Portent

As Lisa checked her reflection in the main window, tying her thick auburn hair in place while Jack locked the front door to their apartment, her eye was drawn to an oscillating wave of light rippling across February's violet morning sky. In the same moment, a mild and fleeting eddy of nausea touched her gut. It passed in an instant and, as Jack seemed unaffected, Lisa's focus returned to the daily journey through the city's Botanic Gardens.

They set off just after 6:15, with the sun rising at their backs. The vibrant sky created an illusion of warmth as they began their trek through the familiar black iron gates and into the Gardens immediately south of the apartment. They strolled along a concrete path, leading up a gentle incline flanked by black oak to the left and Scots pine to the right. The crystal, bubbling river running through the grounds drew farther below as they climbed, high enough now to see the roofs of the majestic glasshouses.

They crested the hill, and started down, meeting the bank of the river once more, towards the university where Jack was completing his postgraduate research. For Jack, early starts and late finishes were commonplace. It was possible to complete his doctorate through working 'regular' hours, as many of his lab mates were wont to do, however, he knew that in order to make a significant impression within the scientific community, and stand a better chance of securing employment following the completion of his thesis, it was necessary to make a far greater sacrifice. Lisa, herself a nursing graduate, understood this and welcomed the early starts. She had obtained a caregiver's role visiting the homes of those in need across the city, and using public transport to reach them took considerable time.

Nearing the bottom of the hill, they passed beneath a criss-crossing canopy of birch towards the place where they often met the highlight of their morning stroll through this square half-mile of paradise: Sadie.

Sadie was a miniscule, black, curly-haired ball of excitement that, most days, would race to them and jump towards Lisa, balancing her front paws on an outstretched hand. The entire weight of this tiny dog amounted to that of a wafer and her unrestrained adoration never failed to send Lisa's heart to the heavens.

On this brisk morning, however, Sadie and her muscular, long blonde-haired owner were nowhere to be seen. It was not uncommon for their schedules to fall out of synch every so often; maybe the owner, a local rugby hero, had played a match the previous night and slept late. Perhaps he had had a grueling training session later that day and had risen earlier, but on the days when they didn't encounter Lisa's littlest friend, Sadie was sorely missed.

Crossing through the gates at the opposite end of the park, back to rising stone monoliths stretching upwards into nothingness and the concrete aisles laid between them, they entered the main street.

Lisa became aware of a quiet stillness.

"Have we passed anyone?" she asked.

"I don't know. I haven't really noticed."

Jack's mind would be on whatever molecules he planned to create that day, oblivious to Lisa's rising anxiety.

Although early morning, they had always encountered someone walking the family dog before heading to work themselves, but on this day they had seen none of the usual faces. They had seen no faces at all. Lisa's mind returned to the light she had seen reflected in the window and the vibration she had felt in the ground. This only served to compound her worry.

Just as she prepared to articulate her concern to Jack, the silence was broken by screeching tires and loud music. Startled, she spun to the source of the commotion and saw a delivery van screech to a halt before the hotel at the north end of the street. A shaven-headed driver leapt from the cab and swung the door shut. He bounded up the steps, his pale legs in stark contrast to the black shorts he wore despite the winter cold, and he was gone.

Lisa released the breath she had been holding and felt her temperature rise once more. She scolded herself, knowing that when her mind grabbed hold of drama, no restraint prevented her from following whatever twisted path stretched beyond, leading deeper into panic.

Content, now, that the world remained on its axis, she allowed herself to plan the day ahead, and those she would assist.

They approached the entrance to her first subway station of the day, the familiar scent of damp sport socks wafting from the depths of the city, and Jack turned to her.

"So you start off with your friend today, right?" He was smirking.

"Yes," she sighed. "It's going to be a long one."

"I don't know why you don't just ask for someone else to take him. He sounds like trouble."

"He's difficult, and he definitely hates me, but I think he's just really angry." She dropped her eyes.

"Truth is he doesn't have anyone and the whole reason I got into this was to help people like him."

She sighed again, raised her eyes to meet his, and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Don't you worry about me, I'll be fine. You just focus on making your compounds so you can get a good job and we can get out of here, ok?"

