(N.B: I'm posting this because it is 3:00AM, and I am too tired to A. Edit, B. Work out the devious plan I discussed with Kathryn tonight, and C. There is no C. Rather than post 6,000 word posts that nobody reads, I was planning on posting the first paragraph, with a link to the rest of the piece - but I am sick with lack of sleep, so I'm just posting the 6,000 word version on the front page and I'll fix it tomorrow if have a large enough backlog of sentient thought.
This isn't a story about my dog. I don't really know why I'm posting this - it is an extremely rough, extremely early version of something that occured to me tonight. It's kind of the intersection between Raymond Briggs, Roger Waters, Love At Sleepy Rock, and Cold War paranoia. Even though none of you will read it - for those that do, I hope you kind of get what I'm trying to do. Remember, this is an extremely early draft. And probably has even more problems, issues, and editorial weirdness than the usual half-baked tripe we see on here. I'm posting it because I guess I still have the silly belief that some of you are still reading and might be interested in seeing a Work In Progress. And that's a very important term in the reading of this - it is a Work In Progress. So, keep your snarky remarks to yourselves, turkeys. When I get the sack to go back in with the Big Shiny Knife, I'LL edit it. Other than that, I hope you get a kick out of it, you sick little devils, you.)
"It says here that we should hide under the table."
She paused, and looked at her Father. Her smile had bowed quizzically, and she blinked at him.
"Do we have a table that's tall enough?"
Jim shrugged, and turned off the tap, lifting a glass of water to his lips.
"I guess we'll have to put that one up on encyclopedias.", he muttered between mouthfuls. "Or milk crates."
Jessie continued.
"It also says that we should paint a sheet white to deflect the blast. And we should throw the sheet over the table."
“Sounds silly to me.”
Jessie was giggling as she sat at the kitchen table, a peanut-butter sandwich with a single bite out of the left triangle sitting in front of her as she studied the pamphlet that had come in the mail that morning. It was an important looking government pamphlet. Jim had leafed through it briefly before throwing it down on the table in disgust. It was a guide to the precautions households should take in case of a nuclear attack. Jim had laughed at it dismissively. Paranoid nonsense. But then his daughter, Jessie, had picked it up and started reading through it.
"It's not silly, Daddy! We should do what it says. You know – safety.”
“You might be right, pumpkin.” Jim said staring through the kitchen window, “After all, you never do know what's going to happen."
"What's going to happen?", Jessie muttered, her voice trembling slightly.
Jim smiled, walking over to her and ruffling her hair.
"Finish your lunch, and then we'll go out and feed Mr. Shirer."
"Mr. Shirer's looking big this year. Bigger than ever. I wonder if we're feeding him too much."
"I doubt it, sweetheart. Old Shirer has always been a big boy. He's just getting old. He can't move around like he used to."
"We need to watch out for him.", Jessie said scoldingly, "Imagine if anything happened to him! Things just wouldn't be the same."
My god, Jim thought to himself. She looks so much like Janie. So much like her before she -
"Daddy, it says here that we should stock up on canned food. Do we have any canned food?"
"We've got some beans in the pantry, I think. Maybe some tinned fruit."
"We'd better get some when we go to the shop. We'd better get all kinds of things."
"Tinned corn?", he said, grinning.
"Tinned peaches!", Jessie exclaimed in reply.
"Tinned...", he lowered his voice slowly, walking over to her and tickling her sides as he continued: "Artichoke hearts."
"Hearts?", Jessie cried in between sobs of laughter as she writhed against his hands, "You're so silly sometimes!"
"Silly?", Jim asked innocently.
"A vegetable doesn't have a heart! It's a vegetable!"
"Artichokes do.", Jim said. "Artichokes have hearts."
Jessie sniffed, her head cocked slightly to one side as she absorbed this nugget of information.
"Can an artichoke fall in love? If it has a heart?"
Jim smiled. "I bet it can, honey."
"That means that it can be heartbroken, too.", Jessie said, her air tinged with melancholy.
Jim nodded. "I guess it can."
God. So much like her mother.
