Night Scenery
Night Scenery
By Emery C. Walters
Published by JMS Books LLC
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Copyright 2019 Emery C. Walters
ISBN 9781646561520
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Night Scenery
By Emery C. Walters
And that’s when the shit hit the fan. Was it my fault for hoping to get out of my final nursing exam? Probably not, but you never know. They say prayer works, and God works in mysterious ways, but still…
So there I was in the bathroom, reading my upper arm where I’d written notes I’d need for cheating on the test. I had to hurry and get back there so they didn’t get suspicious; I didn’t want to be late. But then there was this—smell—really weird, I mean, I was in a school building on the university campus, no windows near me, but I could still smell it. I was suddenly dizzy and starting to fall, so I grabbed onto the toilet as if I were going to puke.
Next thing I knew, there was darkness and my head hurt. It was deathly quiet, deathly still, and the smell was still there, but either I was getting used to it or it was going away. I stood up, still in the stall, looked at my watch but it was too dark to see it. I pulled my phone out of my back pants pocket—we weren’t supposed to bring them or use them—but after pushing the buttons it wouldn’t turn on. It wouldn’t even light up.
I’d been in a room before when all the lights went out—it was at a movie theater and I’d just seen a remake of an old horror movie. This was scarier, though it shouldn’t have been. There was just something so off about this. What time was it? Why were the lights off? Why didn’t my phone work? Why was I suddenly so hungry, and man did I need to pee! At least I could take care of that part, dark or not.
After that, I went to wash my hands, stumbled over something on the floor, something that hadn’t reached a toilet in time or was—dead. People did that when they died, peed themselves, I mean.
Suddenly I had to get out of there. Fuck the handwashing; I was shut in an inside room with no lights and a dead body on the floor. Well, I was almost a nurse, right, so I made myself lean down and find an arm or neck and check for vitals. There were none. Duty done, I stood up, groped my way along the wall, found the door—to the fucking closet, of course.
Eventually, I found the door out to the hall, and calmed myself down just in case everything out here was fine. I didn’t want to look like a complete fool.
Ah, no worries mate, it was pitch dark, and, even though I knew there were windows and doorways and people…well, I was wrong about everything. I mean, the windows and doors were still there, I stumbled across the hallway and felt them, felt my way back toward the stairs, felt my way down them too, and there was nothing. No more bodies, not that I’d see them unless I fell over them. I was so spooked.
Here I was, age twenty-one, young, handsome, smart, and scared to the point of breaking. My heart was pounding. The smell was drifting away. I had a moment of panic when I saw a bright set of lights, red, blue, then yellow, and they blinked out of existence before I was even sure I saw them. Then I found the door to the outside and opened it and slipped out, expecting to see bright sunshine, or even twilight, but what I saw were a light sprinkle of stars overhead and nothing. I had a flashlight in my car, wherever that was, I had no idea where I’d parked, but I’d say I’d been inside long enough to have outlasted my parking limit. It may have been towed. How would I know; everything was black. And here I was, two years out of my Goth stage.
There’s an explanation for this, I thought, and took a calming, deep breath. And I shouldn’t have, as just then the sky burst into a thousand little green lights and they all took off at 90-degree angles for who the hell knows where, but I felt each jolt of electricity, or whatever, as they moved. The cars in the parking lot in front of me seemed to jump and I almost thought they would fly away too, but they didn’t—their horns bleated sickly, and they just seemed to slump, somehow. About four rows back I could see mine, still the same size, not sinking, not bleating. It was also the oldest car there.
I can’t sugar coat this—I ran. I ran like a little girl with a snake after her. A girly kind of girl, not the modern kind. I’m surprised I wasn’t screaming. It was just so wrong, and I wanted to get to where it was right, wherever that was. It had to be somewhere, right? I had no idea.
I drove like a maniac, but did not see any other traffic. Finally, after maybe ten miles of just stupid, nowhere, driving, I pulled over into the parking lot of an abandoned church. No one was there, and I was grateful for that. I had to calm down. I had to figure out what to do. Was this some glitch in the matrix? Was I hallucinating? A bad dream? I pinched myself, but all that happened was, I said, “Ow!” I started to hyperventilate (again) and cry at the same time. I knew in my heart something terrible had happened. It didn’t really matter what, did it? Was I the only person left alive? For what distance? Everywhere, or just here? How could I find out? I sat in the car like an idiot, and finally turned on the radio. Nothing but static. Fuck.