"Ok, I love you."

As she stepped into the station, Lisa saw two ticket clerks and four commuters waiting in line. Her mind, now done with chewing on an explanation for the flash and rumble, eased further.

She would never admit it, not even to Jack, but that part of her that charged, relentless, down unexplored paths of panic was disappointed that the morning's drama was over.

Steven woke for the second time that morning, now to the scream of his alarm. He didn't recall what had jolted him awake earlier, only that his clock had told him it was 6:18 a.m., and he still had a couple of hours before facing reality.

He slapped the alarm again and again until that god-awful noise subsided. Groggy, dry-throated, and weak, he rubbed the heels of his palms futilely into his bloodshot eyes, awaiting the inevitable ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump signaling the approach of Abe, his housemate, companion, and only friend.

After several seconds of silence, Steven wrenched himself to a seated position and swung his feet to the littered floor, taking care to feel for a space between the debris of the previous night's beer cans and cigarette ends. He had a convincing recollection that there should be a near-empty whisky bottle somewhere among the carnage, and made a mental note to avoid stubbing his toes on it.

"Abe," he croaked. "Abe? What's the story? Where you hiding?"

Still he heard nothing.

On occasion, becoming increasingly frequent, Abe would wait to be called before bounding into Steven's room. This was often indicative of a particularly fierce episode of drunkenness the previous night. Steven had no doubt the big golden retriever, more placid and affectionate an animal than he had ever known, loved him completely. On days like this, however, the creeping sobriety, bringing its usual feeling of worthlessness, was accompanied by intense, sharp guilt that he could make the gentle beast fear him. On these days, it was best to allow Abe to approach him of his own accord.

The clock told him it was 8:22 a.m. He had a good 45 minutes before his solitude would be invaded by the well meaning, but nonetheless inconvenient arrival of his home help. He made his way to the opposite side of the room and slumped himself into the tattered chair by the open window. Feeling down its left side, his fingers located breakfast. He cracked open the amber can which had escaped his clutches the previous night and decided he would seek out whatever was left of the Scotch when it was done. He lit a twisted cigarette from a crumpled pack in the pocket of his three-day-old shirt and waited for the coming of his visitor, listening to the daily prophecies, remembering those his mother had spouted towards her end, of Preacher Pete on the street below.

"It's coming! Redemption is coming! Rejoice ye, for He has sent a mighty cleansing upon us!"

Let it come, he thought. Let it come.

Lisa rang the doorbell and waited. It was 9:02 a.m. 'Her friend', as Jack teased, wouldn't be happy.

There was no sound from inside the run-down apartment, so she rang again.

After some six or seven seconds spent considering the possibility that he had finally drank himself to death, she prepared herself to ring again when a husky, croaked voice bellowed.

"You've got a key! Just open the damn door! And you're late." He was in a fine mood, sure enough.

Lisa let herself in and restrained from gagging on the thick odor of flat beer, stale cigarettes, and urine.

"Hi, Steven," she chirped, as she hung her coat and scarf by the door, noticing a fresh, fist-shaped depression in the plaster. "Sorry I'm a touch late, but the subway has been so busy this week. How are you this fine morning?"

"How the hell should I know what kind of morning it is?"

Lisa ignored the gripe and continued, as cheerful as could be, as she made her way to the main room.

"Well, it's colder today, that's for sure. Just when we thought the worst of the winter had passed, here it comes again. They say it might snow again before the week is out, but now the skies are clear and it looks like it might stay dry. Quite nice, actually."

She reached the end of the hall and peered into the filthy, smoke-filled den. Steven sat, salt and pepper hair matted to his skull, in that worn-out chair by the window nursing the dregs from a beer can.

"Steven! It's only gone 9 o'clock, give me that! You're going to kill yourself!"

Lisa strode towards him and reached for the can. With viper-like speed, Steven's free hand shot up and clasped her wrist.

"You just leave that with me, sister," he growled. "Death is coming for me. While I refuse to march out to meet Him, the door's open and the welcome mat is out, and I'm sure as hell not going to slow Him down with anything as ridiculous as clean living."

