Millennium

By: Doug Doughtie
© 1997 by Doug Doughtie

Through the blackness, Mason screamed. He had never before felt this kind of pain. It was an ocean of agony, in which he was quickly drowning. The basement had offered some protection, but it had still collapsed, bringing the rest of the house down on him. If it weren’t for the bed he had been hiding under, he would not have survived. “I didn’t make out much better this way,” he thought, as he clenched his eyes shut to dull the pain. It didn’t matter. There was no light. There was nothing to see even if they had been open. He felt down his leg to what he thought could be the origin of the pain, though he wasn’t sure. The pain seemed to come from everywhere. His hand touched something warm and sticky. He quickly swallowed to fight back the bile rising in his throat. Steeling himself, he reached further, to his knee. Through the blood, he could feel that his leg bent at about a thirty degree angle the wrong way under a heavy beam that pinned it down. Completely independent of his control, tears rolled down his cheeks. He had always prided himself on his ability to hide his feelings, but dammit, he was scared. Everything had changed. All the old certainties had passed away. He could no longer trust what he knew. If anything were left out there, it would not be what he was used to. It would be a new world. But first, he had to get out of this rubble. He grunted and cried with pain as he lifted the heavy beam that pinned his leg down. He strained against it, and finally was able to raise it a few inches off his leg. Groaning, he moved it to the side and dropped it. He started to claw at the sides of the rubble heap that trapped him.

Hours later, Mason felt a breeze move across his hand. He had found the outside at last. In an hour, he had widened the hole enough so he could crawl through. “Well,” he thought, “Time to see what we’ve done.” He closed his eyes, steeled himself against the pain of moving his leg, and crawled haphazardly through the hole. He felt the warmth of the sun on his back, so he lay down, exhausted, and opened his eyes to the sky. Nothing. He could feel the sunlight beating down on him. He could feel the fresher air, so he had to be out of the rubble heap. There had to be some light to see things by. But there was nothing. Ahead, he could see only blackness. How could it be this dark in the middle of the day? Where was the sun he had felt? Then, suddenly, Mason realized. The tears started once again to flow freely down his cheeks. He was blind. How could he survive in this hostile world without his eyesight?

Suddenly, a white-hot rage filled him. They had done this. They had destroyed everything in the name of God. Damn them! Those bastards had done this! He had never before minded being alone, but now, thanks to their arrogance, he was blind, crippled, and probably one of the only ones left. He wanted to kill them. He wanted to find them alive and pummel them, slit their throats, and smear their dark blood on their faces. But they had to be dead now. If he could only find their bodies. They at least deserved to be defaced. The burning anger shot through him, tensing his whole body. His crying was steady now, and made his face feel wet and sticky with tears.

As he slowly came out of the seething, hateful rage that consumed him, he became aware of a warm, wet object moving across his face, washing the dirt and tears away. He put his hand up defensively, and it came in contact with a warm, furry coat. He heard the dog whimper, and felt the muscles in its back contracting as it wagged its tail. Or as it tried to wag its tail, for Mason’s further examination of the creature revealed that it had no tail. Only a bloody stump was left where the dog’s tail should have been. But, by its very presence, the dog gave Mason hope. He felt around for rubble that could help him. He found a splintered two-by-four about three or four feet long, which he used along with his tattered shirt to make a splint for his leg. He growled in pain as he set the bone, but finally he finished the splint. Then, he found another piece of wood from his house, this time about five feet long, and tried to use it to pull himself up.

Pain blossomed in him, and he fell back to the ground. He lay on the ground, gritting his teeth against the hurt. His breath came in short gasps, and he growled as he tried to overcome the pain. He had to lock it away if he were to survive. He had to pretend it wasn’t there. What was needed was a mental barrier. He had to lock his pain behind a door so he could go on. He pictured a red blur, which was his pain, and imagined it being forced into a room, and the door being closed, locked, and barred. Surprisingly, it helped a little. The fire died a bit and he could breathe normally. He tried again, groaning in pain as he pulled himself up the pole. After what seemed like hours of struggling, he made it up, and stood on one foot, leaning heavily on the pole. He was exhausted. Just the effort of standing and defying the pain left him physically drained, and he felt like he would soon fall asleep despite the searing fire that coursed through him. The dog barked, as if congratulating him on his victory over the pain. The poor thing didn’t have a clue as to what had happened. Mason himself wasn’t so sure. All he was sure of was that everything he knew was destroyed. He could still hear the fires burning, but now no fire trucks rushed to quench the flames. He felt bitterly alone.

He stared blankly over the landscape he could no longer see. It would have been better if he had died with the rest. Now he was blind and alone, doomed to die slowly from exposure. His hopeless situation overwhelmed him, and he noticed he was still crying. He had been crying steadily since he emerged from the rubble, but now he stopped. What was he doing? Why was he standing here feeling sorry for himself when there could be other survivors? They needed his help now, not when he was done wallowing in misery.

Almost as if it had read his mind, the dog ran off barking. Not knowing what else to do, Mason cautiously but quickly followed the sound, using his staff to scout out the ground ahead of him. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the dog, who stopped barking when he arrived and started to sniff furiously at something down on the ground. He reached down to investigate and his hand brushed something warm and soft. He reached back to it, and felt a foot. Mason moved his hand and discovered a head covered in thick, soft hair. It was a young girl wrapped in a blanket. She was hugging her knees to her chest and silently rocking back and forth. Mason put his hand on her shoulder. She did not respond to his touch, but continued to rock.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” asked Mason. The girl gave no indication that she had heard him. Mason moved directly in front of her and said, “Do you need help, ma’am?” Still she gave no response. “Are you hurt?” Mason said louder. This girl seemed catatonic, except for her rocking. She showed no signs of consciousness, except that she continued to stare straight ahead and rock. “Can you stand?” asked Mason, becoming very concerned. Still nothing.

