The End (4 page)

He wasn't sure what to do with himself.  His apartment was
on South Street and to the best of his knowledge, a jet had just crashed into his bedroom.  All he had were the clothes on his back.  He didn't even have a car and somehow he doubted the subway system was in working order.  It was only about an hours walk to Center City but what sort of fucked up chaos awaited him there?  After a while he decided to check it out anyway and within half an hour he was trudging up Broad Street.

The city looked like a scene from pretty much any disaster movie he'd ever seen and yet it was so unbelievable he had to physically shut and rub his eyes several times
just to be sure.  He saw a car sticking out of the subway stairwell near City Hall, and a roach coach in flames.  Piles of clothes were everywhere, some on fire, some blowing around like tumbleweed.  A street sweeper was making its way down Market Street all on its own.  Cars were on top of cars.  A city bus was sticking out of the Hard Rock Cafe.  The worst of it, though, wasn't the sites but the eerie silence of it all.  There were no sirens, no screams, no cries.  In a way it was peaceful as well as chaotic. 

Leo looked away from the bus. 
The Dunkin Donuts at the Reading Terminal was intact so he went in.  He grabbed a bag and filled it with crullers then grabbed an extra large cup of coffee with cream and sugar that was sitting on the counter waiting to be picked up.  He made his way to the Burlington Coat Factory and changed his clothes.  He also found a backpack and filled it with a few spares.  There was a new Samsung Galaxy S4 lying on the checkout counter, still plugged into a charger.  He took those as well. 

Leo
tossed his Holladay baseball as he walked along 11th street.  The smell of smoke was overpowering and he knew he couldn't stay in the city for long.  Whatever this was didn't seem like it was going away anytime soon.  He stopped suddenly in mid-toss, the ball hit the ground and rolled under a car.  Something was moving on Race Street.  He hid behind the car a moment later when the
something
made a whining noise.  He turned down Race towards Chinatown ducking behind cars as he went.  Yes, there was definitely something moving down there.  It looked like one of those horse drawn carriages only no driver.  The sort of touristy thing a young couple might use to check out the sites.  There was no driver but there was a horse.

. . .

Finn cautiously drove around each explosion as he came upon them.  There were quite a few as he left the airport and another hot mess on the highway but
luckily nothing too impassable.  He parked the puke green Honda in front of Citizens Bank Park and got out.  The car had been idling, a pair of khakis and a blue polo sitting in the driver seat, near baggage claim.  Lucky day indeed.  After seeing the peculiar message on TV, he knew someone had been at the ballpark recently and had to see if they were still there but as he explored the stadium he found that he was still alone. 

He'd been able to get inside the employees only areas far more easily than he expected.  He'd even checked out the locker rooms to no avail.  Finally
an hour or so later he'd come upon Mike's office and found the computer Leo had used to edit the jumbotron.  The window was still open and without much effort, Finn had changed the message to
Leo is a tosser
.  He'd identified the man with the baseball bat by the
last edited by
log still on screen.Frustrated that there was nobody there, he eventually left the ballpark.

The GPS on the iPhone he'd picked up worked remarkably well.  He'd jokingly said to it, "Take me to your leader." and it had given him directions to City Hall.  He'd abandoned the Honda after it began looking like walking would be quicker and continued towards the city, unsure as to exactly what he was going to do once he got there.  Hell he wasn't even sure whether th
is Leo character would be there, in fact he was almost certain that he wouldn't be.   In the end, though, Finn never made it to City Hall.

Leo couldn't believe his eyes.  As he and his horse trotted back towards the ballpark he did a double-take.  A tall lanky man in a white sport coat was walking down the middle of the street right towards him.  He was jumping up and down and waving his arms yelling
something wildly.  As he edged closer to the man, his heart skipped a beat when he heard him shout, "Leo!"

3

Soleil swayed back and forth amid the crowd rocking out at Soho Rock Fest IV.  For her the blackout wasn't a visual spectacle.  She was already in the zone, buzzing like she'd been buzzing since the night before at the post-after-party.  No she didn't see the thousands of people bobbing and swaying around her disappear all at once but she heard it.  All at once the music, the cheering, the shouting, the whistles, the riffs, the beats, the explosions stopped.  One-two-three-four-five... Soleil opened her eyes and fell to her knees at the site of it all.  A field full of empty clothes... and then darkness returned to her as she fainted.

She awoke suddenly.  It was still day and she was still all alone in the field.  A minute might have passed or a day for all she knew.  This wasn't necessarily a new experience for her.  She'd passed out before and come to in unfamiliar places with little to no memory of how she'd gotten there or what she'd done the night before.
The feeling of disorientation when this type of thing happened usually faded quickly when something familiar triggered a fleeting memory, a smell, a familiar face or place.  On occasion there would be no familiarity and Soleil would be forced to gather her things and awkwardly make her way out of the apartment or tour bus she'd happened upon the night before.

