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“Today is an anniversary of sorts. I guess you could say that. It’s the fifth week of the beginning of the end of this planet’s life.” John paused and ran his finger around the circular base of the microphone. He coughed. “Does anyone hear me?” I don’t even know if I’m operating this radio set right, he thought. As he shook his head, he moved the microphone stand closer to the table’s edge and leaned forward. “This morning, as I struggled out past the breaking waves and then floated on the soothing, warm, ocean, I wondered about the man who had owned the old boxer swim trunks I borrowed: trunks that were too large and floated almost off me as I lay on my back to let the salt water wash over my belly and between my legs.” He looked down at the gray checked trunks, several sizes too large, surveyed the radio equipment, noted the Power light and shook his head. He didn’t understand the functions of some of the radio set's switches but read the company name on the gray mottled equipment. John Condon, old man, you’ve got quite a few inches to spare in this guy’s waist. And then he thought, But what I don’t understand is my body is beginning to feel stronger; muscles feel harder. Strange. I’m probably losing my mind”. He began to tremble. Never before, ever, have I had the shakes. Never. I’ve got to get my mind off things that have happened. He thought about his hometown, Carlin, to the east, up in the foothills. Probably nothing much left of it. Keep talking. Maybe someone will hear me. I hope I’ve got the equipment turned on right. He moved the microphone closer to the edge of the table, looked at the shortwave radio set’s knobs and switches, and the personal computer at the end of the long table. He speculated about the other unfamiliar, equipment panels, definitely sophisticated, which were stacked up against one wall of this lower level room. John concluded that the man, who owned this beach house, had technical training. Maybe he was an engineer. “If anyone can hear me, let me know,” he said speaking directly into the mouthpiece of the microphone. “It’s lonely up here, down here, wherever I am. I’m lucky to have found this radio. I hope I’m transmitting to someone again.” He coughed. “I figure I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe it will help someone else. I think it’s too late for us up here in California. Maybe it’s even too late for the United States. There are no T.V. broadcasts. All stations are full of snow. There is no longer a need to look up and down the beach to see if anyone approaches. I’m resigned to the fact I’m alone at least in this neck of the woods. Since I’ve been here, almost a week at this beach house, which isn’t mine, I haven’t seen another human do anything. So after this terrible onslaught, first the virus, then the greenies, one week here and three weeks at Carlin, it’s been about a month total and as far as I know I’m all that’s left. My house was still standing when I left. It wasn’t attacked or devoured ” He rubbed his lips together. “I hope you can hear me. I don’t know why though. It seems as though the final act has been written.” He paused and began to feel sad again. “If anyone, ever, in my life told me this would be the way it ends, I would have thought them deranged. But now, to see what I’ve seen, a rational person who hasn’t experienced the events of the last few weeks, must think I’m stark raving. . . .” He relaxed his shoulders, yawned, and leaned back against the softness of the swivel chair. Pushing his shoulders back into the chair’s padding, he tried to get more comfortable. Clearing his throat, he said, “This is John Condon from California, southern part.” He spoke softly and mechanically. “I guess I’m speaking to no one. But, maybe someone is out there.” He stopped speaking and listened to hear any sounds inside the house. Nothing. No sound. Terrible. He rotated the head of the microphone closer to his face. “The thoughts I’ve been having are strange, and it would be correct to say they are probably morose. But they’re understandable, I would say, under the circumstances. I’m not sure why I left Carlin. Well, that’s not exactly right; I do know why I left. I couldn’t take the silence of disappearing buildings, office buildings, not all but most; many residential buildings, automobiles, not all though; some plants like trees and shrubs, screaming people, if they weren’t already dead from the virus. The lack of sound in my hometown: the oppressive silence. The swarming greenies were, and I guess still are, everywhere, silent and waiting.” He ran his fingers up the microphone shaft again: an unconscious action as he spoke. “They collected in small puddles, long strings as though in a line waiting for another object to devour, and when one looked up into the