Lisa moved to step back but his fingers held firm. The smell emanating from him, like vinegar, old cheese and rotting meat, was almost unbearable. His nostrils flared and his chest rattled as he drew in deep. With parted teeth, the tip of his tongue protruded as if in a sickening attempt to taste her.

"You're different," he whispered. "You look... good."

He breathed deep again, lips parting further. His fingers relaxed and Lisa recoiled. A leering smile adorned his face.

"H-How do you know how I look?" Lisa asked.

"I may be blind, but I still know good when I see it and..." he hissed another breath and pointed to her "you're looking good today."

Revolted, Lisa tried to compose herself.

"Let's just get started, ok?"

She looked around the room.

"Have you fed Abe yet? Where is he?"

"Hiding somewhere. If you find him, don't bring him in here. Just let him come back to me when he's ready. I..." He grimaced. "I think I scared him good last night."

Despite his outward, petulant demeanor, Lisa was touched by the affection Steven had for the lovable dog.

"Sure. I'll do some tidying up and when I find him, I'll feed him. Then we'll get started on cleaning you up. Deal?"

"If you must."

He lit another cigarette and made no effort to blow the smoke away from her.

Lisa collected the empties from the main room and dropped the cigarette ends into a bag. Again, she almost gagged as she removed the crusted bed sheets and set them by the door to the hallway. After straightening up, she started drawing Steven's bath, and returned to his room.

"I didn't see him in the bathroom but sometimes he likes to stay behind the door in the kitchen--"

She stopped as she saw Steven's contorted face.

"What is it? Are you in pain?"

"Shh!" he hissed.

He had found the remote and was now craning his neck towards the TV, listening intently.

"--initial reports that some animals have escaped from the zoo. We are advising citizens to remain on the lookout. Many of these animals are exotic and represent a real danger if they feel threatened. I repeat. Remain vigilant. Do not approach these animals and contact the authorities--"

"The animals are gone from the zoo," Steven began. "They don't know how many or which ones, but--"

The newscaster continued.

"We are now receiving reports that ALL of the animals have escaped from the zoo. We don't yet know how, but... ok... yes..." Mike Benson, the newscaster, pressed his finger to his ear.

"I'm now receiving word that local police have received an unusually high number of reports of missing family pets. We don't know if the two are related. We'll get more on that and-- My word! Our switchboards are lighting up!"

Benson looked beyond the camera, his eyebrows raised.

"Can we? Yes. I'm hearing now that we can take a call on the air. Hello there, you're live on the air with Mike Benson. Please do not swear. Go ahead, caller."

"Uh... Mike?"

"Yes, caller. Go ahead."

"Uh, yeah. Well, I saw the report about the animals and it's not just the ones in the zoo. We got three dogs gone missing. Our neighbor's got a cat gone missing and I just called my dad and he had these birds in the backyard. You know, in a big cage? They're gone too."

"Ok, caller. What's your name?" Mike Benson leaned forward, his eyes cast down.

"Brian."

"Ok, Brian. So, if I understand correctly, you're telling me that some dogs, cats, and birds have gone missing. Not just the animals at the zoo?"

"Not some, man. All of them!" Brian's yelling buzzed through the TV.

"My word! Well, ok, Brian. Thank you for your call. Stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to take some details."

Benson's focus returned to the camera.

"Folks, we've got our people looking into this. Stay tuned and if anyone has any information you can call, email or text us on the numbers at the bottom of the screen--"

Lisa ran to the kitchen and threw open the door.

"He's not there!" Steven called. "Didn't you hear them? They're all gone!"

Finding the kitchen empty, Lisa returned to Steven and shook her head. Tears had spilled from his eyes and were rolling down his cheeks.

"They got him..." he whispered. "They got my best friend. They got Tito..."

He began to sob, his entire body convulsing with each labored breath. Lisa darted forward, turned the television off, and then took him in her arms, stroking his greasy hair. He squeezed her back, hard enough to make her wince.

"They got Tito..." he repeated.

He buried his face against her bosom, jagged stubble prickling through to her chest. He let out the most tortured, chilling wail Lisa had ever heard, then his grip lessened and the convulsions subsided.

"Steven?" Lisa asked, once his gasping relaxed. He turned his face towards her, moist, sightless eyes not quite meeting hers.