"You're getting so big, Mr. Shirer.", Jessie hummed, as she pulled the weathered wooden gate to the pig pen open, and wiped her hands on her overalls. "Very big."
Shirer was half-asleep in the corner. His ears pricked up when he heard Jessie's voice. He liked Jessie.
Jessie walked over to the pig trough, a bucket of scraps in her hand. "You know, Shirer, you're looking big. Really big. I'm going to give you your dinner, but you need to exercise."
But Shirer didn't want to exercise. Being a pig was quite enough.
"And don't look at me like that. You're giving me your sad look. I know you're sad. But if you die, I'll be sad, and you will be too - we won't be able to see each other anymore."
Shirer had to admit that she had a point, but he trotted through the mud and hay to the trough, and buried his snout in the potato peelings and apple cores and other delicious things that Jessie had laid out for him.
"Shirer, look what I've got. It came in the mail this morning. Wanna see?"
Shirer was too busy eating to look. But he would certainly listen.
"It's called What To Do In The Event Of A..."
Jessie paused. She scrunched up her nose. What did Mrs. Jennings say at school? Make the sounds of each letter and put them together. That's what she said.
"In The Event Of A... Noo-cleer... attack."
The little girl beamed proudly. Shirer had no idea what a noo-cleer attack was.
"It says here that we need to buy cans of food. Lots of tins. And we need to paint a sheet white, and Daddy says we need to put our table up on encyclopaedias."
Shirer looked up at her briefly, a long stripe of carrot peel hanging from his spiky chin.
"We have encyclopaedias - but where will we get a sheet from? I've got sheets on my bed, and there are sheets on Mummy and Daddy's bed, but -"
Jessie paused, and blinked sadly. Then, she corrected herself: "I mean, on Daddy's bed."
A voice called out from behind her: "What's on Daddy's bed?"
The nine year old girl turned on her heel. Daddy was walking towards her, his black gumboots caked with mud. He'd been down in the dairy.
"Sheets. We need to know what to do in case of a noo-clear attack."
Jessie was terribly proud when her father didn't correct her. She'd read the word correctly, and she beamed.
"We'll find a sheet, sweetheart. But, I promise you, there'll be no nuclear attack. Not in your lifetime, anyway."
"Why not?"
Jim put his arms over his chest.
"We're too clever. People know what would happen if there was a nuclear attack. Things would end."
"They'd end?", Jessie said, a slight tremble in her voice.
Nodding, Jim placed a hand on her shoulder.
"We've had a lot of wars. You remember Grandpa telling you about World War Two?"
Jessie nodded.
"Well," he said, his eyes dark and serious, "A lot of people died during World War Two, but a lot of people also survived. If there was a nuclear attack, everybody would die. A nuclear attack kills everything."
Jessie felt a ripple of terror trace icy fingers across her chest and up her neck, and it must have registered on her face, because Jim suddenly reached out and pulled her to him, giving her a warm hug.
"Oh, honey. If it makes you feel better, we'll do what the pamphlet says. But I'm going to ring them and give them a stern talking to, tomorrow. It's not right that they scare little children like that."
"I'm not scared!", Jessie said defiantly.
"You're not?"
"Nope!"
But, of course, Jim knew she was lying. In a way, he admired her resilience - he'd grown up during the Cold War, which threatened to turn hot at any second, and he remembered endless nights spent awake in his bed in his
parents house, imagining what would happen if the Russians finally said 'Screw it!' and punched the red button. He'd been terrified. He never thought he'd be quite that scared again.
"What do you want to do?", he asked her. He'd play along, if it was going to make her feel better.
"It says that we need to paint a sheet white. And we need to stock up on tinned food."
"We don't have any sheets. Will a curtain do?"
Jessie shrugged. "I guess it'll have to."
Reaching down, Jim took her tiny hand in his, and they walked back into the farmhouse.
