The Watchtower
By Trey Branch
“Is that it?”
“Um…can’t say for sure. Gods pray it not be.”
“Whadda we do, Remy? If that’s it, whadda we do? How do we stop…” but Marty fell silent, unable to pronounce his thought, yet it lingered on an uncomfortable silence that followed. After a moment Remy cleared his throat and swallowed silence.
“Portland says it’s still aways. Still a chance the system’ll hold and…” but his rising voice failed under lack of confidence in Marty’s eyes. The rugged man rubbed his beard in frustrated thought and shrugged at his sibling.
“Nothin’s stopped it yet,” Marty whispered with cold knowledge.
The two men stood side by side looking westward from Watchtower 9 above the village, not speaking of twisting smoke and acrid smells rising from a silence of hammering guns beyond the tree lines. But silence wasn’t quite right. There was a low thudding, a sound more felt than heard and it was at this that quivering desperation brought Marty to his knees.
“Portland said he’d seen no signs when we last spoke.”
“Portland’s wrong.”
“Ya know I’m right, Remy. Communication’s th’ first thing to go when it all started.”
“Radios still work.”
“Nothin’ can be trusted,” Marty huffed sarcastically. “Remember Beijing?”
“That was only a rumor.”
“No!.. hell no. Saw it with m’own eyes,” Marty groaned as he stood again. “Least th’ beginning. It was bein’ broadcast before network failure.”
Remy turned, his thick eyebrows raised and curiosity decorated his face. “When?”
“Gosh...dunno, lost track a’ time. Feels like maybe five weeks but coulda only been two. Don’t ya remember?”
“No. I was at sea.”
“Damn, that’s right,” a pause then, “It was bad, Remy,” he spoke matter-of-factly.
There was another awkward silence as Marty stared at his brother noticing, for the first time, how weary he seemed. He tried to envision being at sea, coming home to port only to discover life forever altered. “What?”
“I said even so I don’t see how it could be here yet. It’d take time to get here. Pacific’s big. Then ya got the States.”
Marty always admired intelligence in his brother, much greater than his own, which made Remy’s lack of understanding even more baffling but he tried to explain. “Ya don’t understand this thing. For a coupla days after mosta’us lost power th’ stores with big generators could still run some. They lowered lights and juiced th’ t.v.’s. Last I saw was three days after it began an’ it was already nearing th’ Pacific.”
“Even so the States won’t roll over and…”
“I dunno if anything can slow this down.”
Remy shot a defiant look of blind patriotism at the young man as he began to stroke his beard again. “My connections with Portland are good. Have to be. And Portland says everything’s still standing.”
Marty only stared at his brother drinking in false hope.
“Rem, Denver’s gone.”
“What th’ hell makes you so sure?”
Marty only looked on with surety as the two men stared at each other, a bond of brotherhood tested by a swindling reality, but another low rumbling deterred a coming conflict and both turned westward again toward that sound. Marty walked to the ledge peering through frosty skies and searching for oncoming fate as earth shook again.
“Whatever lies beyond…it ain’t…ain’t pretty. This…this shouldn’t be th’ way, Rem. I saw it, swear I did, hundreds of us did. Watched it roll over Beijing…saw it turn dark corners an’ find hidden alleyways…saw it creep through cracks under doors…LOCKED doors! It ripped’em ta’ pieces Remy…..ta’ pieces. Saw it strip flesh off th’ legs of a little girl. We all watched…wondered even why they’d televise it ‘til we figured there were no one left ta’ run th’ cameras. Probably got them too ‘fore they could get out…cameras just kep’ rollin’ as we watched’em die an’ nothin’ we could do. And that’s what’s out there beyond th’ trees. That’s why th’ guns’ve stopped. It’s here for us.”
