It started out like any normal day, a typical Monday, with all the depression that went with another working week. Bret still couldn’t believe that he was stuck in the treadmill, and that there was no way out. Time and again he wished that something would happen, anything really, anything that would break the monotony of the endless grind. By ten o’clock he was feeling mildly hungry, and also mildly queasy, he passed this off a just the after affects of a heavy weekend.
In a further half an hour the feeling had gone from mild to dominating, and as the minutes passed, he felt worse and worse.
“Are you okay Bret?” a fellow workmate asked at his apparent discomfort.
“I feel terrible, all of a sudden...” feeling no better for having admitted this.
“I’d go and throw some water on your face bud, and you’ll be closer to the sink there.”
“Hmmm...” was all Bret could manage, as bile fought to escape it’s constraints. Running as if the very Devil was after him, Bret barely made the toilet before he was violently ill. Having thrown up didn’t change how he felt, as he continued to dry retch for a further ten minutes.
“Bret, you okay?” another workmate asked from outside the cubicle.
“No, just let me die in peace.”
“Sure, just don’t make too much of a mess, Biggles will kill you if you mess up his nice cleaning handy work!” came the ill placed joke response.
Bret didn’t care a fig what Biggle’s thought, in fact just at this time he didn’t care what anyone thought - including himself. Time passed, but the queasiness didn’t. “If this keeps up I’m going to have to go and see the Quack.” he tried to calm himself down. Sitting on the toilet then, he let the world spin out of control, it was a disconcerting affect, almost like being drunk, but without any of the benefits - if indeed there were any, at being drunk.
Then there was someone knocking on the cubicle door, Bret had no idea who this could be since he had lost consciousness at some time during the spinning of the world. Reluctantly, slowly, he managed to drag himself up, then out of the toilet cubicle, only to be confronted by his boss Ian.
“So how are you Wilson?” showing genuine concern, once it was apparent that Bret was indeed ailing.
“Not so hot, think I’ll get a taxi home - don’t think I’m up to driving.”
“Yes I agree, and we don’t need you spreading it all round the office.”
“No.” Bret agreed.
“You just wait at reception, and I’ll get Cynthia to call for a taxi.”
“Yes.” was all Bret could manage, giving into the illness - for the time being it had won.
“Mason had something similar last week, and he’s still off, pretty crook from what I’ve heard...” Ian commented as an aside, as if it were all Mason’s fault, and of course Bret’s for becoming sick on the job.
Sitting at reception Bret waited for the taxi to arrive. Cynthia, usual to her character, ignored him and any other being that wasn’t management material. Her motivations were fired by money rather than kindredship. The only reason she had rung for the taxi at all, was because the boss had suggested it, indeed if the boss had suggested she take all her clothes off she might have - if a raise had been mentioned in the suggestion.
Not even the sight of Cynthia’s young firm body, could keep Bret from sinking into depression - a physically induced depression. Minutes, they dragged like days, and yet the waiting - no matter how indeterminate did come to an end. Naturally Bret had to discover for himself that the taxi had arrived and was waiting for him. On the way out Cynthia totally ignored him, and Bret couldn’t help thinking to himself, “some day girl, I hope you get yours...” and for some strange reason he did think that such a wish might come true.
The ride home was uneventful, apart from the odd conversation with the taxi driver, who had to report just how good business was of late. To the driver’s count, he had been flat out ferrying sick souls from work to home, from home the hospital, and a number of people to funerals. There was no connection made between these events, for why should there be, people got sick, went to hospital and attended funerals every day.
“Tiff’ are you home!” were the first words Bret uttered once passed the front door. In the silence that followed it was apparent that she was not, which was in itself odd, since she had stated categorically, that there was not a chance in hell of her going out into the madness that the city had become of late.
Feeling suddenly just that little bit better, possibly because he was away from work, the world became focused to where he now stood. For the time being that was enough of an antidote to the sickness that was lurking within him. Idly waiting out the time till Tiffany returned, Bret turned on the radio and lay on the couch, wondering in part if he would still be awake when she got home. In the background the radio spoke of an epidemic like flu that had hit the city without warning, and how some local band had been inspired by the sickness of the population. Then the world was fading, blending in with the blackness that lurks just at the limit of human endurance.
~
“Bret...” came the word, accompanied with the earth quake, “Bret, what are you doing home, are you okay?”
“What?” the room was still dark.
“I said, are you okay?”
