The After/Life (The After/Life Odyssey) (8 page)

Chapter XXIV  

I am walking up the remains of a stairway that once led me down here - to a place where I spent most of my life. The first thing I feel is the wind. It’s blowing in my face, cooling my overheated head. The wind - a long forgotten memory… I close my eyes and take it in. The images from my childhood wash over me. My senses have sharpened and my heart is ready to jump out of my chest. The sound of pebbles under my boots stands out in the silence broken only by the crazy beat of my heart. The silence itself feels different. It is not the same as in the constraints of the nuclear shelter. Up here it is somehow…alive. I look up and there is light at the end of the stairway. It is very dim at first but as I climb on it gets stronger and stronger and I have to squeeze my eyes shut and even through my closed eyelids I can feel it. At one point, the light is so strong that I think that if I open my eyes now I will simply go blind. And still I walk on… I stumble and almost fall over as the stairway comes to an end. My eyes are still closed as I stand in a world that I once abandoned forever. Slowly, timidly I open them - the white invades my vision and it floods my mind and I scream out in pain and I look around and there is only the overwhelming whiteness. Am I dead? Is this the nothingness of the murdered world? But little by little, I am starting to pick out shapes swimming out of the whiteness and then, suddenly, the haze is gone and I can see again… I am in the middle of a desert. It stretches as far as I can see and disappears into the stark blue horizon. I block my eyes from the sun and look to the east where I finally discern the thin line of the ocean. There are no buildings around me – everything has been swept away by the blast and buried in the sand. The school is also gone - the stairway I climbed up looks like a surrealistic portal – leading the lost souls into the underground kingdom. But wait! What is that structure right ahead? At first I took it for a hill. But it is not. Its shape seems vaguely familiar. I walk towards it. It takes me around half an hour to get to it. As I finally get close enough I come to a sudden halt, my heart is beating savagely for I have recognized it. What at first seemed like a mountain is actually the hull of a giant ship. The half erased letters on the rusty carcass read – Orpheus. I suddenly remember our first conversation with Suzannah so many years ago as we set together near the air filters: “I made him promise that he would get it repaired as soon as he could and would take me out to sail…” and I continued: “Into the maroon colored horizon…”. Some dreams are never meant to come to life…

I don’t know how long I stand there. The (un)reality of what is happening is overwhelming.

Finally, with an enormous effort of will I make myself look away for right now is the time… right now is the time I make a decision. I knew this time would come but never really allowed myself to think about it…until now. The decision, the choice, the question is - where do I go from here? A sentence from Suzannah letter surfaces in my mind: “I will be heading north towards Bosstown…” “…Remember, Nad - only if it makes you happy.” And as I stand here in front of the majestic remains of the Orpheus, these final words circle in my brain – only if it makes you happy, Nad, only if it makes you happy…

Chapter XXV

I head south. And so my Odyssey begins…
 

And now read on for a glimpse into the continuation of the post-apocalyptic journey...

The After/Life Saga Part II

Prelude

The Fall

His hand felt for a grip and found none. The downward slide continued unabated. There was no sense of movement as the total darkness stole all sense of time and motion. He was lost in nothingness where existence itself was a mere fictional category, along with all the other concepts that had already lost their meaning in his world – truth, freedom, hope… His world – what a naive statement, there was nothing his in that world that he helped create (or destroy - depending on your point of view and preference for over-dramatization). It would be arrogant to suppose that he himself could have a lot to do with the way everything turned out. He was just your ordinary dictator from the eternal line of bureaucrats with clean hands and dirty conscience. After all, at the time, war seemed like a good idea, at least on paper. What wasn’t in that five page memo, prepared by a whole flock of qualified experts, was the utter and irreversible destruction, death of about half of earth’s population, total annihilation of human society as such and a nice little nuclear fallout that engulfed the world in a stylish grey fog that helped the surviving half of the humanity plunge into a further feat of self destruction against the ever engaging backdrop of burning cities…

Perhaps that particular nuclear disclaimer was in the appendix section of the report which he never cared to read. Another mystery that bothered him was less retrospective and more related to his present situation as he had absolutely no idea where he was and how he got there. His last memory was that of boarding a train, which ran deep under the ravaged capital of the country he once so diligently abused /served/ exploited/ governed/ misused/ destroyed. The train was to take him to the ever so promising “undisclosed safe location” from where he was to bring his unwavering voice of leadership to his people who undoubtedly needed wise words of advice/caution/empty promises/emotional addresses from their beloved ruler. Along for the ride on the three-carriage “train of hope” (for whom?) were the equally beloved members of the political/spiritual/intellectual/insert your pointless title here elite who were to guarantee the survival of the fittest (fattest).