I got out to throw up. I didn’t want to leave the car, but I needed to—uh—take a dump, too, so I walked behind the car. It made me laugh, thinking; if I squat right here all kinds of people will show up. Ha ha, boy, wasn’t that funny? I went behind a tree and took care of business. Then I came out and wandered into what was left of the church, but there were no answers there, either, just rubbish and an overturned pew. I went back out to my car and suddenly was terrified that it wouldn’t start, or would melt, or fly away in a field of green sparks. I got in, turned the key, and decided to go home.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
* * * *
I realized, as I drove, that there was traffic; there were cars all over, but nothing was moving. Now that I had calmed down a bit (LOL) I had so many questions, but I didn’t know where to find the answers. If the radio didn’t work, and my phone didn’t work, what about the TV, newspapers, people! Damnit, where were the people! I was glad I hadn’t seen dead bodies all over. And I could still smell the odor, but it was changing into something familiar, part of which I recognized as burned rubber (car tires?) and overheated electronics. But why had I—and my car—been spared?
Or had we?
When I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, it was pitch dark. My headlights showed an alien landscape of cars that looked like they were melting, ashes floating in the air that seemed to be either darker than dark, or briefly lit like spastic fireflies. I got out of the car but kept one hand on the door. I could see the outline of the building ahead of me, but, as I watched, a chill came over me. I wasn’t cold, it wasn’t that kind of chill, just fear. Something was terribly off. Something was about to happen. I wanted to run inside to my familiar, safe rooms, but at the same time, I felt compelled to get back into my car and shut the door behind me. I giggled like an idiot as the image of the cartoon cats with the caption, “Go away, Sam, this doesn’t concern you” flashed into my mind. And then, suddenly, there was fire, real fire, not the green sparkly things I’d been seeing, not just the melting tires catching fire, but everywhere, everything, and it was all I could do to start the engine and drive back out onto the street. Other buildings were burning too, parked cars were burning, and I wasn’t too sure the road surface itself wouldn’t light up.
I drove, rather slowly, knowing, somehow, I’d otherwise lose control and speed as fast and carelessly as I could, probably hitting something. I cried. I realized I was crying in tune with my driving, slow and steady, as if there was a power in me that took control in bad situations. As I hadn’t had too many life-threatening or horrible experiences yet, I didn’t really know that part of myself existed, but I was glad of it. It was as if I were my own father right then, stable, sensible, and taking care of business, taking care of me.
Soon, but not soon enough, the fires were left behind me, and I was on the highway out of town. I had to pull over to be sick again, and as I stood outside my car, still holding the door open for comfort and safety, I realized I had lost everything I had ever known, and I had no idea why or how.
Something my father had once said came to me; “I judge a fellow by what he does with what he has,” and I looked around. I had myself, my mind and body, I had my car, and that was it. I had a good knowledge of the area around me—I had no idea if this situation was local or widespread. I could
at least check that out. Before I panicked any farther, although I didn’t see how that could even happen, yes, I did, I could rip off my clothes and run amok through the fields. That made me chuckle, and I got back in my car and took a deep breath. My mother always said, “You don’t know what you can do until you try doing it,” so here goes nothing, or something, who knew, but I would try—something. With what I had: my mind, my body, and my car. I hoped my parents were okay, but I had my doubts. All I knew was there was nothing behind me, nothing that I wanted to see…so the only way forward was, well, which way?
That only made me cry as hard as if my favorite cat had died, which probably, by the way, it had.
Well. Somewhat later—one always has to come back if one wants to go forward, stay alive, any of that silly stuff, right? I could give it one more day, one more hour even probably before I broke down crying again. East and north was the big city and the big city suburbs, and as I looked in that direction, I could barely make out a red glow, reflected in some less than black clouds above. South was nothing; west led to another big city a five-hour drive away; I was on the outskirts of Ann Arbor, Michigan, and I could take I-94 toward Chicago. There were small towns on the way. My parents lived out that way. I think it was the combination of miles of almost nothing possibly leading to my loving parents (not perfect, oh God no, but right now all I could come up with was warm loving arms and people who knew what to do, real adults, you know?).There was a pull in my heart that said I want my mom as plain as day. So I headed in that direction, repeating their two favorite phrases in my mind, first one, then the other, trying to not let the tears flow anymore, and behind that thought? Something in my head was being practical; food, water, gasoline, fire-proof clothes? Alien-proof clothes?
Was it only me? What would I find at that truck stop at the next exit? If it would still be there, and if it were, would I have the courage to stop? I’d seen way too many zombie movies to deal with whatever might be there. On the other hand, I was suddenly very hungry. Wait, did I have any money? Ah, but would I need it?
* * * *
At first, I thought there were cars—but it was just the huge semis, which had melted into car-sized lumps. So far, at least, nothing here was on fire, though smoke was rising from some of the lumps. I thought it wise not to linger. I parked near the edge and had a thought: surely there must be other cars as old as mine? I drove my grandfather’s 1949 Mercury, not that it looked that old, anymore. Gramps had customized it and kept it in great running order. When he’d passed away, three years ago, it had become mine, and was now my most valuable possession.