Jim didn't particularly like being a farmer. He didn't particularly hate it, either. He was terribly glad that he was a famer, though. After Janie died, he was grateful of the amount of work that running a farm required. It took his mind off her. He didn't have to spend his days thinking about how he watched her get thinner and thinner, and how gaunt her face became, and how she would wince and scream and cry out and he would increase her morphine, and she would beg him to end her life with it, but he just couldn't. He didn't have to think about Jessie's shadow cast across the doorway of their bedroom as she stood outside and listened to the sound of her mother die, with a teddy bear in one hand and a thin tear bisecting one of her apple-red cheeks. Instead, he had the endless seas of emerald grass, the slow march of the cows through the dairy - with their braying and their snorting, and the sight of Jessie running up the driveway after school, crashing into his arms and telling her about all the things she'd learned that day. The farm had diluted the pain, spreading it across a landscape of grass - causing it to become so thin that he barely felt it at all.
But sometimes he did. When he least expected it. When Jessie would look up at him, and she'd smile her smile of baby-teeth and chocolate milk, and he'd swear that he was looking at a younger version of Joanie, and he'd have to remind himself that she was dead. And then his heart would race and he'd feel that old tightness in his chest, and it would all come flooding back to -
"Daddy, are you sure this will be long enough?"
He had been daydreaming. Jim looked down at Jessie, who was lathering white paint across an old dropsheet he'd found in the shed.
"I'm sure it will, honey."
"How will we fit under the table?"
"We'll think of something. Books or saucepans. Or something."
"Saucepans?"
Jim nodded. "Uh-huh. Or milk crates. We've got plenty of milk crates around."
They finished painting the curtain, which took an hour or so, and Jim looked at his watch, alarmed at the time.
“Jessie, we’d better get moving if we want to eat tonight. The shop will close at 5:30, and it is 5 now.”
“What about the curtain?”
“We’ll leave it here to dry. It’ll be dried by the time we get home, and we can figure out what to do with it.”
“A safe place, Daddy. You know – just in case.”
Jim chortled – almost to himself. Sure thing, Jessie. Just in case.
The old ute groaned as Jim slipped a key into the ignition and turned it. The engine howled and grunted – Jim knew that he didn’t take as good care of the truck as he should have, and certainly not as much as it deserved, but he was always being sidetracked by his other projects. Sitting up on the front bench with him, Jessie wound down her window and put her arm out, waving.
“We’ll be back soon, Mr. Shirer. You’ll wait for us, won’t you? If you’re good, I’ll bring you back something special!”
Shirer watched the old white truck trundle slowly down the road, and he flopped down in the mud, feeling it ooze around the fullness of his belly.
“I’ll bring him back something nice, Daddy. He is such a good pig.”
Jim sighed. “Shirer’s getting old, honey. You know that, don’t you?”
The little girl turned away and didn’t answer.
“Nothing lives forever. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is.”
Jessie turned and looked at her father.
“Like Mummy.”
“No, not like your Mother. That is completely different. That’s not what I’m talking about.”, he snapped. His voice carried a tinge of venom, and he was a little louder than he should have. Jessie shrunk in her seat.
Damn. Jim thought to himself. I am such a bastard.
“I just meant that Shirer’s an old pig, honey. That’s all. If he gets to the point where he’s in pain, it would be cruel to keep him alive when he’s not happy.”
“You wouldn’t…”, Jessie’s voice dropped, and she spoke in a half-whisper: “Eat him, would you?”
Jim stared at her. “Absolutely not!”
Jessie sank back into her chair with relief. “Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t. I couldn’t eat Shirer. He’s my friend.”
She smiled. Then she repeated herself: “He’s my friend.”
“Whaddaya say, Jim?”
Walsh leaned over the counter and grinned, his gold caps glinting on his incisors.
“Not much.”, Jim said, as he took the older man’s hand in his and shook it. “Not much at all.”
“And how are you, little one?”, Walsh barked cheerfully.
Jessie smiled, her face tinged with rosy shyness.
“I’m fine, Mr. Walsh.”
“Isn’t she gorgeous?”, Walsh remarked to Joe. Then he returned his gaze to Jessie. “You gonna be a heartbreaker when you grow up? Eh? You gonna turn all the boys heads?”
Jessie squeezed her father’s hand a little tighter as her face became crimson.