Their descent into the tunnels went like a by-the-numbers military operation with the security personnel rushing them on through a brightly lit staircase. The platoon commander reported that there was a risk of an external penetration by what he referred to as “unstable elements”. The news was greeted by dismay from the high level refugees and especially their wives who, dressed up in their best fur coats, found the very idea of being on the run from their own humble servants utterly disturbing…

His memory faded for a moment and he was once again lost in his invisible descent. He couldn’t say for sure but he had a feeling that he started to move faster. There was no wind, for all he knew there wasn’t even air – just the sense of moving down, deeper and deeper. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him – he was just sleeping and going through one of those falling down nightmares. This idea brought immediate comfort. OK, all he needed to do now was to wake up. How about pinching himself awake? Sounded like a splendid idea! He reached out for the pinch of salvation and froze. Something incomprehensible happened and his mind was simply refusing to accept it. This is just a dream he tried telling himself but somehow knew better. The simple truth was that he couldn’t pinch himself awake as he couldn’t find his body. OK, calm down, there must be a logical (or illogical) explanation to this. Just need to think. Need to remember…

They were going down the stairs. They heard muffled cries and gunshots coming from above. The military said there was nothing to worry about. It seemed like the “unstable elements” had after all penetrated the premises of the government bunker, which contained the entrance to the underground depot. These people were mostly unarmed, the security said, and posed no immediate security threat to the highly trained personnel. Nevertheless, they were told to hurry up. He could see clear indications of panic in the lines of his supporters. Many people started running and, inevitably, one of the women, overburdened with the physical and financial side effects of the good life, plunged down, dragging her elderly husband along for the ride. They tumbled down a flight and lay there. No one stopped - people just stepped over them and rushed on lustily. He could hear the woman panting and the man cursing in his thin, cracked voice. The stairs went on and on and on and he witnessed two more similar accidents, which went along the same pattern. In a second, industrial giants and generals were reduced to slobbering creatures, begging for their life, trying to crawl, falling down again only to be succumbed by the ever louder screams of their hunters. Finally, they were at the train station and there it was: the ticket out of this mess. The train with its gracious curves stood out as something ethereal in the otherwise dull surroundings of the depot. He paused for a second to appreciate it. Maybe it wasn’t all lost after all? Maybe he would be able to get through this? So many times he was written off by his peers and time after time he had proven them wrong by finding and hanging on to the straw that would help him climb out of any ugly scandal. No “unstable element” would catch up to this baby! For the first time since the crisis (otherwise known as the end of the world) erupted, he was smiling. Once inside the train his mood got even better – huge comfortable armchairs, drinks, glasses, soothing music – civilization! The gunshots and screams were closer then ever but he didn’t worry. He felt that he had once again found that one tiny straw and he wasn’t planning on letting it go…

His memories were once again interrupted as a new sensation entered his ever lasting downward slide. He didn’t understand the change at once but then a realization dawned on him – he was no longer in complete darkness. The pipe, and it was a pipe, he could see it for sure now, did have an end after all. Somewhere far below him, he could see a reddish glow. The surface of the pipe was not as smooth as he had initially thought – it was covered with strange signs and symbols. As they blurred by, he finally became aware of the speed of his fall. For a moment, he tried to concentrate on the light and that brought him right back to the train. All the passengers were already on board but for some reason the train was not moving. Outside, the soldiers were running around with their weapons drawn… there was a lot of shouting, occasional gunfire and one more sound. At first, he didn’t recognize it and took it for the work of one of the engines of the train… But then he looked out… Out of the narrow exit of the stairway, hundreds of people were flooding out - the sound he heard was that of their feet hitting the concrete. Soldiers had passed on to full automatic fire. Their bullets hit the advancing crowd. A small volcano of blood would erupt from someone’s severed arm of leg. People would fall and immediately disappear in the rapidly advancing human wave.

Finally, the train started to move. He let out a sigh of relief. Then there was a shattering noise and he was showered with glass from the window. The train was gaining speed, the people on the platform flashed by like ghosts. He looked around but no one seemed to pay attention, not to the shattered window, not to the strange object next to him. All the passengers seemed to be in a semi daze: dethroned demigods braced to accept the new reality. He wanted to call someone but his throat was too dry and all that came out was a thick hissing sound. Reluctantly, he reached down for the object. It was a small black box with a little red light blinking on the side. As he picked it up, the blinking became more rapid – the tiny red eye was winking at him, quicker, quicker, quicker… He felt that he couldn’t make himself move, he was hypnotized by the tiny red spot that wanted to tell him something. Suddenly, the winking stopped and he was looking straight into the tiny red abyss…