Mason suddenly became aware that the air had grown chilly, and the warmth from the sun had fled. He heard a cricket chirping in the distance. Night must have fallen. He hadn’t realized until now how tired he was. Adrenaline had been pumping through him since he regained consciousness, and he had not been able to sense his growing fatigue. But now, it flooded into him, and he felt himself growing painfully drowsy. He sat down next to the girl. Since she was still conscious, and he had felt no blood when he touched her, he assumed she was not hurt badly. At least, he hoped she wasn’t. “If you feel like talking later, or you need help, just wake me up. I’d love to help you, but I can’t stay awake with you forever waiting for you to talk. Good Night.” He lay down next to her and listened to her breathing and the slow, rhythmic sound of the grass beneath her as she rocked, and soon drifted off into a deep sleep, the dog curled up next to him.

- - - - -

Mason sat at home in his recliner in front of the TV. She sat across the room in the couch, sewing. She was beautiful. He knew he would always love her. He had known it for a long time, and he had never stopped believing it since they married. He was watching a commercial for some sort of beer, and the television showed dozens of scantily-clad, well-endowed women running around on a beach. This kind of advertising had no effect on him anymore. She was always there, across the room. She far outweighed any plastic Hollywood women that were on the commercials. He had never before been so happy, and he didn’t believe he would ever be again. He looked at her, eyes full of love. She looked up at him, returning his gaze. She smiled. He had never seen anything in the world that could compare to that smile. He could bask in the radiance of that smile for days. He was filled with warmth, and he couldn’t look away. She stood up, beautiful even in the casual bluejeans and old t-shirt she wore.

“I’m going to the store for some more thread. I’ll be back soon.” She kissed him, grabbed the keys off the end table, and walked out the door. He watched her every movement until she was out of sight. After all these years, she still looked as beautiful as he could imagine.

He decided he would make her dinner for when she came back. He put together some chicken pot pies he had in the freezer. She loved chicken pot pie. He set the table, put some romantic music on in the background, and sat down to wait for her.

She never came back.

- - - - -

The next morning, Mason awoke to the sound of screaming. He sat bolt upright, wincing as the sudden movement brought to life again the fiery pain in his leg. The sound of terrified screaming filled the air. It seemed to come from behind him and to his right. He felt around for his staff. The dog was no longer next to him, and the girl wasn’t sitting where she had been. He found his staff just where he had laid it down the night before and grabbed it. He set it upright and tried to pull himself up with it. The pain again flared, but he locked it away as he had the previous day. He struggled up, using the staff to brace him. He finally made it to his feet and started to move as quickly as he could without blacking out toward the source of the sound. Each step sent a red-hot spear up his leg. The pain coursed through his body, wracking him almost beyond his ability to stand it, but somehow he made it to the source of the screaming. He collapsed the moment he reached it, barely staying awake.

He reached out towards the screaming, ignoring the pain, and felt a head covered by thick, soft hair. It was the girl. She was thrashing about and tossing her head violently from side to side as if she were in a fevered nightmare. At a loss for any other explanation, Mason guessed that must be the case. He located her shoulders and shook them. The screaming stopped, and the thrashing subsided. He must have awakened her. She was still and silent, breathing heavily for a few moments. Her head darted from side to side, and her breathing slowed, but it was accompanied now by sobbing. She had obviously been frightened, and was now crying as uncontrollably as he had been before, though not because of pain but relief.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg as he sat up next to her. He put his arm around her to comfort her. The girl now gave her first sign of awareness. She leaned against him, put her face in the crook of his shoulder and chest, and cried.

“Shhh....” said Mason, “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

She cried on his shoulder for almost an hour. Mason just held her, told her it was okay, let her know that there was someone that cared. He stroked her hair, and held her tightly. He rocked her back and forth and comforted her. He remembered how his mother always used to do the same thing, and somehow it had always helped. He remembered her firm hold on him as he cried. She would rock him back and forth and tell him it was okay. Now he was doing the same thing for this girl. She cried and cried, and he just held her and talked. He said all was well. He said it was okay. He lied.

As her sobbing grew softer, and she started to calm down, Mason told her his name. “I’m Mason Starnes,” he said, “I’m a lawyer. Or rather, I used to be a lawyer. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting much business now.” He almost laughed at his joke, but he realized the situation was not funny at all. She stopped crying and her breathing became more even, but still she clung to him. He wanted to tell her everything would turn out fine, that it was just a bad dream, but it wasn’t. This destruction, all this wreckage and rubble, was the bitter truth. This harsh reality was where they would have to learn to live. But at least he didn’t have to tell her that. He just stroked her head and comforted her.

They held each other for a few minutes more, Mason being as comforted by her presence, as she was by his. Then she let go, and sat up straight. She stood up, and reached down to hold Mason’s hand. He grabbed the staff with the other hand, and she helped him to rise.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Huh?” Mason was so shocked hearing words come from the mouth that had until now been silent, he could think of nothing more to say.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Thank you Mason.”

“So you can speak,” he said. “Why didn’t you before?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice trailed off, as if she were remembering something painful. “I don’t know.” Her breathing quickened, and little sounds issued forth with some of her breaths. With each second, her memory came closer to claiming her once again.