“I don’t like boys.”, Jessie said, her lips forming a defiant pout.
Walsh erupted into laughter, and he traded a knowing glance with Jim.
“Oh, you will someday. You will.”
“We’re here for cans.”, Jessie said loudly, ignoring him. “We need lots of canned food.”
“Don’t tell me.”, Walsh said. “You got that damned pamphlet in the mail. Am I right?”
Jim nodded and rolled his eyes.
“It’s important, Mr. Walsh! For safety.”
“Well, you’ve certainly chosen the right time to act. Look over there – the war has started on the ground.”
Walsh gestured towards a television set which sat upon a Coca Cola freezer in the corner of the shop. Jim turned to look. On the screen, he saw grainy, static-splashed images of a city in flames. Battalions of soldiers ran through city streets in shaky close-ups, while bursts of machine gun fire illuminated the darkness.
“The war?”, Jim said slowly.
“I’m gonna go get our cans.”, Jessie said – picking up a basket and trotting down an aisle.
“Fine, honey. You do that.”, Jim replied idly, his gaze locked on the screen.
“It’s lookin’ ugly.”, Walsh said. “They say that things are really heatin’ up over there.”
“I thought the peace talks were looking successful?”
Walsh shook his head.
“They were. Until this morning. Damn terrorists.”
“Jesus.”, Jim breathed.
“I think that’s what those pamphlets were about. There was a rumour that they’d smuggled a bomb here.”
“Here?”, Jim said, a humourless, frightened smirk on his lips, “Why would anyone want to set off a nuke here?”
Walsh shrugged. “Why not?”
Jim didn’t have an answer. He looked over at Jessie, who was piling cans into the basket.
“Honey, don’t forget about corn. Tinned corn.”, he called over. Jessie nodded, and reached for another shelf.
“Jim, don’t go getting crazy. I’m sure there’s nothing more than a few wild punks out there making boasts and threats. Don’t go getting paranoid, my friend. That’s my advice to you. And –“
Walsh lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t go scaring the little one.”
“I’m not!”, Jim said defensively, “I’m just –“
His voice trailed off. He had no answer, and his eyes wandered back to the screen. Shots of politicians looking ashen faced at eagle-festooned podiums were intercut with the dusty richochet of gunfire on the sides of decimated buildings.
“The war really has started, hasn’t it?”, Jim muttered mirthlessly.
Jessie walked up to the two men and pushed her basket on the counter. It was packed with silver tins.
“Plannin’ a party? Can I come?”, Walsh asked Jessie, grinning.
“It’s not a party, Mr. Walsh. These are supplies. In case of a noo-clear attack.”
Walsh shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and attempted to smile – but his lips just formed a kind of rictus.
“Now, those are pretty fancy things for a little girl to be sayin’.”, Walsh said, his vice holding a gooey, patronizing quality that made Jim a little queasy. He knew Jessie was too intelligent to fall for it, but too polite to do anything but play along.
“Sorry, Mr. Walsh.”, she replied, her eyes darting across to the television.
Walsh began ringing up the cans on the cash register. He piled them into three large plastic bags, before his brows furrowed, and he began looking around the desk with puzzlement.
“You’ve missed something.”, Walsh muttered.
Jessie stood on her tiptoes and looked at the counter. “What?”
“Yes. Yse, I’m sure you’ve missed something. Something important. I’m just sure of it.”
“What is it? What have I missed?”
Walsh disappeared behind the counter, squatting down. He called up to Jessie.
“Ah! I’ve found it!”
Slowly, Walsh rose to his feet. In his hand was a large, shiny lollypop. The candy looked sticky, a swirl of stripes whirling inward.
Jim frowned.
“We can’t afford that.”, he said flatly. Jessie’s smile dropped.
“Of course you can.”, Walsh said, nodding. “These are on special.”
“How much?”, Jessie asked eagerly.
“All they cost is one ‘thank you’ from a lovely little girl.”
Jessie beamed. “Thank you so much, Mr. Walsh!”, she exclaimed, taking the lollypop from his hand.
Jim sighed defeatedly.
