Read Ping - From the Apocalypse Online

Authors: Susan Lowry

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Dystopian, #Psychics

Ping - From the Apocalypse (4 page)

BOOK: Ping - From the Apocalypse
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Chapter Six

The Phone
Call

(January 15th to 16th
, Year One, AP)

 

When Kate finally stepped inside with her four bags, she went straight to the fridge and cleared it out, filling a giant bowl with snow from the backyard and sliding it onto the top rack, with her food all around it. But by then, the wind had begun to pick up outside and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Cold drafts puffed in through the cracks around the windows and doors, and she wished they’d had a chance to finish their renovating. The kitchen was already freezing.

She left the other packages on the counter,
suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion — feeling so terrible, in fact, that she worried about the threat of a relapse. After building up the fire and falling into her chair, she nibbled at a candy bar, hoping it would restore some energy; but her stomach was queasy, her neck glands swollen and it hurt to move. Eventually she shivered, wrapped in blankets by the blaze, her cough growing increasingly painful and she was certain the fever had returned.

She drifted into a
fitful night, consumed by a troubling dream that lasted until dawn: some poor child needing to be rescued, pleading and urging her to help him — but trapped in the snow, as much as she wanted to — there was nothing she could do. By morning her wavering spirits had completely plummeted.

It must have been
guilt over not bringing the cockatiels home last night, she decided, while struggling to get down some breakfast. But, she was certain they’d be fine for a while, and her returning illness was of far more concern. It was her own fault for pushing herself before she was ready — though she was out of food. But she hadn’t even taken a proper bath and that couldn’t be good for her health.

She
slogged to the back of the yard, coughing pathetically. At the woodpile she sat for a while, resting, though it was unpleasantly nippy without a hint of sun. “I’ll dig a proper grave in the spring my darling Jon. I promise.” Then, trudging over to the shed, she dug out a bath-sized container, threw some logs into it and hauled her load back to the house.

When steam began to rise from the
stockpot, she carefully slid it from the rack over the fire onto the hearth. After adding more water to make it a comfortable temperature, she removed her clothes and stood in front of the crackling heat, gasping at the dense, crusty bumps all over her and at her protruding bones — shocked to discover how emaciated she’d become.

Fighting
tears, she sat down in the container, filled a plastic jug and drizzled the warm water over her head. She lathered her long dark hair and then her body with shampoo, wiping off the excess foam. Shivering, she rinsed with the last of the water. Then, swathed in towels, she sat on the hearth sobbing, while the heat radiated over her.

Finally, she
shuffled to the bathroom. Her scalp was also encrusted with scabs and her hair impossibly tangled. She snipped a long, reddish-brown strand close to her scalp, continuing all the way around and then running her fingers through the inch that was left, blowing out a huge sigh. On his side of their closet, she found Jon’s flannel shirt, slipped it over her pajamas and fell into bed under a heap of covers.

 

She flushed brownish pee down the toilet and looked in the mirror. With her short hair and the bruises around her eyes she reminded herself of a raccoon. She zipped up a sweater, pulled on a winter hat and dragged her scrawny body to the front window.

Still
no signs of life anywhere.

N
o fresh tracks in the snow, no cars arriving or departing, no hovering spaceships in the sky. Nothing, and everything, had changed. She was cold. And she would have to go out to the woodpile again.

But, while
preparing for her trek to the back of the yard, just as she was about to open the back door, she could barely believe it — her cellphone was ringing and she had no idea where she’d left it!

“Oh my God!”

She raced around the kitchen. The sound came from the chair beneath the table — it had fallen behind a stack of Jon's magazines. She fumbled frantically to answer it in time.

“Hello?” she gasped
.

There was
soft, rapid breathing.


Who is this?”

W
hoever was on the other end of the line was panting weakly but didn’t speak after prompting them several times. She wondered if they could hear her.

“Dad?
Is that you?”

What if he'd suffered a stroke?

“I can hear you breathing,” she shouted.

It was
a miracle the phone had any power left, since it had been days since she’d thought to take it to the car to be recharged.


Listen, I’m afraid we’re going to get cut off in a minute. Can’t you tell me who I’m talking to? I’m snowed in here… but at least let me know who you are.”

She sat down
and took a deep breath.


Look, I don’t know if you know me. But assuming that you do, well, you need to know that… I’m afraid Jon has passed away.”

Kate waited until she could hear the breathing again.

“I’m the only survivor in the entire town as far as I can tell. The roads are not plowed here. Oh, God… you’re the only one that’s called! I’ve tried so many numbers. So I know what you are going through, okay? You just have to hang in there for a while longer. Until people come looking for us. Can you tell me where you are?”

T
he person could be dying as she spoke. They were obviously in a terrible condition not to be able to talk.


You know what, I’ve been extremely sick too… but I’m getting better, and, if you made it this far, I know you will too — I’m sure of it. Anyway, as soon as the snow melts I plan to check on everyone I know.”

The breathing change
d, suddenly erratic, with soft inward gasps, like quiet sobbing. Her heart was breaking.

“I'm so sorry. Are you all alone like me? I hope it wasn't so bad for you. I phoned everyone that I know. No-one answered. Maybe you still have power? I have nothing here. It’s cold, but I’m managing. Hang in there, okay?”

She suddenly realized t
he breathing had the quality of that from a young child. “Can you tap your finger on the phone like this hon? Once for yes and twice for no. See?”

Immediately there were
half a dozen taps.


Oh my God, yes! Now listen. One is for yes, two, is for no. Okay?”

She waited.

“Tap once if you can hear me honey.”

There was one tap.

“Perfect! Now listen carefully. Do I know you?”

Kate heard two taps.

“No?”

Two taps.

“Okay then… do you live close to me?”

Kate heard two taps.