foothills one could see the slow movement while they shimmered, of greenies. Their color seemed more a dull aqua from a distance. A funny thing. In Carlin, I knew I couldn’t hear them. The greenies were silent, although when I stared at the moving mass, I swore I could see mouths chewing in those little bodies shaped like marbles, and I don’t want to tell anyone that I believe they have eyes. Millions and millions of eyes, staring.” “My family and neighbors told me I was deranged to think they had eyes. ‘They’re just greenies,’ this one neighbor said as he cussed them out and tried to stomp them. Instead they moved sort of rapidly up his leg and he ran, slipped and fell into a larger moving swarm and as soon as the mass of green marbles, greenies, flattened out again, he was gone. No sound, no pants, no shirt, no body, nothing. He was gone.” John looked down at the mesh head of the microphone and listened to the static. He touched the small oval speaker with his finger tip. Still, no response. Geez, is this catastrophe worldwide? Is this the end? Keep on talking, John. Yeah. “I checked out an old pickup and watched it for several days. The greenies avoided it. I finally summoned the courage to get into it, start it, and drive it to the beach. Carlin is about fifty miles from here up in the San Gabriel Mountain Range. I didn’t know whether the gas gauge was right or not. But the old truck got me here. After I turned onto old 101, that’s a freeway, I drove right off of it, onto the beach and drove north until I saw this row of houses. To my surprise, they were still standing, all of them. They were old and had seen better days, probably built in the early 1900’s, California’s heyday, but they all appeared to have been recently painted. I guessed they are or were kept in good shape.” “Looking at a tall residence with a high antenna, I stopped the truck and it is still parked where I left it. There had to be communication equipment inside this beach house. After I jumped out, I stood on the truck’s roof and looked in all directions. Straining my neck, I looked as far as I could see. Green! You don’t know this, but I’ve come to hate the color green. Everything was and is still covered in patches with this terrible green color except here on the beach, but the greenies are over there, across the highway. There was no sound. I couldn’t hear anything, any activity, but I saw some houses and office buildings covered with green and they grew smaller as I watched. I did hear the cracking and beams and two-by-fours snapping. It sounded like they cracked and broke and then there was silence from that green mound. But there’s no sound here on the beach. Nothing going on here. Strange, isn’t it?” He grabbed the shaft of the microphone stand firmly, and wondered if anyone heard him. Why don’t they answer? He opened his eyes wide to stay awake. “I had to drive around, dodge and of course pile through swarms of greenies on my way here. I haven’t figured out yet why they didn’t attack the old pickup or me personally. It’s scary. I’ve never been so terrified. I guess I thought that if I could get to the beach I would at least hear some sound: the roar of the ocean as the tides went in and out and get the terror of stillness out of my mind. . . .” The speaker let out static and the shrill sound of a whistle. Then static again. “This is C.J. Is that you speaking, John?” The shortwave speaker crackled. “Oh, hey Carl, is this Carl?” “Yes, John. Carl Jenks. Australia. How are you doing? Who are you speaking with?” “Anyone who will listen. No one except you that I’m aware of.” He was too tired to laugh. “I didn’t know whether you would tune in again or not. You’re still in Australia? Oh, of course, excuse me, you said that, didn’t you?” Carl chuckled. His laugh sounded fake.“Yes, actually I’ve tried to corroborate any of the disastrous events you’ve talked about when we talked, you know, several hours ago. Contact some authorities. No luck, yet. I can’t get answers from my government, and that in itself is strange. Also, the local constabulary is in the dark but that isn’t strange.” He laughed again. Mr. C.J. wouldn’t be laughing if he were up here with me. He took a deep breath. John stood up and let the swim trunks fall to the floor as Carl went on speaking. Sniffing under his armpit, he realized he hadn’t showered since he left Carlin. And I was wrong to believe the ocean water would keep me clean. Shaking his head because he felt grimy, he brushed salt crystals and grains of sand from his body as he touched his skin. It was oily to his touch. Got to take a shower. He pushed the microphone stand back and held his swim trunks tight around his waist as he walked as though in great pain away from the long table. “...and we’re in Sidney as I told you before and my wife is on her way down to the