"Who is Tito?"

Steven's lower lip trembled and he descended into despair once more.

"What gives, brother?"

"Huh?"

Dr Steven Prinder swiveled around on his lab stool, pressing his specs up the bridge of his nose, and regarded his partner and collaborator. Titus Broadmoor was a stocky sort. Standing above six feet, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his wavy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes had made him quite the object of many a young student's desires during their teaching days.

"What gives?" he repeated.

"You'll have to be more specific, Tito."

"You moved my cell cultures to the back of the oven. It's like half a degree warmer there! I placed them in the optimal position and now whatever results I get I can just throw in the bin!"

"Tito, for God's sake," Steven chuckled, "We've been through this, and it's not warmer. The old, crappy oven had temperature variation. This shiny new one, courtesy of Mr. & Mrs. John Q. Taxpayer thank-you-very-much, is perfectly balanced. Chill out! Go get one of those skinny iced-lattes you're so damn fond of."

Steven reached under his lab coat and produced a crumpled note. "It's on me."

"Wow!" Tito grinned and snatched up the note. "Wonders never cease, man. Never thought I'd see the day when you'd buy me a drink!"

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it, and bring me a cappuccino, will you?"

"Sure thing, brother."

As the door slid shut behind him, Steven turned back to the microscope. The culture he was examining was exquisite. Its durability fascinated him. Populations of microorganisms were known to adapt to their environments on account of their rapid life cycles. Millions of minute and seemingly insignificant mutations occur across generations in a short period of time, allowing the observer to witness Darwin's Natural Selection first hand, but the intriguing little creatures on which Steven and Tito were now working were adapting at a rate he had never before witnessed.

There had been some breakthrough or discovery made in the East, and the government--never to be outdone--wanted in on it, under the radar. They had recruited Steven and Tito, to some extent, for the promising developments made during their early years, but primarily due to their relative insignificance in the scientific community. Quite simply, no one was going to miss the next Broadmoor-Prinder publication.

At 14:16, just as the lab door slid open, every cell on Steven's slide began to swell, then double, and double again. Steven noted the time and scribbled his observations in the lab book. He looked up, ready to tell Tito all about this latest display from their stock. Even from the rear of the large, sterile room, Steven could see that Tito's forehead was damp, his cheeks drawn in, and his eyes looked to have receded deep into his skull.

"Get out!" he hissed. "They're coming for--"

A siren began to scream from directly behind him. Steven leapt up and turned to it. The safety beacon atop the oven spilled amber light across the benches in swooping arcs. In some nearby lab, he heard a loud pop and instinctively thought that someone had placed a fractured glass flask under vacuum, causing it to crack.

In an instant, Steven's nose and throat began to itch, then burn as his vision blurred, clouded and darkened to black, leaving him with nothing but a searing, acidic fire that raced towards his brain. He was aware of two trunk-like limbs gripping under his arms and then he was catapulted, his heels dragging along the floor. His left ankle collided with a stool, and then the side of his head struck a far more solid piece of lab kit. He felt his consciousness drifting. He would later recall a rush of air, accompanied by many shouting voices. He was dragged into the corridor, and thrown to the floor. What happened in between, Steven could not say, but he would never forget the sudden feeling of intense warmth that washed over his face and arms. A warmth that radiated from somewhere up the corridor, as though an almighty sun had exploded, and Tito's panicked scream.

"Oh, dear God! What is it? It's beautiful! It's so beautiful!"

"And what was it?" Lisa asked.

Steven wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"I have no idea, I had already lost my sight, but whatever it was terrified him. The last vision I remember clearly was Tito's face as he came into the lab."

"Didn't he ever try to talk about it?"

He lit another cigarette, sucked in a long drag, and exhaled, this time blowing away from Lisa.

"We spoke only once after that, the following day while I was in the hospital," Steven said. "But there was someone else in the room. There always was. This other guy didn't speak even when I asked who was there, but I could smell his aftershave and hear him breathing. Could hear him flicking through a magazine or something. He was always there, even when Tito came.

"Tito had started with pleasantries, asking me how I was doing, making cracks about the food, you know, the usual. Then he leaned in close."

