Aydan Murdoch

Rain hit the windows in a torrent. Each drop was black as pitch and left streaks against the windows. I could hear the wind rushing past with the rain, the roof of the house creaking in protest. It was built to survive winds worse than this though, so I kept my attention on the task at hand. It had been over a decade since Dad last taught me how to clean a gun, but I gave it my best. The over-under shotgun had been a gift, an ill-informed one as I hadn’t shot a gun since I was 19, but a gift nonetheless. I had been a bit upset when I got it, the presence of a gun in the house didn’t sit well with Molly and I knew that it was a headache waiting to happen, but I kept it just in case. 

I finished wiping the gun down and coating it with some anti-rain stuff Robert had given me with it, for spring hunting he said. I didn’t think it would help much with the stuff the rain was carrying, but it was better than nothing. I grabbed the ammo box and cut through the cardboard with a pocketknife. The shells were bright red, looking almost fake. I wished it was fake as I loaded a couple shells into the gun, stuffing the rest into a pouch around my waist. Sirens went streaming by outside, the red and blue illuminating the otherwise dimly lit room. The candles were Molly’s idea, more calming than flashlights for the kids. I didn’t know if trying to stay calm was worth it right now, but it wasn’t the time to argue.

I set the gun down and went to the bedroom. Two large lumps sat completely under the heavy blankets rhythmically rising and falling. Molly sat at the foot of the bed, looking at them. She turned as I entered, looking at me with worry. I put a finger to my lips and pointed to our sleeping kids, putting on the best ‘everything will be alright’ face I could muster. She just nodded, looking distant but determined. I made my way to our closet and began to pull out all my heavy jackets and a couple pairs of jeans. I put them all in a hamper and went back into the living room, Molly trailing behind me.

She helped me layer the many jackets over each other. I was content with the silence, but she broke it.

“Do you really think people are gonna come?” she said.

“I don’t know sweetheart, but I can’t bet our family on that,” I said back softly.

“I just don’t like you putting yourself in danger, Jack what we would do if…”

“I know,” I cut her off as her voice began to rise, “Hopefully things will calm down quickly, but these first few days will be the hardest.”

“And what do we do after that?” she said, “Hope the world puts itself back together? We don’t even know if there is an after.”

“Panicking will only help if we channel that into action, find yourself something to do, something that keeps you occupied, I’ll be close by.”

With that I stood up, nearly stumbling from the weight of my clothes. I grabbed my only baseball cap, a bag of beef jerky, and the shotgun. I slowly made my way to the front door before opening it. Immediately a gale struck me, nearly bowling me over. I pushed through the wind out onto my porch. Beyond the cover of the awning the world was dark. Thick black clouds hung in the sky, pouring muddy rain over the neighbourhood. All the houses on my street were dark, almost all of them abandoned. A car drove down the road, a Volkswagen by the shape. It slowly cruised down the narrow street, windshield wipers struggling against the polluted rain. I tensed as it slowed in front of my house and raised the shotgun warningly. The car continued.

The rocking chair was uncomfortable, which was good. It would stop me from falling asleep. I kept the shotgun across my lap as I stared out into the empty street, dark against the warm glow from the windows of my house. We tried to minimize the light from the candles, but compared to the darkness of the rest of the neighborhood we may as well have been a lighthouse. It made us a target. 

The rush from the city would drag people through the suburbs as they avoided the highways. Through the small neighbourhood that was my home. Cars trickled in throughout the early afternoon. Each slowed as they passed me by. I couldn’t see the drivers through the storm but I pictured their sullen eyes staring back at me with hunger. Each time the image worked its way into my head I tightened my grip on the gun. 

Finally I saw someone, two someones actually. A man and a small child. They were both wrapped in heavy coats to keep off the rain. The storm had begun to subside and I could make out the deep set eyes of the older man. They were a brilliant blue that contrasted with the dirt streaked across his face and caked into the creases of his age. There was a desperation in them that scared me, but the child huddled close to his leg for protection. They stopped across the street, the man’s head slowly panning up and down the row of houses. Finally he took a single step onto the road and I raised my gun at him. The man continued slowly, pulling the child behind him as he approached my house. No one had ever gotten that close before and my shaking hands made the end of my gun bob up and down.

By the time his foot hit my lawn I got the nerve to call out to him.

“Stop right there! Not another step!”

“Look! I’m just a single dad making his way out of the city! I’m no trouble,” he yelled back over the wind.

“I said stop right there!” I yelled back as he continued to take slow steps towards me.

“All I ask is for a second of reprieve for me and the boy, it’s been raining since the bombs dropped. Please just give us a moment of shelter,” the man pleaded.

My gun wavered in my hand for a moment and he took that moment to move. The man dashed forward, knife in hand. His feet pounded over the grass as I fired off the shotgun. He flinched but didn’t slow, I missed.

Pain exploded into my stomach as I tumbled onto the porch. I reflexively swung the shotgun like a bat, hearing a yelp as it collided with something hard. Gathering my bearings I saw the man stumbled against the railing of the porch, holding his bleeding head. His blue eyes met mine as I raised the shotgun and fired the second shell. He was thrown against the railing before collapsing into a pile on the porch, unmoving. I dropped the gun and clutched my gut, slowly lowering myself to the ground. I laid my back against the brick wall of the house and tried to focus on breathing. My breath came out in a wheeze as the world seemed to blur together. I heard voices nearby but I couldn’t turn my head to look at them. I was dying.

A face flashed in my mind. Molly. She was so close to me, her smile lighting up the room. Her wedding gown was beautiful and I leaned in to kiss her. Her face twisted into a teary eyed frown and she shook my shoulders. Her mouth moved in slow motion, but no sound came out of it. Warmth spread through my body.

A dull pain hit my face, sharpening my awareness. I looked down and saw a large wound in my exposed stomach. Blood covered me like paint. I reached a hand out towards my wife and wiped a tear from her cheek. My hands left a streak of blood on her face. I turned my head as far as I could towards the window, hoping to catch one final glimpse inside my home. I wanted to see the kids, but I knew that wouldn’t be right. They didn’t deserve to see their father die. I spent a moment in fantasy, thinking about what their life would be like. Would’ve been like. Had the bombs not dropped, had the world not ended. They would have gone to prom, started driving, become independent. I would’ve watched them make themselves into adults, but now I couldn’t. I just hoped this new world would treat them with more kindness than it did me.

I looked back at Molly, who was trying to put pressure on my stomach, saying words I couldn’t hear. I pulled her head up to face mine and tried to give her a smile. Her lip quivered as she tried and failed to do the same. The edges of my vision began to darken and I felt terribly tired. I closed them and sat in the darkness for a while. One by one sensations drifted away from me. There was nothing left.