“Walsh, that’s awfully nice of you – but those things are so bad for her teeth.”
Walsh walked out from behind the counter, dismissing him with a grunt.
Then, he picked up a bag of cans.
“Come on,” he said,“Let me help you get these bags into the car.”
The bags were packed, and Jessie was sitting in the front seat, waiting for Jim to finish talking to Walsh.
“Thanks for your help.”, Jim said, shaking the older man’s hand.
“Oh, it’s no problem. At all – really. I do love to see the little one. She’s a sweetheart.”
Jim nodded. “She is.”
“Don’t let her read that stuff, Jim”, Walsh said, shaking his head. “It’s a crime that they scare kids the way they do.”
“What if it’s true, though? What if –“
Walsh broke into laughter. “Don’t you start! Jim, don’t you think that if a nuclear weapon was anywhere near us, we’d have heard about it? Don’t you think it would have been on the T.V?”
“It was on the T.V.”
“Exactly. It was on the T.V.”, Walsh said, changing his attack. “Which means that they’ve caught them. Whoever it was, they’re probably rotting in a prison cell. Why would they want to cause a panic?”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “A panic?”
Walsh nodded. “That’s right. Why would they want to panic the people?”
“The kind of panic caused by releasing a pamphlet on surviving a nuclear attack?”
Walsh was beat, and he knew it. He just shook his head in frustration.
“Just try not to scare the little one, Jim. You think what you like – you’re an adult. But she’s a child.”
Jim smiled, and nodded solemnly. “I won’t. I promise.”
“If you don’t mind me saying – she looks more and more like Joanie every time I see her.”
The smile was erased. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He’d been living in the area for ten years, and Walsh was one of the first people he’d met after he quit his job in the city and decided to live a far more sedate lifestyle in the countryside. Joanie thought that it would be a wonderful place to bring up a baby. And it was, wasn’t it? It just wasn’t such an easy to bring up a baby on his own. Walsh was right, though. She was turning into her mother – that much was certain. He just didn’t know how he felt about it. Not yet.
“Hey.”, Walsh said, putting a hand on his friend’s arm. “Hey. I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t mean to –“
“You didn’t.”, Jim replied coldly.
He turned and pulled the truck door open.
“I’ll see you next week.”, he growled as he slipped into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed with a loud, resonant crack.
Walsh’s face appeared in the window.
“Drive carefully, Jim. And I’m sorry. Really.”
“Sorry for what?”, Jessie asked, licking her lollipop.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Old Mr. Walsh just puts his foot in his mouth sometimes, that’s all. Happens to the best of us. You look after your Daddy for me, won’t you?”
Jessie nodded. “I will.”
Walsh’s voice dropped a little lower and he stared at Jim.
“And you look after you, too.”, he said earnestly.
Jim looked into the eyes of his friend, and sighed. Then, he nodded and released the brake – the old truck rolling down the driveway of the general store, and turning onto the long stretch of road that led back to the farm.
“What were you and Mr. Walsh talking about?”, Jessie asked, the wind blowing her hair about as the truck sped across the tarmac.
“Nothing, baby. We were just talking about grown-up stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Oh. Nothing much. Just –“
The Ford whistled past them, nearly running them off the road. Jessie let out a yelp as Jim spun the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the oncoming vehicle. The man behind the wheel of the other car looked deranged and frantic.
“God. What a stupid shit.”, Jim scowled.
“Yeah. Stupid shit.”, Jessie said, breathing heavily.
“Hey! Don’t you talk like that. It’s not nice for ladies to talk like that.”
“They talk like that on T.V. I’ve seen it.”
Jim sighed. “Well, we’re not on T.V. We’re in our truck. And in our truck, it’s not nice for ladies to talk like that.”
Another car sped down the road towards them. Jim’s eyes widened, and he let his foot sink a little on the accelerator. Then, he steered the truck out of the way. This time, a blue Commodore powered past them, leaving a high-pitched streak of sound in its wake.
“What is this, the Indy? Jesus! They’re all out today!”
“Maybe we’re missing something exciting.”