She'd even woken up in empty fields after a day or night of partying before now. 
The clothes though... that was new.  It wasn't just clothes either, she noticed.  On the stage a hundred yards away she could see a drum set and guitar.  All of the speakers were still humming as well.  To her left a grill was smoking where a row of overcooked hot dogs still lay.  Another sweep of the field showed her she must have been out for a while, a few heaps of clothes smoldering here and there where previously lit cigarettes had landed.  The sun glinted off a few smart phones, eye glasses, discarded jewelry and a smattering of other shiny objects.

She began taking inventory of her own possessions as well as the events leading up to her current predicament.  Did she try any weird drugs last night?  No mostly just the booze that
Cora had schmoozed off of some guy.  Cora!  Where the hell was Cora?  They'd been together just before the last set began she remembered.  Cora had to take a piss so she'd left Soleil to make her way towards the line of port-a-potty's near the parking lot.  Soleil grabbed her bag and made her way towards the parking lot.  On her way she picked up several things she thought looked interesting and shoved them into her bag, looking around as she did, just in case.

As she approached the port-a-
potty's she stopped dead in her tracks.  There on the ground all in a heap was Cora's Kiss My Shit t-shirt.  There was only one shirt like it in the world as far as she knew because she'd made it herself.  Just to the side of it was a pink skirt and a pair of black and red Doc Martens with rainbow socks still in them.  Soleil wanted to scream and run away suddenly feeling very mortal but she remained silent.

Everything was still.  Everything was silence.  She was fearful of making any noise at all.  Fearful of what may come for her if she made her presence known.   When a stray microphone rolled closer to one of the speakers a loud piercing screech filled the air.  Soleil nearly pissed herself.  She was staring at the stage now, hands over her ears.  The screeching didn't stop and she knew it wouldn't unless she did something about it.  She ran across the field, hands still covering her ears.  She climbed onto the stage and kicked the mic onto the field.  No sooner did the silence return before it was replaced by another horrified screeching sound.  Soleil realized after a moment that the sound was coming from her.

There in the middle of the field stood a small child not 100 yards from Soleil.  Her pale face was expressionless and she appeared to be surrounded by wisps of black smoke forming almost wing-like behind her back.

"Hey!" shouted Soleil.  "Hey, little girl!"

There was no response.  The child stared at her from the middle of the field.  Soleil couldn't help but wonder where the little shit in her stupid pink hoodie came from.  Maybe there was something extra special in that booze from last night after all because this was just too goddamn weird.  The girl remained motionless although the black wisps of smoke, clearly not dissipating in the faint breeze, did appear to flutter occasionally. 

Soleil jumped off stage
and headed towards her.  As she approached within 50 yards of the little girl thing she stopped dead in her tracks.  The girls head moved.  More like a twitch than anything fluid.  She remained expressionless but her mouth was opening now.  Opening wider than any normal mouth of a child had any business doing.  It opened even wider still, just wide enough to, Soleil thought, to swallow her head whole.

There was a loud rumbling and then "GET DOWN!"

Soleil obliged, fainting again.  The girl’s mouth slammed shut, her cheeks contorting back to normal and her once expressionless face screwed up into a scowl as a bearded man on a red motorcycle swung a guitar at her head.  The little girl disappeared in a swirl of black.  Several dark objects appeared around her and then they all continued eastward.  When Soleil came to moments later the first thought that popped into her head she said aloud, "Santa?"

. . .

Patrick hummed along to the practicing choir of parishioners in the main hall as he prepared his Sunday sermon.  He was mostly stuck on the part about raising awareness on upcoming community projects and events.  The message was always hard to convey.  Speaking of faith, God, Jesus, that was the easy part.  Incorporating a solid fundraising message within?  Well.  That just made it all feel cheap.  But at the end of the week, tithe didn't keep the cross hung on the wall and unfortunately neither did faith.

He ran his fingers through his beard. 
So what do you say to the people that trust you enough to preach to them about something as significant as their faith?  How do you
sell
the message of God?  It was never about abundance for Patrick.  His intentions were true... but the business of running a church, at times, was very difficult to manage without selling yourself out.  How do you keep a church standing, help the community, and spread the message of God without funding?  It's not like he could sell ad space in the weekly newsletter.  Could you imagine? 
Come to Church Monday night for a second helping + $2.99 off a small ice cream cone at Dixie's Dippin' Dots.
  Yeah right.

When everything suddenly went black he didn't even
notice as he'd been bowed in prayer for the few seconds when everything went down.  When he opened his eyes his office was unchanged.  What caught his attention was the silence.  The choir was in full swing one moment and then... nothing.  He couldn't help but feel butterflies in his stomach anytime he prayed for a message, a sign, or any help from God because he
knew
that someday God would answer.  So when Patrick asked God what he was doing wrong, what he could do or say to make the "flock" want to help their fellow man and the church, he got what he believed was his first real answer.