“Tiff’?”
“Who else silly!” she breathed.
“I took ill at work, haven’t had the energy to do anything else but lie here.”
“God I hope you haven’t got the sickness, according to the news a lot of people have got this flu thing, quite a few are dying from it.”
“Dying from it!” penetrated Brian’s shell.
“Yeah, I’ve just been round to Jackie’s place, she’s got it, went to the hospital, they sent her home - I think she should have stayed there.”
“Great, just what I need, a quick dose of death before the holidays are due to start, that sounds just about right...”
“Oh don’t be such a pessimist, you’ll live - I would bet my life on it!” Tiffany chided him for his ill chosen words.
“That’s okay then, as long as you don’t bet my life on it, well that’s fine with me...” and for his trouble he received a light cuff to his head, after all he was sick, and due some consideration for his condition.
The day wound on, and Bret lay on the couch - virtually comatosed, Tiffany flitting from this task to that, doing enough for both of them. Despite being mostly out of it, Bret was still able to listen to the news, and understand the gist of what was happening. The reports were startling, an flu epidemic had taken hold with a bizarre twist - a twist of death. There were confirmed stories of the earliest cases of the flu, approximately two weeks old, that were now showing signs of a relapse. It was as if the cycle of the flu was being repeated, like a treadmill of destruction that no one could escape.
That night Bret slept on the couch, now he was too hot, and to sleep with some one else would have been more than he could have bared. In the depths of this darkness he found more than bargained on, sensations of; despair, understanding, hopelessness, faith, solitude and kindredship - but most of all a sense of fate. Whatever was going to happen would happen, it did not matter a damn if he wished for life or death, what was going to happen would just be his destiny...
~
Then it was morning, and there was someone with him, a gentle soul to soothe his fevered brow. Now this person could have been an angel, a vision from beyond sanity’s realm, but she was not, she was Tiffany - and a real angel.
“So how do you feel now?” she enquired.
“Like a corpse in a grave.”
“You have more colour,” she countered, “how about a soul awaiting resurrection.”
“I’ll take it!” he agreed.
“Sold, to the man with the white face.” she rose then, going for warm food and drinks, the sure way to recovery.
Alone again, with but the television for company, Bret turned to the news channel, finding nothing more than what he had - more news of a mysterious flu and circumstantial death. The news hinted at a world wide outbreak, harder hitting in less well equipped third world countries. But they may as well have been a million miles away, a sure case of distance ensuring safety. And there was normality around; the radio, television, papers kept on reporting, so life could not be that bad, it had to be just another case of sensationalism.
“I’m just going out to the drug store, might visit Clare and Bob on the way back, apparently Bob isn’t doing so well with this flu thing...”
“And you?” Bret had to wonder at her resilience.
“I’m a box of birds.” Tiffany reassured him.
“You look a bit peaky, that’s all.” he quantified his concern.
“I’ll sort that out at the drug store, just that time of the cycle again.” saying the reason without having to spell it out.
“Sure, but you hurry back okay?” feeling that he might need her strength with him.
“I’ll be back before you know it, just lie there and close your eyes...”
~
Consciousness came and went, he vaguely remembered going to the toilet, maybe once or three times, but everything was so out of focus - and it didn’t really seem to make any difference...
~
It was dark, and Bret had only himself for company. So where was he?  Where was this place?  Why was he so confused by such questions?  There were of course no immediate answers to such questions, just questions to be added to the answers that were indeed questions. A clock flashed idly beside him, repeating a series of numbers over and over again, but for the life of him, he could not figure out the significance of such a thing.
“‘Tiff, are you there?” he managed to remember at least one important fact.
In the ensuing silence, the roaring deafness of no reply pricked at a growing sense of wrongness. Where could she be?  It had to be hours since she had gone on some simple errand, after all it was dark, and it had been light when she had left. The hours had blended together with a commiserate ease, where there had been an unerring series of detached minutes, then hours, now there was only confusion. Tiffany had been an anchor in this time of sickness, while those around had succumbed to the disease, and her absence left a bigger hole than the confusion could fill.
“Maybe she got sick too, and I wasn’t there for her...” cursing his selfishness, dragging himself upright with pure determination. “I must find out, if it’s the last thing I ever do!” feeling a growing strength, knowing it to be like fools gold, nothing but an illusion.