Marty looked at his brother empty-eyed, a ghost of life who could no longer move, but Remy found his way and embraced the younger man. He felt the weight of Marty give into his arms and was saddened to discover that he had not passed out, but instead, had given up. He only held Marty and looked to the trees slowly wavering like a mirage through the bitter thick air. Remy now heard a scattering in the village beneath, curious onlookers, no doubt, coming along to discover reasons for silence and put themselves in harms way. The elder man shook his brother and held him away so their eyes could meet.
“Tell me everything. All that you’ve seen, all that you know.”
“Why? It’s no good now,” Marty sniveled.
“Maybe,” he retorted with an anxious look.
“Wha…what do’ya mean?”
“While I was out there…putting Martha to rest.”
“What’re ya’ tellin’ me…”
“It’s been a long time, Marty. But, I dunno … once she died… it’s opened a floodgate.”
“Are ya’ sure?”
“No. That’s why I need to know everything. To be sure,” Remy paused then added, “he’s leaving soon.”
Color flooded back into Marty and his eyes widened in a flash of excitement as he returned his brothers grip. “You know a face,” he huffed breathlessly but paused in thought and frowning, “but there’s no escaping this.”
“He has a plan,” Remy said with a wry smile of uneasy confidence.
“Ok…ok,” he repeated pacing eagerly and absently stroking his naked chin, “but what ‘bout time, Rem? We got time for this? I mean, should we get them packin’ an’ head towards Tower 10 maybe—“
“No,” he interrupted cutting the younger man off, “I feel there’s some time yet, though it’s hard to tell like you said. Besides, chances are we’d be caught dead on the way.”
Remy walked to the opposite ledge overlooking a still gathering crowd below. He felt excitement buzzing through his cold, numb limbs as he turned to face Marty once more. “They’re already creating their own truths down there,” he hitched his thumb toward the villagers, “most of ‘em we don’t even know but I do know that many have sons and daughters beyond those tree lines. They won’t want to leave and others are tired of running. Seems to be a graveyard of human will,” he paused then added, “I’m gonna try Portland again while you collect your thoughts.”
Remy turned and thumped towards the dilapidated radio balancing on a thin rotting table. Meanwhile, Marty searched impatiently for a scrap of paper to collect his ideas upon. He found what was needed beside frozen fire logs and a pot of lumped, iced coffee, but writing was no easy task for senseless fingers and he threw the pencil down with a thin crack. Frustrated, he watched the other bending over the radio clicking dials and listening to repetitive sounds of white noise. It was a grating sound, like a sandpaper toothbrush grinding on teeth, filled with despair and an easy logic of the faithless. Marty wondered if it would be the last sound as death overcame them all.
He looked down at the empty notepad and let it fall, crackling, to the tower floor. He tucked frigid, useless hands deep inside his pockets and made way, once more, to the ledge listening beyond the static and trying to distinguish murmurs and cries below. They scurried like mice, these people of a clandestine village, all too aware of a brutal fate ahead. Marty exhaled upon them watching thick, frosty breath mingle with an ever-thickening afternoon. Bones ached, his conditioned body was ravaged with chill and a lack of rest. None of it made sense anymore, not the war, not the aftermath, not now. The only sanity was a blind trust in his only blood relative. The twenty-three year old turned again to his brother who was patiently searching for a faceless friend.
“S’that how ya know ‘bout Denver, too?”
Remy, still hunkering over the radio, turned his burning eyes slicing the heavy air between them. “What’s that?”
“Denver. You said it was standin’ an’ I said it wasn’t but I didn’t know you were feelin’ it again. So, is that how ya’ know? ‘Cause if it is, I mean, that’s great for us. Real great.”
Remy stood placing his hands in the small of his back and leaned backwards stretching contorted muscles. He was a brute but ached nonetheless. A growing eagerness filled Watchtower 9 as he continued stretching a moment longer and drawing out his siblings’ anticipation. Finally Remy answered. “No.” For the second time he watched Marty’s face break, his hope give. “I haven’t felt Denver at all, not a soul. Haven’t even tried though.” The younger mans’ face twisted from disappointment to a raging, questioning glare but before he could lash out Remy continued. “Truth is I don’t know much of anything. Once Martha died everything went crazy. The only thing that stayed the same was this face. Day after day...this face,” he trailed off.