I shrugged it off—trying to know why and what and how would just confuse me and not help anything. Other than some muffled thumps and some continuing dinging sounds, it was so silent, so dark. I went straight to the door of the truck stop and wrenched it open. Looking down, I saw it had been stuck on a thick blob of something, something that might have been human at one time. Ick. The less time I was in here, the better. I started grabbing things I thought would be good to have, almost at random: scissors, flashlights, batteries, food, bottled water…I made half a dozen trips out to the car, filling the trunk and part of the back seat. Then, on my last trip in, I grabbed some toilet paper and a pair of sunglasses I liked, laughed at myself, and then grabbed several folding knives and a slingshot. Ooh, what a dangerous boy I was! I should have had a Red Ryder BB Gun, but I’d probably just shoot my eye out, right? Hardy-har-har.
Luckily, I’d tossed everything but the toilet paper in my pockets because something moved near me on the way back to the car. Something—or someone—stepped out from behind a lump of metal and said, “Stop right there!” I screamed and tossed the toilet paper in the air. Luckily it hit the—thing—person—right in the head, and I ran the rest of the way to my car, shrieking and gasping.
Then the voice came again, “Hey, idiot, will you just wait a minute? What a fucking sissy! I’m not going to hurt you! I just want a ride, a fucking ride, okay? You big coward. Scared of a—yah!” and the person the voice belonged to was running toward me, grabbed my arm, and hid behind me. “Something moved,” it hissed. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. The person (and by now at least I knew it was a person, which was comforting) just sounded terrified.
I said, “Let go of me and get in the car,” slammed the trunk down, and climbed in, myself. As I turned on the lights, I saw shadows moving, and those green, flickering little lights started up again. Was everything going to burst into flames here, too? Yes, why yes, it was. I was glad I had parked near the edge of the lot, so I could pick my way back out over a clear path.
As I pulled back onto the highway, there was a mushroom of red behind us, and the green sparks danced everywhere in the rear-view mirror.
After about ten minutes I had to pull over. There wasn’t any traffic moving, only those ubiquitous lumps that challenged every idea I’d ever had about end of the world scenarios. It was stupid, it shouldn’t be real. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe…it was.
My grandfather had updated the music ability in his car, to include CDs and cassette tapes. There was also a place for eight-track tapes, but I’d never seen one and didn’t really want to. Beside me my passenger was sorting through the stack that had accumulated in the middle of the seat, in the box I’d put there to keep them handy. “These are so cool! Look! ‘Sympathy for the Devil’! ‘The Theme from Apocalypse Now’!”
I said, “You’re shitting me. Hey, um, who the hell are you anyhow? You’re not a zombie, right?”
“Name, rank, serial number.”
I sighed. “Okay, look. I’ll start. My name is Asher. I was studying in Ann Arbor, and I’m twenty-one. I’m not a zombie or a serial killer.”
“What are you?”
“I am, or was about to be, a nurse. And yes, the stereotype is true, I’m gay.” I tossed my head and flapped my wrist. I was angry and stupid with it.
“Jesus, gay boy, gay girl, or other?”
“Boy! Man! What’s it to you? I’d give anything for a pop or even a beer.”
“Look in the back seat. I threw some more crap in there while you were filling the trunk.”
The back seat was loaded, and I was amazed. I reached, grabbed two bottles of something, and passed one over. We drank. I wasn’t the one who belched.
“And you are?” I asked with a snide tone.
“I am grateful for the ride, actually. Thank you.”
It sounded sincere, though not what I’d wanted to hear. I looked closer, though it was still hard to see in the dark, and it felt like the longer we sat there, the darker it got. I shivered.
“We should go on. My name is Sandy; I’m twenty-two, and I’m either a gay girl or a trans/questioning or something, I dunno, maybe they don’t have a letter in the acronym for me, yet. But don’t get any ideas, I don’t do dicks.”
My nose tickled. “I hope it doesn’t come to us having to perpetuate the human race, then.”
“Me neither; we don’t even have a turkey baster.”
I didn’t want to know. I started the car, and we continued on to the west.
* * * *
Was I doing the right thing? After all, I was responsible for another person now, not just myself. I don’t think anything in my nursing classes had prepared me for this.
Sandy said, “Let’s get off the road. Take a left at this exit, and then left again. I know someone who has a small cabin there. He used to have horses, too, so there should be a barn. If it’s there, we’ll get some sleep, decide what to do, see if we can raise anyone. He used to be a ham, too, you know, ham radio, that kind of thing. We’ll pretend we’re married for the night.” Here she laughed, deep, and like a man would. Almost a guffaw. “You can make your own damn sandwich, and I’ll fart.” Then she continued laughing so hard I realized I wasn’t the only one traumatized into temporary (one hopes) insanity. When she lapsed into tears, I pretended I couldn’t hear her—I knew that much about her already. She would hate to have someone see her cry.
“Wait,” I said, “You do use female pronouns for now, right? I want to be politically correct.” (Or at least not have her hit me. That would hurt.)