“Maybe.”, Jim muttered. “Let’s just get home. I’m hungry.”
“Me too.”
“If you ate your lunch, you wouldn’t be hungry.”
“I wasn’t hungry then. I’m hungry now.”
Jim laughed. So much like Joanie.
Jessie waved through the kitchen window at Shirer. But the old pig was sound asleep.
“Should I go out and wake up Mr. Shirer?”, she asked. Jim shook his head, as he rummaged through a drawer for a can opener.
“No, sweetie. He’s sleeping. Better off just to let him sleep.”
Jessie frowned. “Okay.”
“Honey, will you put the radio on for me?”, Jim asked, as his fingers found their mark, and wrapped themselves around the handle of a plastic can-opener. He wanted to hear about the war. It looked pretty bad back at Walsh’s place.
“Sure.”, Joanie said, rising to her feet.
As the radio crackled into life, Jim was startled by the ferocity of the broadcast.
“… REPORTS THAT THE DEVICE WILL BE DETONATED WITHIN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES – ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO FOLLOW THE PRECAUTIONS OUTLINED IN PAMPHLET 10-ZB…”
“What’s that?”, Jessie asked, scrunching up her nose.
Jim’s heart was racing. He gestured towards the radio.
“S’gotta be a joke.”
But the radio continued: “… WE REPEAT: TERRORISTS HAVE ANNOUNCED THAT A NUCLEAR DEVICE WITH A BLAST RADIUS OF TWO HUNDRED KILOMETERS WILL BE DETONATED IN THE HEART OF THE CITY WITHIN THE NEXT…”
Jim looked at Jessie. Jessie looked at Jim.
“Where’s the sheet?”, he yelled, pushing everything off the tabletop with a sweep of his arm, the plates and papers crashing to the floor. “Get the sheet, Jessie!”
“What?”, Jessie said, her voice quivering.
“THE SHEET. Go and get the sheet we painted!”
Jessie looked unsure. “But, I thought you said –“
“GO! NOW!”, Jim screamed, dropping to his hands and knees – an arm snaking out for the bags of tinned food. He pulled them under with him. Then, yanking a cupboard open, he pulled out pots and saucepans, looking for some that were roughly the same size. And with shaking hands, he propped the table up so that it would fit the two of them.
“… IN EIGHT MINUTES THE DEVICE WILL BE DETONATED, ALL CITIZENS ARE ADVISED TO…”
Jessie tossed the curtain over the table, and Jim dived beneath it, reaching out and grabbing Jessie’s leg. He pulled her under.
“Ow! Daddy, you hurt me!”
“I’m sorry, baby. Please, just be quiet so that I can hear the –“
“MR. SHIRER!”, Jessie screamed, breaking free of Jim’s hands and running out. “DADDY, WHAT ABOUT MR. SHIRER?”
so much like her mother, so much like her mother to care about the stupid pig
“Jessie!”, he howled, “Jessie, get back here!”
like joanie like joanie she would have gone after the pig too
“… FOUR MINUTES… FOUR MINUTES UNTIL –“
Jim sped after her, grabbing her by the arm. She’d made it through the kitchen door and was running towards the sty. Shirer looked up at her, chewing lazily on a mouthful of grass.
“Mr. Shirer! I WON’T leave you, I WON’T!”
Jim pulled her back. She thrashed against his grip, screaming incoherently. Through it all, the pig’s eyes barely opened.
“JESSIE, GET INSIDE. NOW. GET INSIDE THAT HOUSE.”, Jim bellowed, pulling her back through the kitchen door, and kicking it shut.
“… THIRTY SECONDS… GOD HELP US ALL… GOD HELP US”, the radio blared.
“Daddy, we can’t leave Mr. Shirer alone out there, he’ll –“
“GET IN! GET IN!”, Jim screamed, pulling Jessie to the ground and wrestling her beneath the table. “GET UNDER THERE.”
“… TWO… ONE… GOODBYE EVERYONE..”
Jim managed to whip his leg beneath the sheet in just the nick of time. If he’d been able to look through the windows, he would have seen the sky illuminated with a glow that would have looked like the earth had opened up, and Hell had set fire to the sky.