Steven paused, swallowed, his throat clicking, and then continued.

"I can remember feeling his breath right here–" with a trembling hand, he pointed to where his left ear met his cheek.

"He said: 'I've looked into this. There have been incidents in other labs all over the country. Other sightings. We need to tell people what we saw'. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. That made him mad. He said I sounded just like them and that if I wasn't willing to help him, then he would go it alone."

"But you were blind! How could he not understand this?"

"I tried to tell him, but he had already left. I was only yelling to the other guy in the room."

He took another, long draw on his cigarette and cleared his throat before continuing.

"That night, Tito was dead: 'Time of death 23:36', they said. He had ingested sodium cyanide in an apparent suicide. They found a note claiming responsibility for the accident. It said he was so distraught to have cost me my sight, and my career."

"You sound skeptical."

"You say true. Tito was my best friend. We were family and I knew him better than anyone. There's no way he would have taken his own life. He was too religious for that--we both were, and for him to take responsibility for the accident... he wasn't even in the room when whatever culture it was started producing that toxin."

"So it was something confidential you guys were working on that caused your blindness and they wanted to cover it up by blaming Tito, then they got rid of him, is that what you're saying?"

"You make it sound like some crazy conspiracy theory but, yes. That's exactly what I think happened."

"With all due respect," Lisa began. "If they killed him, why did they let you live?"

"I can only suppose it's because I didn't see anything, and therefore I wasn't going to talk. There were hundreds of people working in that complex. God knows how many others where these other accidents Tito spoke of happened. I guess they still walk the earth. I mean, they couldn't get rid of everyone, right? Tito was the only one who was going to talk."

"His death, I guess, put a stop to anyone else doing the same."

"Exactly. Lisa, I've never spoken of that day. Not to anyone. You understand what could happen to us both, even all these years later, if anyone found out, don't you?"

"Of course. I don't know a thing. I'm going to put the news back on, ok?"

"Sure. Let's see where these animals have gone."

"--CCTV footage has come in from the panda cam, earlier this morning, at Edinburgh zoo in Scotland," Mike Benson reported.

"What we are about to show you has not yet been explained. You may find this disturbing."

Lisa gasped as the footage unfolded. The camera was situated in the upper corner of an indoor enclosure. Opposite, there was a raised, red corner table with a rounded edge, and baskets of food on either wall adjoining it. In the center of the room hung a suspended, dark red, faux leather platform covered with bamboo. In the upper left portion of the screen was a small opening to the outer enclosure. Beneath the table in the far corner, the mother fed the young. The father was visible, chewing on bamboo, just below the camera.

At once, both adults sprang up, the mother sending her young sprawling. She positioned herself before the baby and hunkered down, facing the center of the room. The father, too, had stooped, ready to pounce and for a moment, Lisa thought the adults were preparing to attack each other. Instead, the father leapt forward, and darted past the others. Lisa let out a cry as the panda's head collided with the wall, and its body slumped to the floor, motionless.

"What is it? There's no sound. What's happening?" Steven asked.

Lisa couldn't respond. In the center of the enclosure, at head-height, a small, fist-sized ball of impossible whiteness materialized and began to stretch out, forming a vertical cylinder. After a few seconds, the cylinder had expanded such that it almost touched the ceiling and floor of the enclosure, and its width had doubled. As the base of the tube made contact with the floor, an intense brightness shone out, turning the television screen pure white. A half-second later, the light was gone. So, too, were the animals, including the poor, motionless beast by the wall.

Lisa tried to recount the horrific image, as best she could.

"My God..." Steven said.

The footage had ceased and was now replaced by Mike Benson in the studio. He had undone the top button of his shirt and had loosened his tie a little.

"Well, folks. What we have just seen is truly incredible. We don't yet have an explanation for this, but as soon as we do, we'll keep you up to date. We see what appears to be an intense light, appearing at 6:17 a.m., forming a cylinder that then explodes at 6:19 a.m., consuming the animals without damaging the enclosure. We have reports that the enclosure has been examined, and no evidence of burning, charring, or disruption of any kind was found. Our analysts are contacting zoos around the world to find out if their CCTV footage has turned up anything similar. Don't go away. We'll bring you more as soon as we have it."

