table.

She put
water down for them immediately, and while they drank, poured out a generous amount of their seed mixture. “As soon as the weather permits, the three of us are heading south, my friends — and not stopping until it’s warm! Not until we are on the beach and under the sun. What do you think about that, eh? As the crow flies my friends.”

As the two of them dug into their food, s
he regarded them thoughtfully. “I’ve got a load of groceries to drop off — but I’ll be back for you soon, okay?”

As she turned the corner t
hey both peeped.

“
I’m glad I found you too,” she called back to them. Then, thumbtacking two sheets of cardboard over the broken window to help keep in the heat, she finally went back for her groceries, throwing in a couple of candy bars Wendy had stashed in a drawer.