“Jessie?”, Jim said weakly. “Jessie? Honey, are you okay?”
Her eyes were closed. Jim gasped wetly and leaned forward, pressing two fingers to her neck.
“You’re alive. Oh, thank god. Oh.”
Jim put an arm around her, and hugged her tightly.
Slowly, her eyes opened a crack. Then her head turned to him. He smiled, his eyes glistening with tears..
“Daddy? Are we okay?”
Jim nodded.
“We’re fine. We’re just fine.”
“What happened?”
“The bomb. They set off the bomb.”
“The noo-clear bomb?”
Jim shrugged and nodded, simultaneously. His voice was shredded.
“I guess so, honey. I guess they did.”
“The pamphlet worked.”, Jessie whispered.
Jim laughed grimly, and coughed.
“I guess it did. You were right.”
The only light was coming through a crack in the curtain. Jim reached a hand forward and pushed the material aside, experimentally.
Nothing happened. They didn’t disintegrate. The light didn’t burn holes through them. Fine.
“Wait here.”, Jim said.
He slid across the tiles, and stood in the kitchen. He felt nauseous suddenly, and he leaned over the sink, throwing up.
“Daddy?”, Jessie’s voice called out from beneath the table, “Daddy – are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”, Jim replied, spitting thickly into the sink, “Daddy’s fine, honey.”
But he wasn’t. Not really. Something felt wrong. He felt like a jigsaw puzzle that had been put together in completely the wrong way. He was still him – the same shape and the same look – but something deep inside him was wrong. He knew it.
He turned around. Jessie was standing in front of him. Her hair was a mess – her skin a kind of sickly, yellow pallor. He knelt down and stroked her face.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“I want to go and see Mr. Shirer.”
so much like her mother
“Okay, baby. But I don’t know if he made it. I just don’t –“
But she’d pulled the door open. She made a few steps through the door before doubling over and vomiting into the grass. Her body heaved, and her eyes were wet with tears. Jim followed her through the farmhouse door and was sickened by the sight.
The brilliantly emerald grass had turned a dirty yellow colour. The countryside looked dead. And there was a heat haze covering everything, accompanied by wisps of steam and smoke. And that smell. Oh, god – that smell. It was rotting flesh and demolished buildings and semtex and gunpowder and salt and tears – all laced together. It was so sickening that Jim felt his belly convulse and writhe again, but he fought off the waves of nausea.
“MR. SHRIER!”, Jessie’s voice called out piercingly. Jim turned to see his daughter run, stumble and fall – before picking herself up weakly and repeating.
“Jessie, baby. Let me help you. Let me –“
“Oh, no! Oh, Daddy.”
Jessie’s voice was shattered, her larynx producing little more than thickly corded, fractured sounds that resembled the once gentle coo of his daughter. She coughed and spat, her face pushed into the dirty yellow grass.
In the corner of the sty was Shirer, rolled onto his side. His mouth hung open – and his eyes were wide. Jim knew, deep down, that it was silly – but the poor swine looked terrified. He looked like he was frozen in fear. Thoughts like that were enough to drive a man insane. Jim realized that, and he decided that he would never look at that pig again, for as long as he lived.
Jessie was attempting to pull the gate open, her movements slow and drunken – and he staggered over to her, leading her towards the house. The remnants of her voice produced a sticky sound, which he assumed was a cry, and he stroked her hair off her forehead – which was, by now, sticky and matted with sweat.
He knew what was happening. How could he not? They had been killed, but nobody had told them yet.
And it took all of his strength not to fall apart into a shattered mosaic of tears at the very thought.
They were both dying. He knew that.
Oh, god. How long did he have? Hours? Days?
Jessie was vomiting in the sink. Jim sat opposite to her, at the kitchen table.
“What’s that smell, Daddy? What is it?”
Jim shrugged sadly.
”I don’t know, baby. They did something. Something bad.”
“Are we going to die?”
Jim snapped his head up at her. She was looking over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were yellow and sunken, and her mouth hung slackly beneath her nose.