“How do ya know, Rem?”
“Don’t really. That’s why I want you to fill me in on what I missed. There’ve been other things but this is the only constant. Been afraid to let it go even for a second.”
“Have ya seen’em here yet,” the younger man asked, his voice wavering.
“He’s not mixed with the others but I feel him, Marty, strong as day, just beyond the village. Denver is what it is, no matter to us. Times gonna run out either way. I just have to decide if he can give us a chance.”
Another low rumbling weaved the watchtower and the two men looked with unease toward tree lines once more watching them dance and shake an unseasonable frost. The elder man turned again to face Marty who was slack-jawed and trembling.
“Now would be a good time to start talking,” Remy insisted but the younger man only looked on like a deer trapped in oncoming lights, or so the bearded brother thought until realizing it was, instead, the foundation of a question filled with disbelief.
“Remy, what’s it matter if you think he c’n give us a chance or not? I mean, if ya even think there might be a chance he c’n help what’s ta wait for? And who th’ hell left you to decide?! We should decide! No…no, they should decide,” he lashed out, red hues decorating pale cheeks once again, as Marty extended a stiff finger at those below.
“Easy Mart…easy,” he whispered gently holding both hands up in a stopping motion, “think about if I’m wrong. Think what telling them now would do.” The two men stood staring as a sharp wind whistled between them teetering the balance of the question. Remy noted restraint in his brother and continued, “It’d cause a panic, Marty.”
“Oh, a panic,” Marty questioned sarcastically, “I believe, Bro, that these people are pretty familiar with panic b’now,” he let out an unnerving cackle turning from his brother toward crooked rooftops of haphazard huts.
“They may be but this time is different. He probably has no idea what he’s supposed to do. If a mass of people hunt him down in hopes of savior…no good, Marty, no good,” he paused, breathing heavy visible breaths and waiting for an argument that did not come, “They’ll expect actions or at least answers. If he doesn’t have any, well…,” Remy trailed off on a sour note.
“Fine, you wanna know,” Marty exploded as he turned from the final gatherings of humankind, “it was one, HORRIBLY wrong f-,” he paused and exhaled his anger, “one mistake. Don’t even remember now…doesn’t matter really…world was tense. Money-hungry and power-starved. War’s always been a good business, for us ‘specially…all I’m really sure of is someone struck th’ States first. Damn mushroom cloud hung over Houston an’ decorated t.v. for as long as power lasted. An’ ‘cause you know us, gotta strike back, can’t look like cowards…targeted all th’ usual suspects an’ just fired away. Some hit, some missed, some ‘nuked, some not. But then,” he paused twisting a befuddled face up to Remy’s, “then that’s when everythin’ changed.”
“Changed how, Marty?”
The young man backed up a step and scratched his head. “Can’t really say. But it wasn’t human. It was…Earthly.”
“Earthly?”
“Yeah. Yeah, like,” he paused closing his eyes to think and unconsciously scratched harder, “there were tsunamis in every ocean…every sea. Just wiped out masses…no time to react…then th’ streets,” he paused again, tears filling bloodshot eyes and overspilled carving canyons through collected dirt on the young mans face, “wasn’t earthquakes. Well, don’t know for sure but survivors nearby swear th’ ground didn’t shake. Just opened up to th’ fog…no one caught in it got out…that was Beijing at least. But it began happenin’ everywhere…in a pattern I suppose but didn’t discriminate other’n that. When power went out first reports were just comin’ in from th’ Pacific. Islands splittin’ right in half. Fog would eat what tsunamis didn’t wash away. There were rumors of an army…only hearsay from a scatterin’ of survivors but I guess enough ta get ya paranoid.”