“Who are you?” shouted Mason, wanting to keep her from being once again consumed by her mind. “What is your name?”

Her breathing slowed again, and the fear left her voice. “I’m...Angela,” she said, slowly coming out of her trance. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s so hard to remember. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Suddenly, the dog, who had been missing since Mason awoke, returned barking. It ran up to where Mason and Angela stood, barked, then ran off.

“I think it wants us to follow it, but I can’t. I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned against Angela, all his strength gone. He felt so helpless. She put her arm around his back and he put his around her shoulders, and she helped him to walk. They walked for a few hundred feet, each step bringing the pain to bear in him, but she helped him with each step. He felt much better with her there. They reached the dog, who was sniffing at the ground.

Mason heard Angela gasp. “What is it?” he asked. He could hear her silently kneel to the ground. “What is it, Angela?” he asked again. Instead of answering, she started to cry. “Angela?” Her sobbing started anew, and she seemed like she was before. Uncontrollable. Her breathing was irregular and she gasped for air through the tears. She was once again being claimed by the memory that plagued her. He put his hand on her shoulder, hoping his touch would bring her back out of it.

“No!” she screamed. “Get away from me! Go away!” The fury in her voice frightened him. It was not just anger, but a horrible fear accompanied by resentment and blind hatred that had poured out of her mouth with those words. “You bastard!” she cried.

He backed away from her, keeping a cautious distance, but still she continued to fight, as if warding off an invisible attacker. “Get away! Stop! Please!” The anger in her voice subsided quickly into pleading, but still retained it’s air of fear. “Don’t...please...stop...” She continued to mutter, and the sounds of her struggling faded, as if she had given up.

“Angela!” Mason shouted. “Angela!” She did not respond, but continued to sob and quietly plead with the apparitions of her mind’s eye. Frightened, Mason reached out and grasped both of her hands. He was scared that he would lose her. She was the only other person alive so far, and he couldn’t afford to lose her to this mental spectre. She struggled against his grip, but held tight. Not knowing what else to do, he just spoke to her. He told her to come back, to fight the memory. He continued to talk, not daring to stop, while he tried to send her a lifeline. He pictured her drowning, and him throwing a rope of light to her. In his vision, she grabbed ahold, and slowly made her way back to the shore. Gradually, she stopped struggling, and her mumbling ceased. Finally, she stopped all signs and was back with him, sobbing in his arms.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.” He held her again as she calmed down.

“Shh. It’s okay. Whatever it was is gone now. I’m here.” She stopped sobbing, and her breathing returned to normal.

“How...how did you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“When I was pulled into that memory, I felt you there.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how, but I felt you. You were there, holding your hand out to me. I followed you, and you led me out of the dream back here. How did you do that?”

“I just didn’t want you to get swallowed by your own mind.”

“It seems as if I’m always thanking you for something, Mason Starnes,” she said. By the distortion of her voice, Mason could tell she was almost smiling.

“What happened?” Mason asked cautiously. Angela went silent. “Angela?”

“Last night,” she said, obviously having great difficulty with each word, “I went to a new year’s party that one of my friends was holding.” She breathed in, trying to control herself. “She introduced me to two guys I’d never met, Jeff and Rodney. They were really nice. I especially enjoyed the company of Rodney, and we ended up talking most of the night. Of course, the conversation got a little crazy after they brought out the beer and champagne.” She trailed off, not able to continue.

“Angela, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do!” She interrupted him with such force, he decided it would be better to let her continue. “Rodney and I were getting to like each other romantically, and we both knew it. As the night passed, we danced, talked, and generally became closer. At about half-past eleven, I started to feel a little sick. I had been drinking a little too much, and it caught up with me. Rodney offered to take me home. Through the bubbles in my head, it sounded like a good idea, so I consented.” Her voice cracked, but she continued on. “We drove for a while, and as we passed one of the empty fields between my friend’s apartment and my house, Rodney pulled off to the side of the road.” She choked, struggling to fight back tears and to not let the memory take her over. “‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. I didn’t reply, but tried to smile. ‘Good.’ he said.

“He reached over and held his hand behind my head, running his fingers through my hair. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. Then he kissed me. Well, needless to say, I was floating, but that was the alcohol. I mistook it for something else. ‘I’m in love with you, Angela,’ he said. I just giggled. The champagne had given me a white haze to see through. That was when he...” Angela was fighting the memory with all her might. “He slid his hand up my shirt. I...I tried to stop him, but I didn’t have the coordination to just find his hand in the swirling haze the liquor had invoked, much less the strength to push it away. ‘Rodney,’ I mumbled, ‘No. Please stop.’ I don’t know if he didn’t hear me, or didn’t care, or if he just couldn’t understand my slurred speech, but he didn’t stop. He started to unzip my dress. He... He...”

“Angela stop. It does no good to think back. Don’t think about it. Stop, Angela. Please.” Mason pleaded with her, afraid she’d be claimed again by her mind, but she wasn’t. She was just furious. Her body tightened, and the anger coated her voice.

“He raped me, Mason! He held me down, and he raped me!”

“I’m sorry,” Mason said. He knew it wasn’t nearly enough, and that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ couldn’t hope to help, but he couldn’t think of what he should say. “Some people are scum.”

“You’re damn right they are!” she snapped.

Mason was silent, not knowing if there even existed an appropriate answer to that accusation. For a long time, they sat together in silence. She breathed heavily, as the re-awakened anger from the memory coursed through her body. He just breathed quietly, sat still, and did everything he could to avoid drawing her attention. He sat still, quiet, and small, hoping to avoid her wrath.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Mason? I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s nothing you did. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I caused it to happen. Maybe there’s no one to blame but myself.”