government office here. She left about ten minutes ago to find out what’s going on.” “I think it’s the end of us, Carl. That’s what is going on.” “Don’t give up, yet, John,” Carl said. John rubbed his forehead and frowned. Yeah, right. I guess you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. He rubbed the base of the microphone. “Carl, do you really believe what I’ve told you?” “I have no reason not to believe you. John, listen to me carefully. In addition to being a shortwave radio buff and ham operator, my wife’s a general practice physician and I’m a psychiatrist. We’ve agreed you sound legitimately scared. And calls we’ve made, to various authorities, are not being answered. I’ve checked with a few neighbors and some are now out in the street. Some people are going from house to house. I’m not certain why or what they know. And all that activity in itself is unusual. This is usually a quiet neighborhood. But John, we want to help you and of course, help ourselves.” “I am scared, buddy.” Suddenly he felt close to Carl. He knew he wanted to feel close. “And I want your help, only. It’s true. I’m lonely and I’ve never in my life, even in war, felt this helpless.” He looked down at his body, looked around the room, and for the first time noticed a full length mirror against a wall. He stepped out of the large trunks and walked to the mirror. “Can you hear me from over here, Carl?” “Yes. I can hear you. Where are you? Aren’t you at the radio set?” “No. This guy, whoever he was or maybe is, has this room full of equipment. He’s a ham or radio operator, operates a personal computer, has lots of equipment, and all that. He has some equipment that I don’t know what it’s used for. . . .” He looked at his reflection while he held a conversation with his thoughts. I’m thinner than I was. When was the last time you ate? Last night. Yesterday. Did I eat yesterday? I don’t know. John, old man, you’re getting senile. That can’t be. Not at my tender age. Getting senile. Not me. That cannot be. “John, if I might. Can you hear me?” “Yeah. Although there is a lot of static or noise or whatever it is that comes in along with your voice.” He opened a door. “Wow,” he said. “What is it, John? Walk back to the set. We’ll see if we can get rid of what you call static.” “There’s a closet down here in this basement and it’s full of clothes: men’s clothes, mostly.” He walked back to the radio set. “This guy had money. Well, he had to have money to be able to afford this beach house.” He shrugged his shoulders. “OK, I’m back close to the set now. What do you want me to do?” “Do you see a switch . . . do you know what I mean by switch, John?” “Yes, I’m an aerospace engineer. Graduate: mechanical engineering.” “Good. John, you should see two position switches, three position switches, and rotary knobs. . . .” “OK.” “Do you see a rotary knob labeled, NS?” “Let me see. Yes. Here it is.” “Now, rotate it slowly to the right. I’ll do a snake hiss until you can’t hear the hiss. I’ll hiss and speak and hiss and speak.” “Hey, I can hear you but not the snake, er, hiss.” “Good. You’ve reduced the noise level. The new radio units are marvelous.” “Is that it, Carl?” “No. Do you see a two-pole switch? It is labeled CONF. It’s also a two-position switch, John.” “Yes.” “John, this switch has an OFF and an ON position. What’s it set to?” “Off.” “Set it to the ON position, John, and perhaps someone else wanting a conference will have the switch turned on.” “So you have power and C O N F, is that right?” “And a few others but don’t worry about anything else. But, there is one last thing.” “What?” “Do you hear a hum of any kind? I mean an industrial hum. A machine or electrical generator sound?” “Just a second.” John listened and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, I think I do.” “That is probably the generator for the electrical equipment. I’m surprised you still have power given the information you’ve told us about the greenies.” “There’s that word again. Greenies! What a nightmare.” “Sorry, John. This is a difficult and strange situation . . . for both of us.” “I understand and I hope you won’t be sorry, later, Carl, if it hasn’t hit you. And, I guess it hasn’t. I just can’t figure out why this devastation, you just cannot imagine it, Carl, is only here in the states.” He sauntered across the room again. Feeling the jacket sleeves, he admired the man’s wardrobe, counted several sports jackets, suits, opened drawers, noted Jockey briefs. Stretching a pair of briefs, he guessed he could wear them and laid a pair across his shoulder. He felt the socks, T-shirts, fingered the various jewelry: cuff links, tie tacks, and sniffed various bottles of aftershave and colognes then turned and approached the only door in the far end of the room, paneled in light ash wood tones. “You don’t know