Moving with the swiftness of an outpatient, he managed to make the journey from the bed to a window. Outside was dark, darker than was normal, and in his emotional state, it took a few minutes for the reality of the situation to sink in.
“There are no street lights...” he breathed, which lead to the next most logical assessment, “that’s why the clock is flashing...” the power had gone off!
No Tiffany, unreliable power, what could all this mean?
The stillness of the world was yet another factor to slowly make its presence felt, another factor and piece to be added to the puzzle.
The darkness hung around him now like a blanket of despair, weighing upon his sense of self determination and sanity. So what was the time, apart from night, what was the day - if indeed that mattered. Trying to penetrate the blackness, he could just make out objects highlighted be an overcast night.
“My watch!” he smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Now all I have to do is find it...” and so he began a Braille like search of the room. The watch was not in its usual location, for one it was not on his wrist, nor two was it beside the bed, so where could it be?
The light switch had no effect on enlightening the situation, there was no light to be shed from such a source - the house it would appear had lost it's power again. The overpowering need to go to the toilet suddenly blotted out all logical considerations, like all basic drives, there was nothing to be done but to obey the call of nature. Stumbling through the house with a definite purpose, he was again reminded of the size of the place, and how ridiculous it was just for the two of them.
Relieving the pressure on his bladder was a definite relief, allowing almost an instant return of logic and concise thought. Now where could that watch be, grown legs and travelled to the outer limits of the house’s dominion, or basically just sitting on the kitchen table?  Since this location was now closer than the bedroom, he proceeded in the half half light of the night. It was fractionally lighter in the kitchen, and the polished metal and glass of the watch made it easy to spot. So the truth of it all would be revealed, it had been hours and this just some freak power cut...
“Four days!” the display of the watch confirmed.
Well that was the end of sanity as Bret recalled it, four days and now no power, no Tiff’, no no one - it could only mean one thing, the end of the world!
Paranoia is a wonderful thing, driving the most sensible to alterego actions, enabling to the most meek and mild Herculean strength. For Bret it meant the banishment of his logic, leaving a blind desire to resolve what the hell was going on - before he lost his resolve all together.
Back in the bedroom he dressed in a blind panic, he didn’t care if the underpants he put on were clean, if his socks matched, or if the sweater was on back to front. Then it was time to face the new world, one very much now caste in darkness. Wishing he had owned a large selection of guns to take with him, he made his way out of the house, not knowing what to expect.
The front door opened with a loud squeak, that he had never heard before. It was four in the morning, so everything should have been quiet anyway - but the quiet here now, was like none he had ever heard. With the street lights off, all that remained was the light provided from above, that managed to filter through an overcast night.
“I wonder if this is planet Earth?” he asked of the air, hoping indeed this was not what it appeared to be.
Since the area was bereft of movement, and therefore potential danger, he decided to do a patrol of the neighbourhood, after all he wasn’t tired now - for some reason. As the footsteps paced out, the silence of the world became more obvious, while the questions just began to pile up like cards. Where was Tiff’?  Was he the only person in the neighbourhood?  Why would they evacuate a whole section of the city, something to do with the plague like sickness?  Could there be other sick...
He stumbled, kicking something he hadn’t observed on the footpath. Peering down at the bundle of rags, it took more than a few seconds for Bret to realise that this particular bundle of rags were still occupied, by the person who had once worn them as clothes. Bret jumped about five feet from the pile, without a single thought as to direction, he just wanted to get away from the body. At what now seemed like a safe distance, rationale was once again allowed to filter in.
Was the person in the rags alive, dead, or waiting in ambush?  All three options didn’t really excite him, the potential for danger just seemed to be there in all of them. Unfortunately the need to know the fate of this particular person was necessary, the answer provided possibly saving further danger from becoming reality. So with tentative steps he reapproached the body, and with deft foot he prodded the body, to which it responded accordingly - but doing nothing. The concept of ambush didn’t seem likely, so taking his life into his own hands, Bret reached down to feel for warmth, breath, a pulse - and found none. These actions were then accompanied by a few well chosen words, “Dust to dust I’m afraid for you my friend...” and a lessening of the gap further.
The person before was now a corpse, was a middle aged man by the look of things, and that was about all Bret could identify, or wanted to. Leaving the body behind, a mixture of emotions were stirred, he was glad it hadn’t been Tiff’, but it was a dead body out in the street, unattended for God knew how long, so how many others might there be?
