T.S. Bazelli
Seven days after D-Day
That’s what we’ve taken to calling it: D-Day, the day everybody disappeared. One minute cars zipped past the bus stop, the next, they just stopped. Oh, they’re still there, parked in the middle of the road. It’s like their drivers cut the engines and just walked away. Only no one ever came back, and it all happened in the time it took to glance at my watch and back up again.
It’s eerie walking around Vancouver these days. No women in tight yoga pants walking small yappy dogs, no kids running around the yard at the high school down Cambie Street, no early morning joggers.
But you should see the house. It hasn’t been this full since the last time the grandkids came over for Christmas. There were five of us waiting at the bus stop on D-Day, and for some reason, whatever took the rest, just passed us by.
They’re all staying at our house until we figure out what’s going on. It made sense to invite them over, since we lived the closest, and I know you’d have done the same.
You’d be proud! I’ve been feeding our guests, and cleaning up around the house so that everything’s in good order for when you come back. I know you will. It all happened so suddenly that it stands to reason things will go back to normal just as fast. We’ve even got a board up in the living room with bets on how long it will take, and you know I’m a gambling man.
It’s been all right so far. There’s a middle-aged couple from the Island, the Snows; a young kid, Ying; and this quiet banker, Tom.
We’ve been trying to get in touch with everyone’s families but the phones just ring and ring. I drove Ying and Tom over to their houses but their families are gone too. No one’s answering emails. For now, it seems safer if we stick together, just in case.
Eight days after D-Day
Something’s wrong with the Internet. Whatever’s happened must be global or else Vancouver’s been cut off from the rest of the world. Ying’s some kind of engineering whiz from UBC and she’s been scouring the Net for days. Everything’s still working fine, but all that social media, you know, those YouTubes and Twitters, and Facebooks, no one’s posted anything for days. Ying says that’s bad.
What if we’re the only ones left?
Two weeks after D-Day
No matter how hard we try to figure out what’s happened, we can’t come up with anything. There’s no way to prove who’s right one way or the other. Did we miss the end of days? Did aliens just decide we weren’t worth taking? Did some crazy science experiment go wrong? It’s a great big mystery that’s way beyond me, and maybe all of us.
The pantry’s looking a bit thin now and the Snows want to prepare for the worst. They say we’ve got to focus on living. How long will the power last? How long will the phone lines stay open? How long until the sewers back up?
The Snows keep looking to me for answers. You’d laugh. I know I’m no spry young thing but I haven’t been around long enough to know how to live without electricity. I say Ying’s our best shot. She’s been printing off manuals written by a bunch of twentysomethings interested in doing things the hard way. Hipsters, she calls them? DIYers? I can’t get the jargon right. It looks like the future is the year 1900.
The kid’s got some really good ideas (You’d like her).
Tom’s an odd one. He doesn’t seem interested in anything but passing the time reading through our book collection. Mostly he reads the Bible. I suppose sometimes we need to do whatever makes life more bearable.
None of this makes any sense. Why did we get left behind? Where did you go?
I imagine you coming home and having a good laugh about it over tea, your eyes wide, the way they get when you’ve got a good joke to share. I hope you’re having an adventure, love.
Twenty-two days after D-Day
We’ve resorted to thievery! I suppose no one will blame us for trying to survive. Most of the fresh produce in the stores is starting to rot, and there are flies everywhere. Soon all the stores will be stinking and crawling with maggots.
We’ve filled up the house with supplies from the hardware store and the nearest supermarkets. There’s so much to do to become self-sufficient, and it’s all a little overwhelming. I’m not sure I can get a hang of it, but the Snows have been a great help. They’re excited about all the construction. I think they’re secretly a couple of environmentalists, which is handy. Judy Snow knows a few things about herbal remedies and growing edible plants. Bob Snow did a lot of camping and fishing in his youth. They’re both trying to teach me all this now. I wouldn’t know how to start a fire from scratch if I had to, but I suppose this old dog’s got to learn some new tricks. Matches I can manage.
You’d laugh at me, learning new things every day. I think my face may be permanently frozen into a look of puzzlement.
Ying finds me funny and started calling me Grandpa. Sweet, horrible kid. She spends most of her time trying to establish communications, glued to a computer sending out signals to anyone else who’s left, but I’d hate for her to find out we really are the only ones.
All of us give Tom a wide berth. I worry about him. He speaks only when we ask him direct questions. What a world of pain he must be living in… He won’t talk about his family or who he’s lost. He always shies away when he hears us laughing and joking, but living requires a sense of humour, doesn’t it?
I remain an eternal optimist. Ying’s bet already got crossed off the board, but my wager is still on the table, and I may just win this one.
Twenty-seven days after D-Day
Tom started spouting the Book of Revelation at us. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works. You know, all the doom and gloom parts. He’s convinced we’ve been left behind on the earth for our sins. All I know is that if this is the end of days, it really isn’t that bad. The worst part is not knowing what happened to you. I wonder and I worry more than I admit aloud.
Bob and Judy came back from one of their hardware store raids with a different sort of tool. I didn’t want to take it. I have no idea how to fire a gun. Just having the things around are trouble, if you ask me.
