Reckoning Day

The rains lashed Sector18 that month, and the vengeance of the clouds had come after a year of drought. The homeless shuddered under leaking roofs in abandoned buildings strewn across this dilapidated part of the old town. The neglected alleys reeked of poverty and hopelessness and as Jack Senior took off his wet mittens that day he felt as if the devil was breathing down his bones.

His search was finally coming to an end that fateful day.

The foreman they called him, but that was in the good times. Cecilia was there in the "good times”. They were married 23 years, and saw through all that scorched the world in those years. They were there when the war started, when the oil ran out and when the governments fell. Those were the good times.

Junior arrived in their lives a year after their marriage. The apple of Cecilia's eye he was, Junior. In their cozy quarters in a war-ravaged city they managed to eke out a somewhat comfortable living. The foreman would come back from the quarry and lift his son in the air while Cecilia heated the pre-cooked provisions that came in those very neutrally colored cans. They would then get together and watch recorded football matches and old movies.

Little Junior loved a particular one, about a magic ring and lots of kings, both good and evil. It was a favourite of Jack Senior's father himself, who had seen it first in his childhood, long before the world turned inside out. Then there were the bed-time stories where Junior would fall asleep while his mother ranted off tales of an amazing spider that protected the helpless civilians of this great city, or a bat that flew the nights in a mad town picking up criminals before they even committed their deeds.

These were stories that the foreman unwillingly started to enjoy himself, and many a times he would let Cecilia complete the tales even when the little one had slept off on the pretext that she might have gotten them wrong and he would correct her although he never ever did. He was so alive back then, so optimistic despite what was around him.

But now the only thing alive in the foreman's heart was hate.

A murderer was in Sector18, the man who shot Cecilia on a clear Sunday morning 3 years ago. A drug-induced stupor that led to a cold blooded murder, and the memory of which made Jack's heart bleed.

That was the day the ravens returned to the city. A day which spelled the end of a great civilization. As radiation cloaked itself round Sector18, the only inhabitants that remained were the few humans, the rats and the roaches. And the ravens too found a way round the mutated smog of Sector18.

The foreman had stocked up the supplies that previous night. It was that morning when he cleaned up the remaining things he could salvage before they left the city that afternoon (or so he had hoped). That was when he discovered the tubes.

A pile of them inside a box, hidden in Junior's room. He took a whiff and knew what it was. Death Vapour they called it. Obviously Cecilia had known and knowing her so well, he knew she had kept it hidden. She thought she could have dealt with it herself.

That was when he heard the shot.

3 years had passed. Now his search has ended. There was news of a vapour trade doing the rounds of Sector18 that evening. The best stuff came from here everyone believed. Maybe it was the radiation that added to the kick. And Jack heard that the dealer for the trade was a certain man who called himself the Goblin. Jack knew who he was. He had been tracking him for 3 years. He tucked at the inside of his coat, pulled a hood over his face and picked up a battered piece of hard log from the shelter where he had stayed the night before and started walking to the quarry, a place he knew too well.

At the end of the quarry stood a drooped figure, with a bag in his hand and the other held a lit cigarette. Jack walked closer to the figure and as he came nearer he saw a face he recognized too well. Before the other man reacted Jack swung the log he had hidden inside his coat and its impact let out a deep grunt from the Goblin who turned around clutching his chest. The other people who had gathered in the meanwhile formed a circle round the two and stayed a safe distance. No one was going to get involved today.

The foreman stared at his son, who struggled to stand after the blow.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the raven perch. Its misguided message that let him to his present state reverberated in his mind and he slowly counted down in his head the moments that led to the end.

A loud thud echoed through the walls of the quarry as the foreman kicked his son behind the knees and Junior crashed onto the hard, dry gravel and landed on his face. The others remained silent and their silhouettes shimmered in the rays of the setting sun. The sky was purple with death and the air was heavy. The foreman took two steps forward and the cold steel reflected off his cold eyes. And then his finger clasped the trigger.

But then he could take it no more.

In front of him he saw no longer a murderer or a stranger, but a part of the person he loved most. He saw the sorry state of Junior, who was nothing more than a dependent parasite of the Vapour. He saw in him his failure as a father, a man who could not figure things out earlier. And as Junior turned on his back and faced his attacker, Jack saw Cecilia’s eyes staring back at him, moist, lost and without hope.

A tear rolled down the heart-broken father’s weathered cheek, the first in three years. His hand went limp and the gun fell down to the ground as a shot went off harmlessly into the skies, as if to curse God for what had become of everything.

The foreman dropped to his knees and he whispered coarsely and loud enough for Junior to follow the given instruction.

“Walk son,” and he closed his eyes thereafter trying to forget his whole life.

A hundred years from now a prodigal son was forgiven again.