The darkness held within its heart a greater menace than it had, there was a very real danger lurking within its depths, this being borne out, by the only living souls met so far - were cold corpses. The question was to go on or fold, to run and hide till dawn, lie awake wondering endlessly, or to stumble upon the truth and possibly find more than was every wanted. In the end a sleepless nights sleep seemed the wisest, if not the most cowardly action in light of his friends memories.
The apartment was no longer a home, it had become a prison in a world he no longer felt a part of, or understood. Surely in the light of day all would become clear, the only question being, did he want to know the answer to the darkness .
~
It was a quiet morning, the sun was out, the air warm and still, it should be great to be alive - but was that possible?  Slowly Bret got up from the bed, he’d finally fallen asleep, fully dressed, wondering it he was going to wake up from this nightmare, or into one...
His first actions were of the mundane type, dealing with bodily functions and hunger. In the first moments of these it was confirmed that there was still no power, but thankfully water pressure - so possibly the outage was merely local, as was the disaster. Yes that had to be it, and without being able to confirm such a thing through the media, it was more than likely just a local outbreak, or even just an unfortunate body experience. The world could not have died out while he had been slumbering, it was just paranoia, everything would be fine, in time.
Breakfasting on dry wheatbix and a glass of orange, the world didn’t seem that much different to what it had been. Sure there were a number of differences, but in the light of day, it was much easier to accept them at face value. With this set in his mind, Bret felt much more at ease at facing the world. The first thing that had to be done then, was to go to the local stores and get some batteries for the radio he had, and find out how bad things really were. From there he could stock up accordingly, and just wait out the disaster, if indeed there was one.
Again and again the world “Disaster” kept popping up in his mind, but he couldn’t believe it to be more than a local one. Again he took to the footpath, it wasn’t far to the shops, and he felt it would be wiser to approach by stealth, having not other reason for this than - paranoia!
The roads were as they should have been, except of course there was no movement, and on the footpath, there were more bodies. A fire engine sitting silent in the middle of an intersection highlighted a strangeness, a complete absence of normality, the occupant was like those on the footpath, quite lifeless. The first store he came to was closed, the notice on the door said so quite plainly, the first of many locked doors he was to encounter - and wonder at. The second store was a hardware one, its door was locked too, but the glass had been rent asunder - allowing for a less than dignified entrance.
Taking the law into his own hands, Bret decided the store may not be open for business, but these were extenuating circumstances, and to enter might not be seen as a punishable crime. The insides of the shop were a dishevelled mess, someone must have gone mad inside here, the shelves were now in a random array of order. Still there were batteries in blister packs at the check-out, and a small radio in the appliance section. Combining these items was easy, much easier than trying to find an answer as to where the owners were, or the persons who had created this mess.
Turning the radio on was one thing, finding a station to listen to, another. Up and down the FM bands the radio scanned and found nothing, but on the AM bands there was still life. One of these stations appeared to be running on automatic, or maybe they were experiencing technical difficulties, nevertheless, they had power, and that was all that mattered. Another station however was manned, though Bret had no idea as to its location.
“...fifth day here, the news is that a state of emergency has been declared, and a curfew, until the sickness is back under control. The power here has been coming and going, we have a stand-by generator, so we can stay on air for a while yet. Information is sketchy at the moment, and we have been unable to confirm with any authorities as to the overall picture of the outbreak, but it would seem to be pretty wide spread, and lethal. My wife died a few days ago...” the transmission stopped, there was a pause, then music took over from the eulogy.
“Yeah,” Bret shook his head in agreement, “I think there’s going to be a fair amount out that in the next few days.
The radio wasn’t very large, so he tied it to his belt, and with all the batteries he could fit into a back pack, he headed out of the store, in search of more answers. This area was a suburb of a largish city, a spread out metropolis, rather than a high density, high rise, over populated place. It had been this that had convinced him and Tiff’ to move here in the first place, it would have been a nice place to raise some kids... now what were the chances of that?
Before he sank into a pit of despair, worry and self-pity, he pushed on, there was a sporting shop not too far from here, and he had a hankering for something to help him sleep better at night.
Again, on the trek from destination to destination, more bodies were in evidence, but there was no pattern to their placement, it was as if the life had just run out of these people. In all the world it appeared like people had been trying to carry on as if nothing were amiss, and simply drawn their last breath believing it.
The sporting shop was wide open, it had not been closed and broken into, simply it seemed to not have ever closed. The insides were as they should be, everything in its place, Bret didn’t know if this were reassuring or not.