“No, Angela.” Mason looked up, and was suddenly firm. “It’s not your fault. I want you to understand that. It’s not your fault. Rodney was just an asshole. There’s assholes all over the place. You just got stuck with one of the worst. It’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. I won’t let you go on thinking it was you, because it’s just not true.”

“Mason?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks again.”

Mason smiled. “It’s what friends do.” They got up and started walking in some direction. There was nowhere to go, and they both knew it, but they couldn’t just sit and wait for death. Mason’s leg had stopped hurting quite as much, and he could now hobble about without too much pain.

“Angela?” Mason asked.

“Yeah?”

“What did you find back there? You know...what was it on the ground?”

Angela didn’t answer at first. She stopped instantly in her tracks, and she drew in a sharp breath. “It...it was nothing,” she said.

“Angela, please. What was it?”

She hesitated for a long time, then drew a long breath. “It was Rodney,” she said.

- - - - -

They walked among the rubble heaps of houses, shops, and offices for hours, searching desperately for survivors that needed their help. Too many times they stumbled across a dead child, or bodies of the people of this once prosperous city. They would never move again. They would never enjoy the life they would have led, and never experience that which they were meant to experience. Only by locking his sorrow, rage, and desperation behind mental doors as he had with his pain, was Mason able to walk through the graveyard of so many without losing control. He knew it was even worse for Angela, as she had to see all the wreckage, all the destruction, and worst of all, all the dead and bloated bodies of the people who had just a few hours ago been talking, laughing, crying, loving, and living.

They trudged along, the general feeling of dread and despair quickly penetrating into the deepest depths of their minds. Several times, Mason could hear Angela choking back tears, hardly able to contain the burning emotions that were within her. Whenever Mason felt her stiffen with sorrow, anger, or hopelessness, he clasped her hand tighter, and she would relax. It was as if the contact between their warm hands melted away the cold death that surrounded them. Mason realized that without her, he would have given up, and without him, she would have gone mad. Neither of them could survive without the other, and they both knew it. That was probably the reason that they walked together so closely, hands clenched in the other’s nervous fist.

Mason felt another sharp pang of hunger sting his stomach, and he groaned. He had been getting hunger pains for the last two days. He had grown up in the wealthier district, and was accustomed to eating three good meals a day. He hadn’t eaten anything for the last two days, and he was starting to feel a little nauseous, along with a burning hunger that he could not quell. “Angela?” he asked. “What about food? I mean, if we plan on trying to survive, we need to eat. You have any suggestions?”

She gave a little laugh, although it sounded a bit hollow. “I guess running down to McDonald’s for a Big Mac and fries is out.”

Despite the morbid nature of the joke, it still relieved some of the tension that had been building up inside Mason for the last few hours. As he chuckled, the tightness in his muscles fled, leaving him feeling almost sleepy, but relieved at the same time. “Yeah, I suppose it is. As is a nice, candlelight dinner of fillet mignon. But we still need to eat. I can’t keep an eye peeled for any food, so I guess once again, I’ll have to rely on you for help.”

“Actually,” Angela said, “I saw a wrecked restaurant back there. Maybe there’s some crates of food in the back that are still intact. Let’s go.”

He followed her back the way they had come, her hand in his. Her skin was so soft, though dirty from the last few days’ adventures. He felt the warmth from her move through that sacred connection between the two. His body filled with heat, and he gripped her hand tighter. She responded by tightening her own grip. As they shared that secret squeeze, Mason could feel something he had not felt in a long time. Not since Annie died.

Mason stopped in his tracks, dropping Angela’s hand. The heat subsided, and a chill ran through his body, as if he had stepped from a womb to a freezer.

“What’s wrong, Mason?” she asked.

He could not tell her what was wrong. He could never tell her what he was feeling. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. How could he be falling in love with this woman he had only met two days ago? How could this happen so quickly? And most importantly, how could he betray Annie like that? He felt sick with the idea of his faithlessness. He had loved Annie with his whole heart. Nothing else had mattered to him. According to their friends, they had been the perfect couple. They both loved each other immensely, and they rarely fought. His wife had been the most perfect creature he had ever laid eyes on. She had a delicate white skin, like a finely whipped cream or butter. Her lips had been full, and red without even the slightest touch of lipstick. He always said that they looked like two perfect cherries, and they had been soft to kiss. She had eyes the color of a sea after a storm. Those eyes had always fascinated him, and sometimes he felt like they were drawing him in, enveloping him in their cool, calm presence. Her small nose had ended in a soft point, curving just the slightest at the bridge. Her eyebrows were thin, and held the same reddish-blonde color as her soft, flowing hair had. Her hair stretched all the way down her back to her waist, and had looked like silk, felt like satin, and always smelled of that clean, lovely smell that had always thrilled him, even though she claimed it was only shampoo. Her forehead had a high, defined quality that made her look intelligent and witty, which she was. She had always shared his most secret thoughts, and knew them even before he could admit them.

When she died, Mason had lost everything in the world. He withdrew himself deeply into his work, and let nothing else touch him. His friends had lost touch with him long ago, and anything that had been close to his heart was pushed away. He never let himself feel deeply for anything, and it seemed to work pretty well, keeping him from harm. There had been women, business associates mostly, who had asked him to be with them. He had had many offers, but had never taken any of them. No woman attracted him as Annie had. He was like a man who had tasted wine, and would not be able to ever drink plain water again. Not that he wanted to. He had made an oath when she died to live alone, completely faithful to his one true love.