“So is it just a fluke you dialled this number?”

Two
taps.


No? Then how… oh never mind. Um, how old are you?”

Seven slow taps.

“You’re seven years old?”

One tap.

“Oh… I'm so glad you phoned me! I’m going to do my best to find you sweetie, do you understand? I promise. As soon as I can. Isn’t there anyone else around — like your mom or dad?”

T
he breathing quickened and immediately regretting having upset them, she said, “I’m so sorry sweetie. You
are
all alone, aren’t you?”

One tap.

“Listen honey… you have to be very brave. Where do you live sweetheart, in Canada?”

Two taps.

“No? Oh… That’s where I am. Um, what about the US?

One tap.

“You know what? I’m in Canada, but don’t worry sweetie. I can drive down to you. As soon as this snow melts then I can come for you. Is that okay?”

One tap.

“All right. Are you looking after yourself? Is the weather warm where you are?”

One tap.

“Good. Do you have enough food and water?”

One tap.

“So where do you live honey?”

No taps.

“Oh sorry. What about Florida?”

No taps.

“Sweetie, do you live… Hello?”

 

Softened light sifted through the thick layer of white covering the windshield. The engine turned and a frosty blast emanated from the vents. Static blared from the speakers; lack of communication from such a dependable medium was beyond depressing. She shut the radio off and directed the air away from her.

After plugging in
her cell she immediately checked the incoming call history. At least the area code would help her narrow it down. She called the number, checking the gas gauge as she waited. There was exactly half a tank.

Surprisingly, a
fter four long rings, a perky-voiced woman with a strong Asian accent began to speak. “This is Tracy and I’m probably at the office right now. Guess the rest of us are out too. Don’t forget to leave a message. Bye.”

Kate
redialed.


Must be your mother. Shit. Please be okay,” she begged. “You must be too sick to answer… could tell by the way you were breathing. I didn’t even find out if you were a boy or girl.”

Chapter
Seven

Beside the Fridge

(January 17th,
Year One, PA)

 

At sunrise Kate got out of bed, taking her cellphone — which was still by her ear — to the kitchen, where she tried to eat some breakfast. It bothered her to think of Wendy’s cockatiels trapped in a house with their human companion decomposing on the rug. They deserved better.

After a few bites of dry cereal, she put on her coat
and boots, covered her nearly bald head with a hat, and stepped out onto the porch, inhaling the crisp morning air but her returning cough was a woeful reminder of her pathetic health, and as she scanned the neighbourhood from one end of the block to the other, hoping to discover something that had changed, she pulled her coat tighter around her.

A
cross the street, where a larger home was barely visible back in the trees, she gazed at a soaring pine wrapped in a spiral of colourful, twinkling, electric lights — the rays of the sun shining through the bulbs in such a way it appeared almost as if they were turned on. But of course she knew better.

If only she could step
back in time — just a month. The holidays, which felt like an eternity away now, had, after years of disappointment, finally been happy: laughter, food and games, shared with Jon’s family. That entire year, in fact, had been truly wonderful and they’d barely even settled back to work before it was all — so abruptly — gone.

The
ir small cottage had been a vacation property, built in the late forties, and bought by her parents before her mom passed away. There had only been a few good summers spent there, unfortunately — after losing her sister — it wasn’t used much.

Shortly after moving in last
spring, Kate and Jon had begun to juggle the extensive renovations they had planned, with their careers. Both of them fortunate enough to be able to work from home, their move away from Toronto had worked out well for them and they’d discovered how much they truly preferred their new lifestyle close to the beach. When they craved the city, it was only a few hours away.

Last
summer had been Kate’s best ever, she and Jon playing beach bums when they weren’t running their separate businesses. The warm weather brought hordes of prospective customers to her beach-side art studio where her paintings were sold, along with other artists’ work. Much of her inspiration had been found along the water’s edge, where she’d often walked for miles — at times, reflecting on memories of Sarah, her twin.

Kate had
been so absorbed in her thoughts, she was surprised to find herself already standing on Wendy’s doorstep. She stepped inside, and around the corpse, which — due to the fact that it was freezing inside — did not smell as bad as she’d anticipated. She then realized the gas fire had gone out.


Snowy,” she called, suddenly worried, “I said I’d be back. Buddy, where are you?” She went into the spare room and looked inside the cage. “Here birdies,” she called, and then began to whistle. Their food had hardly been touched.

“I’m sorry, I was sick… and there was a phone call. Where are you? I
would have returned right away if I’d known the heat was going to go off. Snowy?!”

Every time she walked a short distance she seemed to get sicker again. Now she was feeling
overwhelmed with thirst and went to the kitchen tap, but the water was no longer flowing. That little slice of reality would have hit her hard — but before she could get too upset about it, she spotted a grey tail-feather on the floor sticking out from the corner of the kitchen counter.

Going
closer, she found Buddy lying on his back. Gently lifting him in her palms, she began to massage his chest. But he was stiff and clearly dead.

“Oh no
… what have I done?” she cried, looking around for Snowy. Between the fridge and the cupboard she noticed a ball of white. She left Buddy on the counter and leaned toward Snowy, but he was too far in to reach. Attempting to ease him out with a broom handle, he was too wedged in; and she couldn’t bear to be rough on him — he was obviously dead too. It was such a shock that she sat down at Wendy’s table in a daze.

“This can’t be happening,” she mumbled. “What was I thinking? They looked so sick, and yet I left them alone.”
Her heart was pounding and she jumped out of the chair enraged at herself. “I can’t do this anymore,” she cried, and suddenly began to hyperventilate. “This is fucking bullshit!!!”

She rushed outside
and down the steps.

“I’m not
doing this anymore!” she screamed. “Do you hear me?! I have had it. You will see.”

BOOK: Ping - From the Apocalypse
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