Marty now held himself, knuckles chapped and torn from a too-tight grip. He sat on the cold, aching boards no longer able to support his own weight and looked to Remy who stared skyward, gray eyes glistening with a sadness he had not known. “See,” he whispered, “there is no escape.” He rocked back and forth, head in hands and useless to the world. Remy searched silence for words to soothe his sibling but it was soon shattered by a high frequency squawk. Turning from a tombstone colored sky wearing panic as a mask before realizing it was only the radio, he hurried to it barely dodging the rocking force of flesh he called family.
“Portland? Portland, s’that you?”
Radio silence filled the void for endless moments until, “H-…stand-…ear-…calm…”
“Portland, over. Can you hear me, repeat, can you hear my voice,” a certain panic gripped his volume prodding Marty to look up at the usually calm demeanored brother. Again there was only static and Remy’s thick brow furrowed, his eyes no more than slits carved into a cold granite face. Hovering over the only working machine a moment longer Remy tried to will it to work but he could no more do that than he could cure fantastic diseases before all this carnage. His massive head sank, thick heavy locks spilling over making his face as distinguishable as a shadow. But before despair set in the radio chirped once more.
“Rem-- ou-- here?”
He yanked the microphone hard enough to pull almost the entire radio unit to the floor. “Come in, Portland, I hear you. Talk to me,” he tried to sound calm and failed miserably.
“Remy, s’that you,” the voice responded.
“Yeah it is. How ya doin’ Portland,” he questioned with relief.
“Well --uld be ---tter.”
“You’re breaking up but sounds like you’re doing fine.”
“Yep. Said I could be better though,” he came in clearly.
“That so? What’s happening?”
The microphone clicked and brought a static pause which filled the void in conversation for too long. Whatever relief Remy felt quickly became a distant memory. “Portland? Portland?”
“—oud is –st –ere that’s why I- --reaking up.”
“Repeat. I couldn’t understand you, repeat,” he said almost frantic with excitement but as the voice came to him his heart melted in a numb wave, bones becoming liquid unable to support weight.
“Said I see th’ cloud. Almost here, probably why we can’t get through. Be expectin’ some company in th’ next few days.”
“How many,” he whispered stunned from the news.
“Come back, Remy. Couldn’t here you this time.”
“How many,” he repeated.
“Only ‘bout thirty-four.”
“My god! Why so few?”
“Rest went to th’ lines. Seen some of ‘em scurrying back past th’ tower though.”
“What? What’re you doing then? Why are you still there,” Remy questioned astounded and angry. There was another broken pause before a response.
“May have good eyes but I’m not a youngin’. Can’t keep up not that it’d do good anyhow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Aw fella we’re in a heck-of-a mess here. I volunteered for this job knowin’ how it was gonna end, just wanted to do some good. There’re some young people below m’tower who still had hope in somethin’ out there. I don’t think its no use in tryin’ but why should I stop ‘em? Didn’t try n’convince ‘em, didn’t listen to ‘em argue, just climbed my old ass up here. Told ‘em I’d holler once I saw somethin’. Sent ‘em packin’ this morning, granddaughter included. Hope I could give ‘em a day but…this thing’s movin’ so damn fast.”
“How long ago did you first see it,” Remy asked with an odd mix of angst and sorrow.
“Somewhere late evenin’ after we last talked. Saw it sneekin’ in and got everyone up so they could get off. But like I said, it’s shifty. Moves faster’n ya think.”
“Portland, how much time you think we got?”
Portland chuckled again, “We? Well, I got a coupla hours maybe,” he paused and when he spoke next his voice was ernest and true, “but you…well gods hope you got a week. So’s I figure anyway since workin’ towers are a coupla hundred miles apart.”
Radio silence again but this time seeming self-imposed. The static carried an unspoken balance of calm and hope, a prayer for those who stood in the end.
“Say, Remy,” a voice finally crackled, “take care of my granddaughter. Think I’m gonna go now. Say my peace and such.”
Remy sighed as Marty looked on watching tears glide into a jungle of beard. “Old man,” he qued one final time with a necessary regret, “how will I know when it’s coming?”
“Oh you’ll know, son. Looks like a poison comin’ ta kill you.”
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