"Consumed the animals..." Steven whispered.

"They just... disappeared." Lisa said. "Nothing left. I'm so scared, Steven. I've got to call Jack."

Lisa ran to her bag in the hall. She removed her phone and punched in the landline for Jack's lab, knowing he would have no reception on his mobile, but the network was down.

After several attempts, Lisa disconnected and returned to the living room where Steven now sat with a thick, Braille book in his lap. Before she could speak, Steven declared, his shaking voice matching the terror on his face:

"'Behold, I, even I am bringing the flood of water upon the earth, to destroy all flesh in which is the breath of life, from under Heaven; everything that is on the earth shall perish.'"

"What?"

"Genesis 6:17, and Genesis 6:19 says 'And of every living thing of all flesh, you shall bring two of every kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female.'"

"Steven, I'm not following--"

"The time stamps on the footage!" He cried. "It appeared at 6:17 and exploded at 6:19, right?"

"I don't remember the times but, yeah, I guess that sounds about right. Steven, how is this relevant--"

"There's more," he interrupted, frantically flicking towards the end of the book, "I think everything is connected. My research, the accident, the animals. Everything. The culture blinded me at 14:16. Revelation 14:16 says 'Then He who sat on the cloud swung His sickle over the earth, and the earth was reaped.' And the earth was reaped, Lisa!"

Flicking back to the front of the book, he continued: "Then, Tito's time of death was 23:36--exactly 33 hours and 20 minutes afterwards. Exodus 33:20 says: 'But He said, "You cannot see My face, for no man can see Me and live"'. Lisa, I think Tito saw something that no man should see and I think this--" he gestured towards the television with a quivering hand, "-is related."

Steven sighed, pulled another cigarette from his pack, and lay back in his chair. With a joyless, unsettling smile he said:

"God has had enough of man and He's sending His flood to end it all."

"But--"

"Oh," he interrupted, "They announced that all public transport has been suspended so it looks like you'll be staying here a bit longer."

"There's another one!" Steven called.

Lisa had been in the hallway, trying to reach Jack again, with no success. She returned to the main room.

"One of those columns," he continued. "Much bigger. They say it appeared a few minutes ago at the park. Try to see it out the window."

Lisa ran to the window and searched between the buildings towards the city's largest park two blocks away. From this vantage point, she could see three news helicopters circling the area. She bobbed up and down, straining to see between the buildings and trees circling the park. Soon, she located a white glow, less intense than that she had witnessed on television.

"I see it."

"Keep watching and tell me what happens."

Mike Benson continued "...much larger than the column we have seen in the footage from Scotland. We understand the authorities have contained the park and are preventing anyone from entering. Our sister news teams across the nation, and throughout the world, are reporting the appearance of these columns in all major cities across the globe."

"God, help us." Steven whispered.

Lisa turned to the television and saw live feed from one of the helicopters circling the park. The motion compounded her rising nausea, as did the enormity of the glowing object she saw there.

The top of the column sat just below the tree line, around three stories high. Lisa noted the time on the screen. It was 11:06.

"Steven, I need to go home. I need to get to Jack. I--"

A low, guttural rumbling began. The television picture jumped and flickered, but Lisa could make out the image of the column growing, elongating upwards and down, and spreading wider. She turned to the window and watched as the huge pillar rose and expanded, smooth and steady, now visible high above the buildings. Turning back to the television, she felt a profound, flat, and echoless pop that shook the window as the base of the column impacted the ground. At the same moment, the column's intense, searing white glow snapped to deep shades of orange and red, mingling and moving over themselves like wax in a lava lamp.

"What's happening?!" Steven cried.

Before she could respond, there came a deafening rip and every noise that had ever shivered her spine was inside her, booming from her gut, her chest, her throat. An orange-red wave emanated in a vertical line from the center of the object and spilled out across the area, licking the buildings and vehicles, leaving them the non-color of muck collecting in a vacuum cleaner.

"It's... No!" Steven choked. "It's happening again!"

Lisa felt her throat begin to itch, and then burn. Her vision blurred, clouded, and then darkened to black.

"I can't see..." she gasped, "My throat... I can't..."

The itching in her throat became fingers, thousands of them, as thin as branches and all squeezing tighter, tighter. She could no longer move, fixed in place as some vast, external pressure thrummed deep into her bones. Her flesh seared and bubbled as she felt every soft part of her incinerate.

Her final seconds of life were filled with agony--terrible, crushing agony. Her physical pain was a whisper compared to the emotional vacuum that sucked her soul creating a void which could be filled by only one person.

As the red wave penetrated the apartment, advancing to obliterate each sinew and fiber connecting her, Lisa screamed:

"Where are you, Mummy? Why won't you MAKE IT STOP?!"

As Steven Prinder came to, he coughed and spat a lump of goo from his throat. He had landed on his rear end, with his back against the external wall. He felt a light breeze circle the room and heard it whistle through the hallway. The windows had blown in.

"Lisa? Lisa, what happened?"

No response.

Steven tried to feel his way to where he figured Lisa had been, finding it difficult now to follow the faintest trace of her perfume, which had been much stronger before. His hands accumulated fluffy residue from the floor and, when he reached the cabinet where the television had been, he now felt porous, brittle foam in its place. It crumbled to his touch leaving a dry, chalky residue on his fingers.

Crawling across a thick carpet of the same substance, feeling as he went, Steven became aware of new sensations. His clothes were scratchy and dry as though the soft, treated fibers had been replaced by raw, unrefined material. His nose, throat and lungs nipped a little, without much pain, and each breath brought a taste and scent which took his mind at once on a childhood trip to an uncle's farm, way out in the countryside.

It's like that, he thought. It's just like the first time I breathed country air, and it tastes like a glass of fresh, clean water.

Sounds were different, too. Engine roars, shouting voices, footsteps, and mechanical hums, all gone. Instead, the sound which now invaded his apartment was birdsong: A cacophony of a hundred, varied, harmonizing birds, never before heard this deep in the city, and all singing in unison.

Steven's hands reached the spot where Lisa had been and found her standing there. His fingertips met her foot and he passed his hand upwards with delicate touches.

"Lisa? Are you ok–-"

As Steven's fingers closed around Lisa's calf, he felt, for just a second, that porous material, like a dried-out sponge, before it collapsed down on top of him.

"Dear God!" he gasped, leaping backwards.

His back met the wall separating the living room from the bathroom. This, too, crumbled into more of that fluff, and he fell backwards to the floor.

He lay there for some time, his shaking hands caked, and his hair dusted in Lisa's ashen remains. His lower lip trembled and, as his eyes began to fill, he heard a familiar sound.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

"Abe?" he whispered. "Abe is that–-"

Steven's wind was thrown as a warm, furry weight landed on his chest. A moist, velvety tongue wiped over his cheeks, invaded his nostrils, and tickled his ears.

Steven wept and bawled as he tried to grab hold of his old friend. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he laughed. Abe continued to wriggle from his grasp, nibbling at his fingers and nuzzling his head beneath Steven's chin.

"Where have you been, huh? You big softy, where have you been?"

But Abe was unable to tell him where. He was unable to tell Steven that, in one moment, he had been snuffling around the fridge trying to open the door, almost tasting the open can of beef chunks in gravy, and then he was somewhere-else the next. He didn't understand where somewhere-else was, but he knew he had been taken somewhere-safe while something-not-safe was happening.

He remembered playing with other dogs. He remembered chasing his tail. He remembered sleeping, and he remembered it was a good sleep with dreams of running and chasing and playing and finding the bone and catching the rabbit and–-

"I thought I'd lost you forever, stupid dog. I really did."

Abe had settled down long enough for Steven to pull him tight to his chest. He kissed the top of Abe's head, who squirmed free and leapt up to lick Steven's nose again.

"Ok, boy. Now, I need your help."

Steven rose and took hold of the hair at the nape of Abe's neck. He edged towards the glassless window frame, feeling his surroundings. Abe hadn't deviated from a straight line, which Steven thought strange. He had expected to encounter the side-table, chair and foot of the bed before reaching the window. Where these furnishings should have been were only concentrated piles of fluff.