“No.”, Jim lied. “Of course we’re not. We followed the brochure, right?”
Jessie smiled weakly. “Right.”
“So there’s nothing to worry about. Right?”
“I guess not.”
Jessie reached up and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. And, without warning, it slipped out of her scalp. She held it in front of her.
Her eyes were confused, and Jim looked on in horror. Then, she wrapped a fist around a large clump of her and tugged gently. It slipped out easily, hanging limply in her hand.
“Daddy.. my hair…”, she sobbed weakly.
Jim rose, and quickly took her in his arms.
“Shh, baby.”, he whispered. “It’ll be alright.”
“I feel so sick, Daddy. I feel like I could sleep forever.”
“No. Don’t you say that.”, Jim said, almost angrily, “You will do no such thing. You’ll be fine.”
“So tired..”, she said softly, burying her head in his chest. “So tired.”
“Jessie – what about something to eat? Eh? What about one of our tins?”, Jim said excitedly. “You’d like that.”
Jessie nodded weakly. “Maybe that would be nice. Something to eat.”
“We’re going to have to eat it cold, baby.”
Jessie cocked her head. The way she always did when she was puzzled.
she is so much like joanie so much so much so
“We don’t have any power, baby. Nothing to cook with.”
“Cold beans? You always said –“
“Never mind what I said. We’ll make an exception this time.”
Jim looked at the floor. The can opener was right where he’d left it. Right where it fell.
He scooped it up and reached under the table, retrieving a can.
As he cranked the handle, the blades cutting through the tin, Jim felt like he was going to faint. The smallest physical activity made him want to go to bed and sleep for a thousand years. He sighed, grunting against himself.
“Are you alright, Daddy?”, Jessie asked lethargically.
“Fine, baby. Fine.”
He slowly eased the cutlery drawer open and found a spoon. Then, he sat and put the can in front of Jessie.
“There you go, baby. You have to eat.”
“Daddy… I’m too tired. Too tired to eat. Too tired to lift the spoon. Too tired to…”
Her voice trailed off. Jim picked up the spoon.
“Come on, Jessie. You’ve got to eat. Please.”
He picked up a spoonful of beans and pushed them into Jessie’s mouth. She chewed slowly, her eyes half-lidded and her breathing coming in heavy, laboured chunks.
Then, without warning, she spat the mouthful out. Her eyes opened wide for a second, before closing halfway.
Her overalls were covered with a large, orange splotch of beans.
And in the center, were a few of her teeth. They’d fallen out.
“Tell me a story, Daddy.”, Jessie said softly, her lips a slightly blue colour. “Tell me a story.”
Jim weakly pulled the covers up onto her chest.
“Are you cold?”
“Tell me a story.”, she repeated. Her eyes were grey, and her mouth was flecked with foam.
“What about?”, Jim asked. He could feel his own strength waning.
“Tell me about Mummy.”
Jeff smiled.
“I loved your Mummy. You know what happened to her, don’t you?”
Jessie nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“Breast cancer.”
“That’s right, baby. But you know that I did everything I could to help her, don’t you? I need you to know that.”
“I know that, Daddy.”
Her eyelids were sinking. They looked like the sun going down, melting into the orange horizon.
“Daddy?”
“What, sweetie?”, Jeff muttered, as he leaned forward. He was going to rest. Just for a while. He flopped down on her bedspread, with an arm over her. He felt cold. So cold. Like his body was full of crushed ice. And his hands were grey and yellow. Blotchy.
“Daddy, do you think I’ll meet Mr. Shirer in heaven?”
Jim’s throat tightened so stiffly that it hurt.
And then he croaked: “Of course, baby. Why?”
“I just wanted to say sorry. That I couldn’t save him.”
“I’m sure he knows that, baby.”
Jessie’s eyes closed completely. “And I’m sure Mummy knows the same thing about you.”
There was silence for a few minutes. Jim looked up, and looked into Jessie’s gently closed eyes. Her chest wasn’t rising, and her heart wasn’t beating.
And as his eyes gently slid closed, he thought to himself:
She looks so much like her mother.