When the choir didn't begin their practice again he stood and made his way to the main hall.  As
he approached the stage he found that his parishioners were no longer there—their robes askew on the stage. As if that weren't shocking enough, before he could yell rapture, a Blue Moon delivery truck full of beer crashed through the stain glass window of the church.

Patrick bolted to the truck to see if anyone was hurt but the cab was empty. 
He peered through the gaping hole in the stained glass.  Across the street he could see another accident and here and there he noticed more clothes laying about in the shopping center just past the accident.  To his left he could make out a red dodge ball rolling across the parking lot, the daycare children nowhere to be seen.

He quickly made his way to the back office of the church, "Fran!  Call 9-1-1 there's been an accident!"
  Fran's flowered dress was on the floor atop her signature yellow Skechers but no Fran.  Father Patrick picked up the receiver to dial 9-1-1 but there was only static, not even a dial tone.  He slammed the receiver down, frustrated at the new device and instantly missing his old landline phone. 

Fran had insisted on upgrading the office phone to the latest
VOIP model.  Something about 2.4mhz phone static interference making it difficult to collect money when nobody could hear her.  He knew though, deep down, that some of his parishioners weren't passed
pretending
to be unable to hear their calls.  So he'd ponied up the money out of pocket to upgrade the phone.

He pushed his wire frame glasses up the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 
What is this, God?  Is this your sign? 
There was an explosion followed by a loud screeching noise (or was it a scream?).  Patrick ran back to the main hall and stared out the gaping hole.  He looked up, compelled to identify the source of the inhuman call.  Way up high he saw two dark objects hovering in the sky.  He'd swear one of them was wearing a pink hoodie if he'd believed it himself.  A third object appeared to shoot up towards the other objects from out of nowhere—all flying on dark non-corporeal wings. 
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. 

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a key. 
What in the heavens is going on?
  He strode across the church parking lot and hopped onto his cherry red Suzuki Intruder. 
It's the end
, he thought,
it's the end of days and I've been left behind like a... like a.... 
He gunned the engine and glared up at the sky, whether at God or the dark objects hovering just far enough to be indiscernible, he wasn't quite sure in his heart.   The dark objects shot eastward. 
Fuck it
, he thought and took off after them.

. . .

"No, dear, I'm afraid not." Patrick said putting his hand out to Soleil, "I think it's best if we get inside." Soleil looked warily up at the man. He pulled his hand back, "I see."

"Yeah I guess not.  That sure ain't Santa's sleigh
," eyeing the Intruder after a moment more of hesitation.

He resisted the urge to ho-ho-ho
, "My name is Patrick and it seems to me that we are sharing the same nightmare."

"Yeah," Soleil began, "Nightmare is right.  What the hell is going on?  Where is everybody?"

"I don't know, dear."

"Soleil."

"Soleil," he smiled, "French for the Sun.  I don't know, Soleil.  You're the first pile of clothes with a person in them I've seen in several hours."

Soleil began to sob, "I thought I was hallucinating."

"I kind of wish you were.  I've been following those... those things.  They led me right to you," Patrick frowned and extended his hand again, "Let's get out of here.  There's a shopping center down the way.  We can freshen up there."

Soleil nodded and stood up.  She wiped her eyes as best she could and straightened her clothes then got on the motorcycle behind him.  The field was filled with the rumble of the Intruders engine.  The sun began to set behind them as they took off towards the shopping center.

. . .

They sat in silence, quietly munching on Wendy's burgers and fries that were only a few hours old.  Quite possibly the last fast food they'd ever eat.  The food had been sitting under a heat lamp.  The scene at the restaurant was much like everything else.  Discarded clothes here and there.  Soda splashed on the floor where a lidless cup had fallen.  The odor of greasy fries still soaking in the fryer was everywhere.  Soleil looked up at Patrick into his old eyes. 

They'd talked as he drove them to the shopping center.  She learned that he was a youth minister in a town a few hours west of here.  She told him very little about herself after that.  What do you really say to a minister when your life is pretty much the definition of sin? 
They compared notes but didn't come to any conclusions about the end of the world either.  The one thing they had in common at the moment, other than the apparent disappearance of everyone else on Earth, was hunger. 

"What do you think those things were?" asked Soleil finally.

"Demons," Patrick replied without hesitation before taking another hunk out of his triple cheeseburger.

"Yeah I guess."  Soleil got up and refilled her cup from the frosty machine, "So where do we go from here?"
she asked as she sat down, shoveling more chocolaty goodness into her mouth, "I guess I mean, where you were headed is fine."

Patrick looked at her for a moment tentatively, still chewing. 
"Like I said before, I've just been following those things eastward since everything happened."  He pointed a finger at her and asked, "Better yet, where do you
want
to go, Soleil?"

"Abbey Downs," she said immediately.  She looked confused, "but I have no idea wh
y that is."

"Interesting..."
Patrick said, "I was thinking the same thing."