And now, this siren had lured him out of his secure shell. She had shared with him a unique experience that no other could match. She had been his companion when he could have no other, and he had let his guard down. She had gotten through with a few good blows, and now he wasn’t sure he wanted to put his guard back up. Annie’s face flooded his mind, but he no longer felt the need to stay faithful to her. She had been dead for four years, damn it! She could no longer control his life. He had to let her go. He had to-

“Mason? Are you alright?”

Mason came shooting back into the reality that he had temporarily escaped. He felt once again the pain in his leg, the stiffness of his tired muscles, the hunger that dominated his senses, and the fatigue that had so overwhelmed him in the last few hours that he could barely stay standing. The pain of losing Annie, the disgrace of what he felt for Angela, and the power of the pull in each direction stretched him thinner and thinner. Then, he snapped. He fell to the ground and sobbed.

“Mason?!” Angela knelt by his side and put her hand on his shoulder. Again he felt the heat that her touch brought to life in him. It disgusted him and delighted him all at once. “Mason? What is it?” She put her arms around him as he had done to her just yesterday and tried to comfort him. The feeling of her arms around him filled him with ecstasy. He felt as if he were floating, flying, held aloft by those arms. He wanted to press himself into those arms, hoping their grip would tighten. He hoped they would never let go, and that he could stay there, safe in those arms. He wanted to turn to the face he knew was there and kiss its lips. He wanted to hold her. He wanted just to be with her.

He was disgusted with his thoughts. What about Annie? Was he supposed to just throw her out, to be replaced by the newest thing? Was that all she meant to him? No! God, no! She had been everything to him. She had been his best friend, his lover, and his loving parent all in one. She had completely filled his heart, leaving no room for anything else. Why now was he feeling as he was? He could he dare do this to the woman he cared so much for?

Mason put his hand on Angela’s arm, which cradled him as she continued to comfort him. She had been talking a steady stream of comfort, questions of concern, and anything else she thought might help. He hadn’t been listening to the words, but the tone and the softness in her voice told him she was concerned about him.

“Mason? Please tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help unless I know what’s wrong. I care about you, Mason. I’ve met you only recently, but I care about you. It hurts me to see you like this, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me. Mason?”

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Really. I am.” He knew that it sounded fake, but it was all that he could think of. He pushed her arm away, and he stood up as best as he could. “I’m sorry. Let’s go find the food. I’m fine. Please?”

“Mason, please tell me.”

“I’m fine. Please don’t push this.”

“Mason-”

“I’m fine!” he snapped. The anger in his voice surprised him. What was he doing? He had just yelled at his only friend in this new world. As soon as he said it, he was sorry. He knew he had hurt her, but what else could he do? He couldn’t tell her, but he couldn’t just deny it, either. “I’m sorry Angela. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I hope you understand.”

“I understand,” she said, but it was obvious she was still hurt by his sharp retort.

“I’m sorry,” Mason said again. “Let’s go get that food, huh? Please?” He held his hand out to her to help her up.

She silently took his hand and stood up. They began to walk once again in silence. He followed blindly, repulsed and enthralled by the touch of her long, slender, warm fingers.

When they reached the restaurant, Angela told Mason to stay put, and started to sift through the rubble. Mason felt bad that she was doing all the work, but he wouldn’t exactly be much help, so he stood there, offering his help, but receiving nothing but polite refusals. He didn’t take offense. After all, she was right. He felt so much like a fifth wheel sometimes, but he was sure that she didn’t think of him as one. After about ten minutes, she called out to him. “Mason! Come help me with this beam. I think there’s some food down there!”

Mason cautiously moved through the rubble to the sound of her voice, and knelt down. “Where?” he asked. She took hold of his hands and moved them to the end of a metal bar that was about eight inches in diameter.

“Lift,” she said. He strained against the beam as she did the same. Slowly, it started to move. It gave a groan, as if it were upset about being roused from its resting place, and finally allowed itself to be lifted a few inches. “Keep going, Mason. Just a little more!” Sweat beaded on his forehead as he grunted and strained against the weight of the bar. The pain in his leg, almost forgotten, flared up again as he put weight on it. “Alright, Mason. Now move it to your right a little.” His knee felt like it would collapse on him. He pulled at the bar. He could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing. Finally, he managed to move the beam a foot or two. “Okay, that’s good. That’s good. Drop it.” Eagerly, Mason complied. The beam clattered to the ground again, only a few feet from where it had been before.

He heard her move past him to the place the beam had been before. She displaced more rubble, throwing it about in such a frenzy that Mason himself was hit by a few pieces of it. “Hey!” he exclaimed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just excited.” She continued to dig, throwing handfuls of debris to either side, more carefully now, and finally stopped. A laugh escaped her lips. “Mason?” she said. “We have food!” He whooped out a triumphant yell to the heavens as Mason stumbled over to her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a crate of beef. And next to it, another crate of potatoes. We have food!”

“Open the potatoes! I’m starving!”

Together they pulled at the lid of the crate, slowly pulling nails out of the wood one by one. The wood creaked and groaned, protesting against the harsh treatment, but the lustful assailants didn’t let up. Finally, the wood cracked, giving up, and the lid came of the crate so suddenly that both Mason and Angela were hurled backward. She quickly threw the lid aside, crawled to the wooden box and reached inside.

