Mark Rogers - The Dead

To Gary’s surprise, Max stayed out of the debate, preferring instead to take inventory of the supplies and run checks on the life-support and electrical systems; he also fixed the generator-twice. Finishing all that, he listened to the last snatch of news to come in on the radio before it went suddenly silent, took a look at the set, pronounced it irreparable, then sat down in the corner and went to sleep.

Profoundly envious of his brother’s nerves, Gary tried to do the same, but dropping off was difficult. And he succeeded only in plummeting into a nightmare.

It was the scene at the graveside, his father tearing the priest’s face from his head. Only now it flew straight at Gary, the bloody mask settling over his features, merging with his flesh. As Max Sr. approached, Gary tried madly to pull it loose, but it wouldn’t come off. His father lifted him by the throat, looking at him the way he had looked at the priest, with that soul-freezing glee; suddenly Gary understood all too well his father’s delight in catching the man who had sent him to Hell…

Gary woke before the clawlike hand could whip round and rip Father Ted’s face free once more, but the dream was so vivid, his terrified anticipation so keen, that he could still feel the nails dig deep into his flesh, the skin peeling instantly away, his brain jarring ferociously against the wall of his skull.

As the shock faded, he felt someone staring at him, sat up and looked around; it was MacAleer. The man had a pocket New Testament in his hands, but his eyes were fixed solidly, almost gloatingly, on him.

“You must be born again,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Gary answered.

Several hours later Gary was looking through the periscope. The olive-drab tube entered the ceiling through a stainless-steel sleeve bolted to the concrete.

“See any?” Max asked.

“No,” Gary answered. “Maybe they don’t like snow.”

“ Snow? ” Aunt Lucy asked. “In July?”

“Bet it’s only a flurry,” Max laughed.

Gary turned the scope. The steel stand concealing it was pierced by four circular holes, north, south, east and west; Gary was looking out through the northern hole now. The openings were set with fisheye lenses, greatly broadening his field of vision.

Every way he’d looked, the view had been pretty much the same: devastation. The house had been completely leveled, as had all the surrounding buildings, except those made of brick. Few flames were still visible in the ruins, but there was a good deal of smoke; the air was thickly bluish-grey with it, giving everything a peculiar underwater look, an effect the distortion of the lens only heightened. The snow reminded him of miniature blizzards in those liquid-filled bubble paperweights.

And who turned this world upside down? He wondered-then caught himself, realizing the pleasure MacAleer would take in knowing he’d had such a thought.

Gary turned the scope to the east. The sky was leaden, and what with the smoke and clouds overhead, there was a kind of sourceless twilight over everything; it was nine o’clock on a July morning, but it looked like a November dusk had come a thousand years before-and never left.

He noticed the clouds parting; the sight summoned up a faint, irrational hope. If only he could see the sun!

But when the sun was revealed, his spirits sank again. It was very pale, and he’d never seen it such an odd color before: almost green-blue.

Except for the spots.

At first he thought they must simply be sunspots-until he remembered that sunspots weren’t visible to the naked eye. He’d never heard of them taking up so much of the sun’s surface. Fully a quarter of the disc seemed to be covered-or eaten away-by them. The longer he looked, the more the latter impression settled into his mind. The spots themselves were purplish black, but fringed with grey; all he could think of was mold on an orange. The sun was dying, rotting, its surface being consumed by gigantic chancres-

No, he told himself firmly. You can’t entertain nonsense like that . You MUST not.

“Gary?” Linda asked. “What do you see?”

He said nothing.

“Come on, I saw your jaw drop,” she said.

“Yeah, tell us,” Buddy said.

Gary backed away from the scope. “Look for yourselves.”

Max was first to the eyepiece. He didn’t need to look long.

“What is it?” Aunt Camille demanded, even as Dennis replaced Max at the scope.

“The sun,” Max said. “It’s almost as if…”

“As if it’s got sores on it or something,” Dennis said. “As if it’s decaying. ”

Steve laughed. “ Decaying ,” he said. “What the fuck…” He took the scope, then cursed. “Can’t see anything. Just clouds.” He strode away from the scope. “Anyone else want a turn?”

“You sure you couldn’t see anything?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah,” Steve answered.

“Good,” Buddy said.

“But we did,” Max said. “And it is worth pointing out we’ve been having a very cool July.”

“There was that news story, too,” Father Chuck said. “The one about the sun’s energy dropping off-”

“When are all of you going to open your eyes?” Mr. MacAleer demanded. “Surely you must realize that all these things are signs from God. That the end has come. That He, in His infinite mercy, is giving you all one last chance-before He gives you to the dead.”

“If He’s so infinitely merciful,” Steve said, “Why give us to the dead at all?”

“I’m afraid Steve’s got a point there,” Father Chuck said. “How could a loving God do such a thing?”

At that, Max laughed. “Aren’t you delicate?” he asked.

Father Chuck looked toward him.

“Here you are,” Max continued, “A priest of the God who made great white sharks and Satan himself, who lets children die of brain cancer every day of the week, and you don’t think He’d stomach such tactics?”

“Blasphemy,” Father Chuck answered.

“Orthodoxy, Father,” Max said. “God created everything.”

“God didn’t create evil. Perhaps you don’t know Catholic orthodoxy the way you pretend to.”

“I didn’t say God created evil. Evil doesn’t exist . It’s negation, nothingness. But God created beings that have the power to do evil, to negate. And He allows that to bring a greater good from it.”

Father Chuck pointed at the shortwave. “What good could come from the horrors we heard about last night?”

Max grinned. “What did God have in mind with Auschwitz?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Steve asked.

“Because I don’t know,” Max answered. “Why, in any ultimate sense, does He do anything? I don’t think the story behind snail darters could be explained to us in a million years, let alone the reason why there’s evil in the world. We’re finite. God’s not. Infinite equals inscrutable in my book. We’re talking about a guy who allowed His own Son to be crucified…”

“That was an act of love!” Father Chuck protested.

“My point exactly,” Max replied. “Surgery’s painful.”

“So God doesn’t use anesthetics, huh?” Steve laughed. “Remind me to keep out of His operating room.”

“You’re emphasizing all the wrong things,” Father Chuck said.

“I’m emphasizing a side of God you’d rather ignore,” Max answered. “How about Sodom and Gomorrah, blown off the map? How about the Flood?”

“I’m ashamed of you. Fundamentalist nonsense. Those are parables, not history.”

“Well, what if they are only symbolic? Unless the Holy Spirit’s just plain incoherent, they still tell us something about God, don’t they?”