that it has hit only the United States.” “True,” John said. He opened the door and stepped into a large bathroom. “Unbelievable!” “What?” Carl said. “This guy has a large bathroom. The walls are dark wood, I guess maybe the paneling is oak. I don’t know for certain. There’s a huge walk-in shower with three shower heads. This very large sink looks more like it was carved and polished from amber than porcelain or whatever it is. There’s a Jacuzzi and also a huge, huge bathtub in this room. Seven, maybe eight people could get in that tub. It’s not a Jacuzzi. Who would have two Jacuzzis in one bathroom? These people had great taste. I can see it everywhere.” He turned on a shower. “I’ve got to take a quick shower. You don’t mind, do you?” “Not at all. I can hear you fine.” John picked up the nearly new bar of soap and smelled musk. I like the smell. He lathered quickly and shouted at Carl through the door. “This is great and there is still hot water. Well, the greenies haven’t had time to make everything disappear. They target and devour some structures while other they leave alone. I don’t get it. I’m feeling less fearful and more isolated.” He rinsed then swiped water from his body, stepped out of the large shower and onto the tile bathroom floor. He opened a cabinet door. “I’ll bet there are fifty towels in his cabinet,” he shouted. “You’re lucky, John.” “I guess,” he said. He wiped his bare feet on the fluff of a tan high pile bathroom rug and walked back into the radio room. “So where you are now, you can’t see outside, can you John?” “No. Are you familiar with the term basement?” “Yes.” “Well, I ran into this house, barely looked around upstairs and headed down here. I don’t know why. Just trying to get away from the greenies, I guess. But come to think of it, I haven’t been upstairs for any length of time at all. I went up the stairs here, the back stairs, I guess and out the back when I went for a dip in the ocean this morning. No reason I can’t use the front door, though. No one else will use it again.” “Sad thought,” Carl said. “Indeed,” John said. “Why did you ask if I could see outside, Carl?” “Oh, I wondered if anything had changed outside since you were outside this morning.” “Oh. Do you want me to go look?” “Do you want to do that?” “Sure. I guess. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He pulled on his Jockey briefs, flattened the waist band, as he hurried up the rear stairs. He climbed the stairs to an entry hall, he didn’t remember, walked down the hall viewed and memorized different parts of the main floor. The lady of the house must have wanted everything white. Or maybe that’s what they call off-white. Chairs, sofas, dining table, side chairs, carpeting, all white or. . . . He rushed down the hall and enjoyed the feeling of his bare feet on the cool marble floor tiles. He opened the rear door and walked out onto the balcony. The small rear porch stood higher off the level of the sand than he remembered. The difference between the scene that he remembered and now annoyed him. He would think more about it later. He looked toward what had been a thriving beach city, but now appeared to be green mounds of varying sizes. It appeared as though the greenies had stopped eating halfway through a meal of different buildings and structures. Maybe the green mounds had been homes, he thought, and maybe some mounds had been sports cars, maybe some of the odd shaped mounds were groups of people, cornered by the waves of greenies. He shivered at the sight and vastness of the green death and discovered that the porch wound around the side of the house. He walked slowly along the porch, keeping one hand on the railing. Keeping his eyes looking forward, he looked west toward the ocean. The deep blue Pacific Ocean appeared the same. No greenies on the sand, none on this side of the highway and there’s also no traffic along that highway. He glanced at his wrist. No watch! Where’s my wristwatch? He pictured the shower. Did I leave it in there? No. I never take it off. Could it be in Carlin? Yes. I left it Carlin. I didn’t know if the greenies would try to eat it. So, I left it at home. It’s on my dresser. What does it matter? He hung his head and walked back around the porch to the back door. Got to talk to Carl again. He moved slowly through the hall and finally down the stairs to the radio room. The speaker crackled again as he walked up to the table. “Carl?” He heard no sound other than crackling. “Carl?” he shouted. “For God’s sake answer me, Carl! Carl!” His hand shook as he grabbed for the microphone’s shaft. John listened to soft static sounds. The sound got weaker as he listened. Static. No voice. Big Bug Carson Halley has not determined if the story is complete or not. What do you think? Let us know. |
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