“Mason! Here!” A potato hit Mason in the head since he couldn’t see to catch the projectile. “Ouch!” he said, rubbing his head with one hand and picking up the potato in the other. He lifted it to his mouth and, not bothering to cut it or take the skin off, bit into it ravenously. The starchy, dry taste filled his mouth. He had forgotten what a pleasure food was. In a few minutes, they had filled themselves to bursting with potatoes.

“I usually liked them scalloped or au gratin,” she said, “but I’d forgotten how good they tasted raw.”

“I think a `57 Chevy would’ve tasted like caviar to us, Angela. But I agree. Thanks.” He put out his hand to her. Instead of responding with a handshake, like was expected, she hugged him.

“Oh, Mason! I feel like we could make it. I feel like anything’s possible now!” Mason could only think of how good it felt to be held by her. He felt horrible at his willing betrayal, but he didn’t want to stop it.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah. I feel a lot better, too.” he forced a smile, even though he felt like crying. How could he do this to Annie?

After they had satisfied their bloated appetites, they continued to scan the area, walking about, looking for survivors, but staying close to the wrecked restaurant where the food was. Mason tried to keep away from her as much as possible without letting her know he was disturbed. He felt that the more time he spent with her, the greater the chance that Annie would be forgotten, and he would not have that. She had meant entirely too much to him. In fact, she had been a spectre looming over his entire life. Ever since she had died, he could never fully concentrate on the tasks at hand, because he was always seeing her face somewhere: on the reports he was filling out, on the exhibits of evidence in court, in his clients’ faces, or in his daydreams. He had never daydreamed before he lost her, but the moment she was gone, he was constantly been thrown back at the most unexpected times to memories of happier times. He would sit and remember her warm smile, her thick sheet of reddish-blonde hair that cascaded about her shoulders in a way that had to be intentional, but seemed so natural to him. She was a master of that certain magic that only women possess, of that magic that makes their beauty seem so natural and unplanned, even if they’ve spent all morning creating it. Then she had died, and so had he.

His work had suffered, of course, as had his relationships with his friends. Of course, that was to be expected. They were, after all, mostly her friends. He had just always been invited along as an accessory. He had never been a very social person, and so had very few friends. Annie, though had always been the popular, outgoing type that had no trouble making friends and having fun. He slowly became more and more of a recluse, spending everyday at home, alone. No one else had mattered to him, and the only way he could feel closest to the woman he missed the most was to sit in his house in the dark and remember. So he did, for hours each day. The friends he had fallen in with slowly stopped visiting and calling, along with his and her relatives. He locked himself in the dark house and wallowed in misery. His life was over, now that the only one he had ever loved was gone. He had nothing left to live for.

As the two survivors walked along in silence, there was a tightly-strung tension between the two. Mason knew why he felt nervous around her, and suspected that she knew the he wasn’t telling her everything. He felt guilty that he wasn’t being truthful with the only friend he had here in this hostile new world, but what else could he do? Things were complicated enough with just the fight for survival that they couldn’t survive the news he was sure to bring.

“Mason?” Her voice broke the silence with such a suddenness that it made him jump.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?” Mason just stared silently at the ground. “I know it’s something you’d rather not bring up, but it obviously needs to be cleared up in order for us to be able to communicate. And we need to communicate to survive. So I think it’s best you talk, because our lives depend on it.”

Mason couldn’t argue with that logic, and he knew that what Angela was saying was completely correct, and that he should indeed talk. But as for telling her, he still devoutly refused. How could he? How could he tell her the truth when he couldn’t even admit the truth to himself. With each passing moment, she grew more and more important in his heart, and with each passing moment, he hated himself more and more. After what he had had with Annie, it was to be thrown away like so much useless garbage? But there was no denying the feelings that he was experiencing, or the way he felt when he looked at her. Annie was dead, but she still hovered over his soul. He knew that she would want him to continue, to go on, but he couldn’t do that without feeling like he was betraying her. Everywhere he turned, he saw Annie’s face, but slowly, that was being replaced with the face of Angela. Was love that quick to disappear? Were all the fables false?

Mason refused to provide an answer to the question, and quickly started a new conversation on shelter. So far, since the explosion, there had been no rain, but it was time to turn their attention to some sort of roof and walls to protect them for what was sure to come.

“Angela? I remember we walked through a place a few hours ago that echoed. Was that a building of some sort? Did it have a roof and good walls?”

Angela paused for a moment, then replied. “I think it was some sort of office building. We walked through the lobby, which had lost its walls and its ceiling a few stories up, but there were doors leading out of the lobby. Maybe one of those has something suitable.”

“Well, we definitely have nothing to lose.”

They started back to the office building. As they walked, Mason could only think of Annie. But strangely enough, he could not picture her face. A few hours ago, it had been extremely clear to him, a television image of striking clarity. Now, her face had dulled. It had not completely disappeared from his mind, but the features were blurry, less defined, and seemed almost foreign to her face. It was almost as if they had been erased, then replaced with other blurred images of someone else’s face. He pictured her fuzzed nose, not neatly pointed like Annie’s had been, but now rounder, more soft. Exactly the way he pictured Angela’s nose to look. Disgusted, he threw all thoughts from his mind and instead concentrated on a picture of an apple. He couldn’t bear to think of his betrayal, even though there really was little he could do. If only he could forget Annie.

No! How dare he think that? How dare he wish to forget her? He spent the rest of the travel time trying to think only of Annie. To remember, he thought, was the only thing that would save him, and her. Memories filled his head, and he thought of nothing else. But still, Annie’s face was always the same as the way he pictured Angela to look, even though he had never seen her. He walked, sullenly wordless, behind Angela, being led by the hand until they reached the wrecked office complex.

