Saturday, November 6, 2010

Day 3 Draft 3



A Mobisian Eschatology

Flash.



The light encompassed the sky, and for a second he had to look away.  In a somber, melancholy, almost heart stopping way, it was beautiful.


Bam.

It hit him straight in the chest, he was knocked straight off of his feet and was tumbling backwards.  The shockwave was so hot it burned his skin and and the debris tore at his clothes. Then as quickly as it began it was over. No, not over.  The shockwave had passed, he was no longer paralyzed scraping along the ground at it’s whim; but it was not over.  His scraped and bloody palms pressed against the pavement as he pushed himself to his feet.  He hobbled back inside.


He had known this day was coming, but it was so sudden, so surreal.  His leg was stiff, but it wasn’t broken.  He was scraped all over and badly bruised which he noticed as he made his way up the steps.  Much of the second floor had been ripped off by who knows what, but their bedroom was still intact.  He shuffled in and pulled off his tattered clothes carefully, and looked at his wounds in what was left of the mirror.  There was gravel and splinters embedded everywhere.  No time.  



He quickly pulled on his Levis, tossed on a t-shirt, and his ragged old flannel.  He checked his pockets.  Phone, wallet, keys, pocketknife, zippo.  The lighter and the knife were probably the only things he’d keep more than a day, but no use leaving the rest.  He grabbed his pack and rummaged through it muttering out loud as he went, “got the Ka-Bar, the tarp, Carhartt, beans for a few days, lighter fluid, shit I shoulda thought this through”.  He pulled on his boots, and laced them up tightly.  He swung the bag over his shoulder and he was out the door.



The Wrangler had been rolled a couple times but miraculously it was sitting on its wheels.  Every step was excruciating, he must have torn his hamstring. He got to the jeep, flung open the door and got in.  Bits of debris pressed further into his flesh.  The engine turned after a few tries, and he was off.  The air was still hot from the explosion, and with the top torn off and no windows the wind made his scrapes and burns feel like they were new every second.  He had never felt this kind of pain on this many levels.  He tried to think of something other than the pain, but it was searing, oppressive.  And then he thought of them.



Were they alright?  They had been in the city, they could have been vaporized, crushed to death by the falling buildings.  He was driving into massive fallout.  Even if he survived his wounds, if they were dead, he was killing himself slowly and painfully just by driving into the city.  No.  They were alive. If they weren’t alive he had no reason to live.  They were fine, he was going to find them and they were all going to make it.  Somehow.


It was a fools dream to expect them to be alive or to expect to survive himself.  Modern medicine wouldn’t survive the next 24 hours, if it wasn’t radiation poisoning it would be infection.  The pain was unbearable, and as he tried to keep this convoluted argument going in his head, his train of thought was hijacked by it.  He tried to focus on the world around him.  Houses and buildings were in shambles.  Cars flipped over, bodies in the street.  People lying bleeding to death in their yards, survivors weeping over the bodies of their loved ones.  Dear God, would there be someone driving past, looking on with such indifference if he found them dead on a city sidewalk?  He wanted to stop, to help, but he couldn’t.  He had a family to look after.  He had to save them.  He was going to save them.

He was in utter agony.  His leg was tightening up, and he could barely move it.  The steering wheel felt like hot coals, the seat like glass, and the wind tore at every uncovered inch of skin.  At least Chelsea had taken the car.  If he didn’t have the jeep he’d be walking by now.  The road was littered with rubble.  The buildings on the perimeter of the city were partially intact, but many were lopsided or had sections broken free.  Most of the lights this far into the city had been knocked out, but everything was lit up by the glow of a thousand untamed fires.

By the dim firelight he could see dozens of looters breaking into store fronts, taking jewelry and wallets off of the dead, and even the injured.  They just left them where they lay. They took their purses or wallets and left them there.  Bleeding. Dying.  As he climbed over a concrete slab his headlights shone onto a looter hovering over a corpse.  Christ, was that?  It was Michael, from work.  He had just seen him Friday and now?  Stealing the watch off of a body still warm in the street.  He couldn’t bare to ask himself; was this what people were really like?  Then he rounded the corner onto Third, and there they were. The jeep screeched to a halt, and he hobbled as fast as he could to them.


No.  This was a dream.  This wasn’t real.  



He fell to his knees he and he cried out in agony.  Rachel.  Chelsea. He picked up his daughter and cradled her in his arms.  Tears ran down his face, the salt stung the scrapes on his face.  He crawled over to his wife, and stroked her cheek. And there he sat, lover and child in his arms growing cold.  A lake of fire around him, broken, bruised, and cut.  And then the ash began to fall down on him like snow and a cold breeze grazed his flesh and he struggled to take a breath.  He coughed, and he could feel the blood in his lungs.  He tried to yell but he couldn’t find the air.  Someone was taking the jeep.  He heard the building beside him cracking and faltering.  His hamstring screaming, his entire body numb with pain.  Darkness.



The television cut to blue. “This is the emergency broadcast system please stand by”.  A mans voice came on hasty and deshovled, “Nuclear war has been (a clearing of a phlem filled throat), has been declared.  If you are in a major city, do not try to take anything just get as far from the downtown area as-



He turned it off and ran upstairs.  He started filling his army bag.  Knife, jacket, tarp.  “Chelsea and Rachel!”  He muttered out loud, his heart sunk.  They had gone downtown for ballet practice, fuck.  Why didn’t he go with them?  He tried Chelsea’s cell phone, nothing.  “Fuck!” he yelled as he ran downstairs, and out the front door.  He made it to the driveway when-



Flash.


The light encompassed the sky, and for a second he had to look away.  In a somber, melancholy, almost heart stopping way, it was beautiful.

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