“Just in case, Mr. Kagawa,” Judy said.
But I took it and hid it behind the pot rack in the kitchen. I hope I’ll never have to think about it again.
Thirty-five days after D-Day
We haven’t seen any planes, or moving cars, or smoke. No one has answered any of our calls or signals. We’ve driven past the border and back again, but it’s all just the same. It looks like everyone just vanished.
Weariness hit us all hard this week. The other day I caught Ying crying. “I’m never going to get married. I have no family left. No friends.” All I could do was pass her tissues. We’re all missing people. No one suffers any less than the other. In a way, I suppose that makes it easier for me, missing you. We stay busy, and I fall asleep every night exhausted, worried about the rest more than myself. I’ve lived a long life. I’ve had you. I count my blessings instead.
Tom thinks I’m a fool and that may be so.
Forty days after D-Day
Tom broke. He just broke. He came at me while I pulled weeds in the garden, Bible in one hand and kitchen cleaver in the other.
“God has spoken to me. He has called me to clean this earth of its last unbelievers,” Tom said.
I clutched my dull, muddy spade tight. So small compared to the cleaver in his hand. And I remembered you at the kitchen table, two summers ago, cleaving up that roast pig to serve at our granddaughter’s fifth birthday party. The thought of that almost made my mouth water. What was I thinking?
“So, you’re God’s hired mop, eh?” I asked. Tom wasn’t impressed by my terrible joke. “I don’t remember that from Sunday school. I bet if we didn’t believe in God before, I’m sure we all do now, because how else could this have happened?”
Honestly, it was just talk. My hands shook so badly that I dropped my spade. Life did not flash before my eyes, but I could almost smell that roast pork.
“Just my luck to be stuck with two fucking Indians, a Chink and a Jap. Getting rid of you must be my ticket to heaven.”
Who talks like that anymore, really? It didn’t even make sense. If China was out of contact, so it stood to reason that a good few billion non-Christians made it to heaven if it really was the end of days. But, Tom wasn’t right in the head. It made sense to him, and that was all he needed.
“Get away from Mr. Kagawa right now, Tom,” Ying said.
I didn’t realize she was standing there till then, with her hand on the trigger of one of the Snows guns.
“Or I’ll shoot, and you’re going nowhere but in the dirt. Now go away, and don’t ever come back around here.”
Cool as a cucumber that one. I owe her my life. I told her she looked convincing, and asked her where she learned to shoot.
“Video games, of course.” She smiled.
Kids these days.
Three months after D-Day
The Snows secured a small boat and are going to go back to Campbell River to see if anyone’s still there. They want to go home before the weather gets bad and I don’t blame them. I joked that they wanted to get away before paying up on their bet, and I wished them luck. We all know they won’t win this one.
Ying avoided saying goodbye. She spends most of her time in the office now, has a bunch of scavenged computers hooked up to the generator. I couldn’t tell you what she’s doing. Still looking, I guess.
I don’t want to think about how quiet it will be without the Snows. I’ve never minded the quiet but this is something else, isn’t it? Sometimes I think I hear your voice and I feel a little bit less lonely.
Five months after D-Day
You can hear the city falling apart. All the windows in those glass towers? They’re starting to crack from the cold. The electricity’s gone out in most areas, thanks to a windstorm a few weeks ago. Some lights on timers sometimes still go on and off, but they’re not going to last – two people can’t keep a city going.
Ying’s taken over a giant house a few blocks away, all to herself. She says that she wouldn’t have been able to afford a house that big no matter how much she saved in her life. The rooms aren’t full of furniture but what looks to me like junk. Cell phones, computers, laptops, tablets, all the cables you can think of. She’s always tinkering away on something.
She checks on me once a week and we have Sunday dinner together. She worries about me, she says. She worries about me? Can you imagine, it should be the other way around! I worry about the quiet, mostly. She’s got no one for company but an old fart like me. I know you think I’m a ball of laughs, but you always did have odd taste.
But the house is warm, thanks to the generator and the solar piping the Snows helped install on the roof before they left. I sometimes boil water for an extra-hot bath. Mostly I cook on the grill these days, or eat out of cans. With everyone gone, there are more than enough cans to last a lifetime even if I never cooked again.
When it’s quiet like this and I’m all alone in the house, I like to pretend you’re at work, and the kids are young again and away at school. Sometimes I want to stay there in those moments and linger.
Ten months after D-Day
Happy birthday, love. Of course I wouldn’t forget. This year I’d hoped to take you on a cruise because I know how much you always wanted to travel the world. I’m sorry that I kept telling you that we couldn’t afford it, because of the kids and all. I’m sorry I had such a hard time keeping a job when we were just starting out. I would have loved to travel the world with you. Just my luck, this would be the year. I hid the brochures in the garage so you wouldn’t find them. I was going to book the tickets for your birthday.
Instead, I invited Ying over and we ate the biggest cake you could imagine. It tasted like shit, because you know I can’t bake but, damn, I tried. We put a candle on it, and sung you “Happy birthday” and everything. I miss you.