“We’re here,” she announced.

“Any doors leading into any somewhat intact areas?” Mason asked.

“Yeah, that office there looks stable,” she said. “C’mon!”

They made their way into what Angela described as a huge, spacious corner office that had almost been left unscathed by the explosion. The desk, bookshelves, office supplies, and even the assorted office furniture were still in top condition.

“It feels so weird here,” she said. “After seeing so much destruction everywhere, it feels like this office never felt the blow, and that some businessman is going to come barging in this door and demand what we’re doing in his office, and yell at his secretary to bring him coffee.”

“Yeah, but there will be no one coming to work today, Angela,” Mason pointed out.

The reality of his statement sobered their mood for a bit, and absolutely killed all traces of conversation. They returned to the restaurant, fetched the food, and started back to the office in silence, thinking of all those innocents that had their lives cut short. On the way back from the restaurant, they encountered a blanket on the ground.

“At least we won’t freeze tonight,” she said.

They returned to the office, set up the blanket, and ate a few more potatoes. Outside in the lobby, they made a fire to ward off the approaching darkness and chill of the night. They sat together by the fire, huddled in the blanket, staring intently at the dancing flames. The dog slept soundly at their feet.

- - - - -

“Mason...” The voice beckoned to him. He could not resist the calling that somehow seemed to be leading him to his death, and at the same time, to his salvation. Either way, he couldn’t hold back. He was walking slowly, deliberately, and almost involuntarily down a long, cool tunnel. The white electric lights above him illuminated the semicircular concrete passage with an eerie, unnatural light. The light bounced off of the glassy-smooth cement walls around him. Ahead of him, he could see a platform. It was like the subway platforms he used to ride every day to work.

“Mason..” Again, the strangely familiar voice invaded the silence of the scene. He could see no one around who might be calling him, nor any speakers or source of the sound. The voice wasn’t exactly a sound, either. It was an idea. It invaded his head directly, stopping not at the ears, not waiting to be recognized as words, but was a thought directly from his brain, but not of his brain. He stepped out of the clean underground pipeline into the electric brilliance of the subway platform.

What was he doing here? Was he taking a trip? Where exactly was he, anyway? He went to sit down on the bench to wait, but stopped when he noticed a small, brown attaché case sitting on its end near the foot of the bench. It was a simple attaché, without ID tags or combination lock. Somehow, Mason felt like he had seen it before, or that it was his in some way. The handle was a darker brown that the leather covering most of the rest of the case. It had a single clasp below the handle. Mason reached out to touch it.

The attaché case burned his fingers the moment he touched it. The handle turned fiery red, and his hand felt the stinging pain of searing heat while the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. He jerked his hand back, nursing his burn with his other hand. He surveyed his wound. It was not a bad burn, no worse that the kind you get when you accidentally touch the wrong end of a lit cigarette. He would be fine.

He examined the attaché. He could see no hidden wires or any kind of device causing the heat. The attaché looked perfectly harmless in all respects. In fact, now it intrigued him. What would be the purpose of such a device? Surely it was an anti-theft measure that only the owner could disable, but why not just get a briefcase with a combination lock built in or something like that? Also, he felt like he almost owned it, and would never go to all the trouble to booby-trap a briefcase like that unless it really needed protection. Each moment that passed, he felt the sense of ownership grow stronger. It was as if the case was his, and had been his, almost a part of him for quite some time.

He reached out again, ready to withdraw more quickly if the trap went off again. But this time, the handle was cool to the touch, and quite comfortable. He pulled it into his lap and tried to undo the latch, but even though he tried and tried, he could not pry the latch open. The lock had no key hole, and no combination, merely a button to push, but this didn’t work. And he couldn’t, with all his strength, pull the clasp open. But it was indeed his attaché, so he held it in his lap and looked around again.

“Mason...” The voice again shot through his skull. It had a sense of urgency to it, but it wasn’t yelling. It was a sort of quiet need that he felt he need follow. Again he could not locate the source of the words. He looked around his surroundings. On the walls of the platform, there were a few posters, most for products he remembered, but one poster, a simple black-and-white poster continually drew his eye, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. It had only a single word on it, in large, black block letters. ‘Death.’

He felt an dark shiver move down his spine, and his blood ran cold. It was merely a poster on a subway wall, but he somehow felt its cryptic message bore some importance. He tore his gaze away and looked back at the attaché case on his lap. The leather had turned to a glossy black. The handle once again was fiery red, but now it had thorns growing from it, digging into the flesh of his hand, which gripped it tightly. Small drops of blood trickled from the punctured skin and ran down his hand into his lap.

- - - - -

The fire had been burning unattended steadily next to the two sleeping figures for several hours. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew a heavy metal beam down from the peak of the broken office building. It clattered to the floor only a few meters away from the sleeping people. They humans did not awake from the deep sleep that consumed them, but the small dog sleeping at their feet did. Its head popped up and it ran straight ahead in alarmed terror.

It yelped a pained yelp as it ran through the fire it hadn’t seen until it was too late. The dog’s fur caught fire as it howled in pain. The poor creature ran around in circles noisily, screaming in its own fashion for the pain of the scorching flames that danced seductively on its back. It rolled on the ground, trying desperately to douse the unyielding fire, but the heat still consumed it and it couldn’t smother the crackling fire that it held in its unearthly grip. The dog howled into the night as the last bits of its life burned away with the blackened remains of his body. The people had not noticed a thing. They still slept together in each other’s arms as the fire steadily spread around them.