…The end of the pipe was getting closer. He could see its jagged edges. The red glow was stronger now… he could also feel the heat. As the understanding came, he remembered an old Irish proverb: in life you only have two things to worry about: either you’ll be healthy or you’ll be ill. If you’re healthy, you have nothing to worry about; if you’re ill, you have only two things to worry about: either you’ll get well or you’ll die. If you get well, you have nothing to worry about, if you die, you have only two things to worry about: either you’ll go to heaven or you’ll go to hell. If you go to heaven, you have nothing to worry about and if you go to hell you’ll be so busy shaking hands with old friends that you won’t have any time to worry about anything. As the pipe ended, he saw (this is not possible) that he was in hell (so the descriptions are pretty accurate) and he sure didn’t have any friends to shake hands with (plenty of enemies though). Time to worry…

The Post Apocalyptic Blues Rider

…Evasive sounds of music sipping through the old radio: more than enough to make him warm inside. There was a time… Indeed there was: a distant memory echoing in the emptiness of the desert just like the husky voice of the nameless singer (you must be pretty dead by now, old buddy). There was a time… Time that is no more because we killed it… replaced it with one prolonged (and as added bonus quite radioactive) moment of agony: survive today just to die tomorrow. Be it the New Children, the degenerated and starving refugees or loyal remnants of a government without a country – someone will get you… sooner or later…

Still, there was no fear in his heart: right now, right here it was only him, his car, his dog sleeping in the back seat and the melancholic sounds of the blues coming from the rusty and oh-so-nostalgically retro radio receiver. The road ahead was empty - the breeze was blowing in, clearing his brains from the thick nuclear clouds inside. We killed the heavens and obliterated hell leaving just little islands of meaning in our own homemade chaos - this 2046 Chevy-Nu with a gently humming reactor and a (pretty voluptuous) sea siren on the hood was one of them.

It was certainly a thorny way to get to this point - a lot of people had to die (quite painfully). Was there a choice? Maybe there was, once and humanity already made it, arrogantly going all in and losing it all…

Those naïve savages! He smirked remembering how the residents of the small settlement were so protective of their Blues God that inhabited the car. Only the elders had the right to operate the mystical mechanism that released the infinite wisdom of the resident deity. The legend said that a lonely messiah had brought that mechanism to them before disappearing never to come back again. It was hard enough to trick the fools to let him see the “heavenly chariot”: infinitely suspicious, they even tried to search him lest he carried any heresies that could damage the divine aura: should have looked for something more real and practically deadly instead, like his .45 magnum hidden in his right boot…

Finally, after endless ceremonies, chants and prayers he was led to the holy site of the car. The Great Elder, accompanying him froze with his mouth half open, his eyes fixed on the sky. This is when he pulled out the gun and fired point blank into the man’s face. As the old fool collapsed to the ground in the growing puddle of his own blood, the radio receiver of the car somehow came to life spreading around the haunting sounds of blues. The tribesmen around him were confused and bedazzled by what just happened (welcome to the real world, fellows!) and while some reached for their spears, others stood still with a blank expression of surprise and awe frozen on their heavily tattooed faces. He was absolutely calm: he fired methodically and precisely – shooting to kill. He didn’t need any survivors and anyway he was doing them a favor, liberating them from their pitiful half-existence. And what a great way to go - .45
caliber Desert Eagle gave them the most colorful, explosive death they could ever dream about. As he reloaded the gun, he could see the beauty of the mayhem he was creating: bloody corpses, torn away limbs still sprinkling out blood, people running clumsily for shelter only to be caught by one of his bullets - all this beauty under the enigmatic sounds of blues.

Soon, perhaps too soon, it was all over. As the smoke around him cleared, he once more appreciated his work and holstered the gun with the professional pleasure of a job well done (headshots are the house specialty, ladies and gentlemen!). After a moment of uncertainty, the old reactor of the Chevy-Nu gave out a welcoming bark and the car started. This was his lucky day. As he was driving out of the settlement, his dog Barks appeared from an abandoned shack and jumped in, immediately starting to lick his owner’s stubbly face. Poor Barks… He knew how hard it was for his favorite K9 to leave behind so much fresh meat. There will be more, boy, there will be more (we are, after all, living the nightmare of the world of tomorrow)… But before that, there is the blues… 

The peaceful flow of his thoughts was suddenly and rudely interrupted: a deep crack appeared on his windshield with a small round hole in the center. He looked at the windshield, the crack, the hole – it was right above the steering wheel. He looked down at his chest where a small nuclear mushroom shaped cloud was starting to bloom. Ripping his shirt open, he saw a small hole on the left side of his chest. His vision blurred, he tried to close the wound but the blood still sipped through his fingers. Feeling his senses leaving him, he slowed down; the car swerved off the highway and gently glided into the sands of the desert, gradually grinding to a halt. The gentle collision awakened the dog: it jumped forward and looked at its owner, head bent to the left. It was clearly puzzled. He couldn’t see much anymore; he felt how life was trickling out of his veins, one drop of blood at a time. There wasn’t much he could do. There wasn’t much he wanted to do. As he closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him, all he could care about were the majestic sounds of blues coming from the old, rusty and oh-so-nostalgically retro radio receiver…