One year after D-Day
I caught Tom lurking around the house the other day. He seems right out of his mind. I didn’t want to show it but I was terrified, shaking. I grabbed that gun in the kitchen, stuck a steak knife in my belt, just to look a little more intimidating, and walked out onto the front porch. I pointed my gun straight at him and told him to scram.
He shouted at me, rambled about fallen angels, but he left. I’m still shaking now.
Oh love, you might be proud of me, but God, do I wish you could hold me close and whisper that into my ear. Sometimes this house of ours, when I’m by myself, is too big, and too empty, and I can’t handle it. It’s not like me to be this serious. Sometimes I worry I’ll end up just like Tom.
Two years after D-Day
Nature sure is something else. I’ve seen wolves and deer in the city! Mostly they leave me alone, though I am more cautious about where I throw my trash. Every day I go for a walk in Queen Elizabeth Park and feed the ducks with some crumbs. The waterfall no longer falls unless there’s been a good rain and the observatory’s crumbled in places.
Sometimes I think I see the coloured birds that escaped, flying around town, in little flashes of orange and red. The ornamental gardens are overgrown now, but I rather like them that way. It looks wild, beautiful in a way that can’t be created artificially.
Flowers still grow, and sometimes I pick some and put them in your room.
I’ve gotten used to the quiet now. I’ve stopped looking out the window to check whether or not the world has gone back to normal, but I still miss you terribly.
Three years after D-Day
Judy and Bob Snow came calling, right out of the blue! They brought some fresh crab and smoked salmon. We had a feast in our kitchen. Thank goodness the generator’s still up and going. We didn’t have a care in the world while they were here. They’re doing great those two. The salmon are back, they say. Campbell River’s gone wild like it used to be, but that’s the way of things. They never met anyone else, but it sounds like they’ve built their own little paradise.
They’ve got the right attitude, in my opinion. You take what you get, and do your best with it. My god, that salmon was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh food. They built a cabin, and have gone back to the ways their grandparents lived. Judy’s pregnant too, wouldn’t you know? It’s amazing. They thought they were too old, but there you go. Sometimes miracles do happen, even in the strangest of times.
They invited me and Ying to come live with them. They say an old man shouldn’t be living on his own like this, but you know me. I can’t leave this place, just in case you come back and look for me. I know if you came back you would come straight here. And I know you would, if it were possible.
Ying doesn’t want to leave her “batcave” (that’s what she calls it). I tried to convince Ying to go with them, but she’s as stubborn as you are. She babbled something about reestablishing a digital order. I have no idea what she’s going on about. Should I be worried?
The Snows were disappointed. Maybe one day they’ll understand, but I’m old. Sooner or later, one way or another, I’ll leave this place that you and I made our home. Until then, I take comfort in the memories we made in this city. Everything reminds me of you, and when I’m here, I can almost believe you are too.
Day… I don’t know.
I’ve done something terrible. Ying told me that she saw Tom around, so I went and checked out her place. The poor kid was so terrified she nailed up boards on the windows, and installed extra locks on the doors.
Tom smashed the generator in the yard, but Ying said she could fix it so she wasn’t worried. She was more worried about Tom, and I don’t blame her. I told her I’d look for him.
I put on my heaviest coat, because of the winter chill, and put the gun in my pocket. I tried not to think about it while I walked. (You know me, I’d be likely to shoot my own foot off by accident.) I also loaded up a bag with a few supplies.
As I’d suspected, there were signs that Tom was hiding out in the nearest church, Holy Name, just a little bit farther down Cambie Street. I found sleeping bags and pillows piled up in a nest near the altar, all lit up prettily by the stained-glass windows, but Tom was nowhere to be seen.
I dumped rat poison in the fountain of holy water, and all over his food supplies. I hope that God forgives me. If I’ve been damned, it’s too late anyway. Maybe this is why I have been left behind. Maybe there is a defect in my soul. Maybe He knew I’d commit murder, and therefore wasn’t worthy. But I can’t afford to think like that or I’ll end up just like Tom. I can’t. I won’t.
You want to know the truth? I don’t feel bad about it, just relieved.
Five years after D-Day
Ying and I haven’t seen Tom again. I’m afraid to go back to the church, only to find him there rotting as evidence of my sins.
I still go to the house from time to time, but my knees, in the winter, they don’t work so well anymore, love. The house has a great view, but climbing those stairs is something that’s harder and harder to do. I’ve found a lovely little rancher by the seaside and Ying helped me set it up. I know you would love it.
This is hard for me to write, after all these years. Ying still comes by from time to time to check on me. She seems to be doing all right, just gone a little feral like the rest of us. I haven’t seen the Snows in a while. I hope they’re doing okay, and that their baby is growing up plump and happy.
Some days I hope I’ll disappear too, and maybe I’ll end up wherever you are.
But when you do come back, love, I know you will find these words I’ve left you in our house. Meet me on English Bay, near that old apartment we lived in before we had kids, where you came to meet me that one sunny day, when I bent down on my knees to ask you to marry me. When I close my eyes I can almost see you there.
Just like then, I’ll be there at 12 noon, waiting. It’s a date.
I’m still sure I’ll win that bet.