- - - - -

Mason looked up, suddenly frightened at the ticket booth he had not before noticed. There was a dark shadow hunched behind the window. Mason ran up to the booth. “Mister! What’s happening? I need to get out of here!”

“You can’t leave without a ticket, Mac.” The voice emanated from the shadow, but he could see no face or silhouette.

“I’ll buy a ticket! How much?” Mason asked frantically, searching his pockets for his wallet. It was not there. The shadow did not respond. “Damn it, how much?!” Mason was nearly hysterical.

“No money, Mac.” The shadow leaned forward, and his face came into the light. It was bare of skin. The bare white bone shone like a beacon in the electric lighting of the platform. The empty eye sockets were as black as night, and the lipase grin showed teeth that were sharp and pointed. The cloak around the face was the infamous black deathcloak with a noose around the neck. A skeletal hand reached for him. Mason screamed.

- - - -

Angela awoke to a searing, burning sensation all over her body. She opened her eyes, her sight blurred with tears from the unrelenting agony. Her entire body was flaming. She screamed in excruciating agony. She stood up and ran, losing pieces of her own flesh as the fire burned them away. She dropped to the ground, rolling over and over to smother the fire. The flames clung to her, as did the grass she rolled in. She felt such pain as the dirt and bugs from the ground clung to her sticky, wet, burnt flesh. Her hair was a flaming mass of writhing vines. She got up and ran to where she had been only seconds before. There lay Mason, in a ring of fire. It had not yet touched him, almost as if it were savoring the moment. She fell to the ground next to him and screamed one word over and over, hoping he would wake up to help her. “Mason! Mason!”

- - - - -

Mason turned back and ran away from the apparition. A subway car arrived with a scream. “Mason! Mason!” Angela’s voice? What was she doing in this subway? What was he doing here? He fled into the train, crying in terror. The doors closed, and the car went silent, except for his own screaming. He stopped and looked out the window. The poster was gone, the ticket booth was empty, and the apparition had disappeared. The attaché case he still had in his hands was brown again and the handle was back to normal. What had happened?

The subway car drew out into the underground tunnel and glided swiftly along its tracks, making only a slight click-clack noise. The dark tunnel was long, but he passed through it quickly, and soon arrived at another platform. He stepped cautiously out onto the platform, which seemed quite normal.

“Mason...” Mason actually heard the voice this time. He whirled around to face the speaker. He expected to face another ghastly figure, or a criminal intent on killing, but when he turned about, he came face to face with Annie.

“Annie!”

“Hello, Mason.” She smiled, showing her straight, white teeth. Somehow that smile had always filled him with joy and love, and this time was no exception. He was so happy to see her, he hugged her instantly and continued to hold her for a long while.

“I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to-”

“Mason. It’s alright. I need to tell you something quickly. I don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean?” Mason asked, alarmed.

“Please, Mason. Let me talk. You must let me go. You must go on. You must continue. You can’t cling to me forever. Allow yourself to love Angela. It is what’s best. Please, Mason.”

Mason stared at his dead wife, confused and scared.

“Tell me you will, Mason! Tell me now!” Her voice was urgent and fearful.

“Annie, I don’t-”

“Mason, please!” Her eyes grew wide.

Her opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t get a chance. The floor opened beneath her, and his wife disappeared suddenly without even a scream. Before he realized what had happened, the floor closed, the subway car pulled away, and the subway platform was empty.

“Annie!”

The platform grew warm suddenly, then hot. The subway tunnel glowed at the ends with a red light. He heard the roaring of the flames coming down the tunnel. Questions raced through his mind. How had Annie known about Angela? Why had she told him to give up and love her? Why was she so fearful? Why had she disappeared so suddenly? And, even more baffling, how had he been able to talk to his dead wife?

The roaring fire raced down the tunnel towards him. Sweat poured down his forehead, not only because of the heat, but because he was afraid. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t accept. What was happening?

The fire itself came into view down the curving subway track, coming at him from both ends. He could already feel the burning. He clenched his eyes against the heat. He thought, strained through the pain for a solution. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the roaring flames licked their way down the subway tunnels. His fists at his forehead, he searched. He searched in himself, in the world that he knew, and in the one he was beginning to understand. His eyes and forehead puckered with effort and strained thought, he pursued the elusive solution. His flesh began to crawl with the immense heat. The heat all around him, the heat within him, and the heat of his mind all blended into exquisite agony.

Suddenly, he understood. His eyes snapped open. His feet came together and he stood straight with his head back, his arms quickly raising to point in opposite directions on either side of him. He understood. As the fire rushed to consume him, he yelled one word, the only word that could possibly have any effect.

“ANGELA!”

- - - - -

As the fire raged about the sleeping figure of the man, consuming him, melting his skin, he turned toward the flaming heap that had once been his companion. His blackened, sticky hand found her skeletal one. His fingers entwined in hers and held on tightly as the smoke raced into the night.

- - - - -

The fire dies out a few hours later. Silence rings through the dead air. Nothing moves. All that can be sensed is a feeling of finality, if anyone still remains to sense it. It is calm, peaceful, still. The wind is gone, the ground is still, and the normally ongoing life of the planet has ceased. The dead planet hangs silently in space, nothing left for it. On a particular spot on this planet, the last vestiges of life leave their ongoing legacy. In this spot, two blackened skeletons remain, hands clenched each other’s. Shrouded in darkness, they lay together for an eternity to come. The darkness closes around them. Then the last bits of the planet’s vast existence disappears, and silence reigns supreme.