Abe led him to the opening in the wall and Steven leaned out, noticing that his hands met the stone that had been beneath the wooden frame. He listened for sound that was not present.

"Hello?" he called, but there was no response. "Preacher Pete? Anyone?"

He called out every 30 seconds, sometimes declaring his position:

"Is anyone out there? I'm on the 8th floor, apartment 1. Hello?"

Steven abandoned hope of any reply after ten minutes. With Abe leading, he made his way through the apartment finding, where each of the doors had been, more piles of the fluff.

He was unsurprised to find his journey to the kitchen was in vain. Of course, the fridge, fixings, contents, and utensils were all ash.

"Abe, old buddy," he said, "I swear to you, I had, like, six cans of that slop you like but, as I'm sure you can see, it's all gone."

Had he still his sight, Steven would have seen Abe cock his head to the left, turn towards where the Abe-food cupboard once was, then back to Steven in acknowledgement of their predicament.

Steven sighed.

"I think we need to get out of here, pal. I just don't know where to. Let's go downstairs, and we'll take it from there."

Fortunately, the stairwell, like the building's exterior, was constructed from granite and had endured the event that devastated the other materials found in the apartment.

Steven bellowed another futile call. He tried to listen beyond the birdsong and could hear nothing that bred hope. He raised his head and sniffed, Abe doing likewise. Neither could detect the faintest spoor.

For the next hour or so, they circled the neighborhood and found not a soul. So far as Steven could tell as he felt his way along, outer shells of the older, granite buildings remained, so too did the trees, but the more modern skyscrapers, and their inhabitants, had been reduced to huge piles of ashen fluff which were, themselves, reducing as the unimpeded breeze carried the material off.

When they completed their circuit, Steven crouched down to sit on the curb, his legs splayed out into the road. Abe sidled close to him, sat on the curb's upper step, and leaned against Steven's left shoulder.

"Well, Abe-y. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around, huh?"

Abe panted hot breath against Steven's neck and gave him a single lick. He was grateful the big dog was with him. Having Abe here, Steven was able to postpone dealing with the despair of losing Lisa, set aside his own panic which simmered and threatened to consume him, and focus on taking care of Abe. Right now, however, he had no idea what to do. There were too many questions.

Was everyone else gone?

Why was he, a worthless, blind alcoholic, allowed to live while someone like Lisa--pure, selfless Lisa--had been condemned to ashes?

Condemned to ashes is bad enough, he thought, but that was after she had to go through the same agony I did in the lab--Oh my God, that's it!

Whatever caused this event had begun in the same way as his accident. As much as he had tried these past years, he could never forget the sensation before losing his sight, and today, he had felt it again. Steven was convinced that whatever microbe had caused his blindness was related to the event he had just survived. They were the same, just on a much larger scale. So why didn't he die?

Was it possible that his previous encounter, which he was now certain would have killed him had Tito not been there to drag him from the lab, had rendered him immune to future exposure?

He had spent many years researching treatments for a variety of pathogens and understood that controlled exposure in small doses, like a vaccine, enabled the body's defense system to recognize the same pathogen for life, rendering the host immune.

He now believed whatever government collaboration behind his and Tito's research had known something was coming. That would explain the secrecy. Perhaps there was an industrial partner hoping to be the only company with a vaccine--they could have charged whatever figure they wanted, they would have had a monopoly, or maybe there was some religious radical partner who wanted their religion to be the sole enduring, allowing followers of other faiths to perish. Steven wasn't sure who was behind it, but one thing he did know was that he and Tito weren't alone in researching this; Tito had said there were other incidents.

Maybe, then, there were other survivors, and if there were, maybe they would piece together the connection between the collaboration and the event. They, too, would realize where they need to go to find answers.

Steven rose, patting Abe's head.

"You're in charge of catching food, old buddy."

He lifted his face towards the sun, turned to his left, and walked north, towards the research center. It would take weeks, but he knew he would make it. He had survived for a reason, so there had to be something left.

Something more than just ashes and dust.

THE END

Bio: Mr. Ferrari was formerly a research scientist and holds a doctorate in chemistry. For the past few years, he has been working in the commercial pharmaceutical industry.

E-mail: Frank D. Ferrari

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