“Hello!” he tried a new approach, amidst more normal surroundings. Naturally to this introduction there was no reply, but that didn’t mean there would not be one. Spying offices overlooking the main shop area, he decided to see if there might not be someone there. “Hello!” he tried again, while ascending the stairs.
“Hmmhmm...” came from somewhere, there was life here!
At the door to the main office area Bret paused, did he really want to discover what lay behind this door?  The debate was brief, there really wasn’t any question, he just had to know. Opening the door, he was faced by a normal office environment; desks, chairs, piles of paper, computers, a woman...
“Hello?” he tried again, wondering if this were a corpse or not.
“I...” the woman stirred, “you are real?” she managed to raise her head this time.
Bret took a step back, involuntarily, this woman, she would have been attractive in normal circumstances, now she looked like death. Judging her by physique and clothing, he speculated that she was a woman in her mid to late thirties, slim, attractive, healthy - but it was all fading pretty fast.
The woman saw none of this, her senses had become scrambled, by pain and time. “Are you with the army?” seeing this as a rescue.
“Ah, no,” he held his ground, despite the urge to retreat, “I live a couple of blocks away, thought I’d try and find out what’s going on...”
“Death...” she grimaced at the thought, “that is what is coming - it’s a judgement, a plague from God, and those left alive, they will be the sorry ones...” and she smiled.
“Judgement Day...” the last concept he expected to be confronted with in this place, a sporting shop.
For a time both of them remained silent, contemplating their personal hells.
“We have to get you to a doctor, or the hospital!” he came to at least one definite decision.
“What for...” she coughed a death rattle like cough.
“They’ll be able to do something for you, surely!” he tried to sound positive.
“I’m past all that!”
“What rot, it’s not over till the fat lady sings, and I haven’t seen one of them in weeks...” in fact he hadn’t seen much of anybody for weeks, so it was no lie. “Come on, no more arguing, do you have a car handy?”
Taking a deep breath the woman motioned to some keys on the desk, “It’s the red Volvo round the back, but I think you are wasting your time.” she persisted with the same line of thought.
“Time will tell.” picking up the keys, while the woman struggled to her feet, “So have you seen anyone else, do we need protection?”
“No one,” she breathed heavily from her meagre exertions, “but on the ring there, you have the key to the gun locker and ammunition lock up, I think it would be best if you got something. I’ll meet you by the car...” and she pressed on with her mission, sending Bret on his.
The gun case was easy to find, as was the ammunition lock up, but the choice, that was almost beyond a gun illiterate Bret. All those years of watching movies where the goodies and badies had shoot outs, well they had not prepared him for the reality of the weapons issue. Isolated from the real world, he had to make real world decisions with no background, but his instincts. The most prevalent issue that he could see, was that he was no crack shot, he needed something to give him a even chance of hitting at least something. Eyeing the cases before him, a number of shot guns stood awaiting a new master, and to his mind that was where his best shot lay. So shopping through the racks contents, he settled on a pump action shot gun, again for the obvious reason, that it would probably take him a number of shots to hit anything even with his odds optimized.
The shot gun felt reassuring in his grasp, a false sense of security if ever there were one. Finding the right cartridges for the weapon was easy enough, and once he had figured out how to load the weapon, confirming he hoped, that it was the right stuff, he took all the cartridges he could find of the stuff. It was like the batteries, realising a resource while there was the chance. With the protection sorted for the moment, he relocked the weapons and ammunition cabinets, so if he should need more, there might be an even chance of it still being here. Gun run over, now it was time to find the Volvo, woman, and a means out of discovery.
“Ah so there you are!” Bret found the woman leaning up against the back of the red Volvo.
“I’m here, but only just.” she confirmed.
“Well, help is not far off.” he promised, unlocking the vehicle, loading the ammunition into the back seat, placing the shot gun on the dashboard.
“Good choice.” the woman judged it, getting into the passengers seat, and buckling her belt.
“I’m not so sure of that.” he had to admit his knowledge about weaponry.
“Mossberg 500, 11 shot, 12 gauge, pump, reliable...”
“And I chose it because it was in good condition,” starting the car, “well it has to be a good sign then...”
“Why is that?” the woman asked.
“Otherwise I would have picked an air rifle, with bb ammo!” and they were off, heading for the hospital and help, armed as if they were heading into a war.