Терри Биссон: The Left Left Behind

This is kinda fun , thought Captain Church as he brought the big 777 down for a landing. He usually let his co-pilot handle the landings, but it was good to get a little practice.

Besides, the co-pilot has disappeared with all the others, leaving only his neatly-folded uniform behind.

The disappointed Economy passengers filed off while Church filled out his log, dreading the paperwork ahead. Twenty-four missing, all from First Class. Plus the co-pilot and the Air Marshals.

Luckily, no one noticed. Church was relieved to find that the Flight Manager who checked off the passenger manifests was gone.

Vince followed the captain off the airplane, looking around in amazement. The Air Security ex-cons who poked through everyone’s baggage were also gone. The long lines moved quickly.

The airport was strangely quiet. Peaceful.

“All the uniformed personnel have disappeared!” said Vince. He studied the Arrivals and Departures monitor:

DELAYED

CRASHED

DELAYED

SPUN OUT

DITCHED

DELAYED

Then he looked at Captain Church in his blue and white EconAir uniform, with the gold stripes on the sleeve. “Wonder why you were spared, Captain?”

“I was temporarily out of uniform. And you can call me Cap.”

“Cool, Cap,” said Vince, who was on a first-name basis with celebrities around the world. “Can I get a ride with you to my hotel? It looks like the shuttle buses are all missing their drivers.”

“No problem,” said the Captain, waving farewell to Amy and Ayiesha, who were meeting their dates in the gift shop. Amy didn’t wave back. “I owe you one for cooling out all those Economy Class complainers.”

MINUTES LATER

The airport exits were chaos, and the highway was worse—littered with burning and overturned cars, mostly caddies and SUVs. Luckily Cap’s Hummer H-1 was big enough to crunch through the debris.

Some awesome tragedy has occurred , thought Vince, whose newsman “antennae” were on “full alert,” taking in the scenes of destruction all around.

The hotel driveway was blocked by a burning bus, filled with screaming seniors, who were attempting to crawl out the narrow windows, without much success.

“No problem,” said Cap, executing a U-turn.

“You can stay at my house.”

“Are you sure your wife won’t mind?” asked Vince.

“Positive,” said Cap. “She’s a Born-Again. Do unto others and all that. My grubby son will hardly notice. And my daughter will be thrilled. You’re a TV personality, and you’re kind of cute.”

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” said Vince.

HOURS LATER

It was almost dark when they arrived at Cap’s modest two-story colonial in a leafy, woody suburb.

They were met at the door by his punked-out daughter, Gotha.

“They’re gone, Dad,” she said.

“Who?”

“Mom and Billy.”

Rushing into the house, Vince and Cap saw two neat piles of clothing on the sofa, one large and one very small.

“My wife was grossly overweight,” said Cap. “And my son was small for eight. This is their stuff all right. And this is my daughter, Gotha, sixteen.”

“Eighteen,” said Gotha. She was covered with tattoos and piercings in odd places. She wore black lipstick, which looked funny with her rosy cheeks.

She’s kinda cute , thought Vince.

“We were watching the Jerry Springer Show,” said Gotha. “I was sitting on the couch between Mom and Billy when Jerry started to float upwards. I thought it was the horizontal hold, so I grabbed the remote from Billy, and I noticed that he was gone. Mom, too.”

“Hmmm,” said Vince. “Your remote has a horizontal hold?”

“Turns out it doesn’t,” said Gotha. “Once Jerry was gone, all the guests stopped fighting. They didn’t exactly make up, but they sat down and shut up. I had the feeling that even though the show was in trouble, the world was a better place, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” said Vince. He liked this girl. She had a way of looking on the bright side.

“Did they like actually rise up through the ceiling?” Cap asked, looking up. “I’m asking because I don’t see any damage.”

“Didn’t notice,” said Gotha. “I checked Oprah. She was gone. So was Ellen.”

“Hmmmm,” said Vince. “First Class disappears. Then all the uniformed personnel. And then all the afternoon TV talk show hosts. There’s some kind of pattern here.”

“I’m telling you,” said Cap, “it’s the Rupture.

My wife and her colored preacher boyfriend are always talking about it.”

“It’s Rapture, Dad,” said Gotha. “And he’s not her boyfriend, and he’s not colored, he’s African-American.” “Don’t contradict your father,” said Cap. He slapped her.

Hmmmm , thought Vince. Maybe that’s why her cheeks are so rosy.

TEN HOURS LATER

“I like the black lipstick,” said Vince. “And I like your rosy cheeks, too. But they don’t exactly go together. They make you look like a clown. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added.

“I know,” sighed Gotha. “It’s my dad. He’s always slapping me. That’s why I got all these tattoos.”

“I like them too,” said Vince. They were in interesting places. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Gotha was pulling on her panties. They had a skull and crossbones on the front panel, which was transparent otherwise.

“It’s morning,” she explained. “If Dad finds me in bed with you, he’ll slap me.”

“Maybe you should slug him,” said Vince. Even though, or perhaps because, he had never been married, he was a believer in women’s liberation.

“Hmmmmm,” said Gotha.

After waiting a decent interval, Vince went downstairs, where he found Gotha and her father in the kitchen, drinking coffee and listening to the radio.

“Hannity is gone,” said Cap, speaking though a paper towel. He had a bloody nose. “So is Rush. I’m beginning to worry about Dr. Laura.”

“Good riddance to them all,” said Gotha.

He slapped her. She slugged him.

“Is there any news on?” asked Vince. He was interested in the news, but also eager to change the subject.

Gotha spun the dial:

“… the sudden disappearance of millions of world leaders last night and night before last as the world turned. The twenty-four hour event is expected to lead to crises and shortages as uniformed security personal, corporate CEOs, and many leading celebrities have also mysteriously…”

“I’m telling you, it’s the Rupture,” said Cap.

“Rap—Sure!” said Gotha. “Jesus Christ!”

He slapped her. She slugged him.

“Can I use your phone?” asked Vince. “I should call the network and tell them I’m OK.”

MINUTES LATER

“Find out anything?” asked Cap. He was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a black eye with a steak.

“No luck,” said Vince. “The network has shut down. The suits are all gone.”

“The suits?” asked Gotha. Her cheeks were a little less rosy than before.

“The execs,” said Vince. “Actually, their suits are still there, but there’s no one in them. Apparently I’m out of a job.”

“Good for you,” said Gotha. “You’re way too cute to work for those corporate greedheads who control and distort the news in order to keep the people enslaved and fed on lies.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” said Vince.

“No TV news!” said Cap. “How are we going to figure out what is going on?”

“Alternative radio!” said Gotha. “Pacifica is still on!” She spun the dial again: