Last Cardinal

Set against an apocalyptic environment, Carl Whitby must decide if the city he is living in is finally driving him to the edge of insanity. He mets Isabella, but can he save her before its too late?

Last Cardinal

 

The Apocalyptic Diary of Carl Whitby

 

My guess would be that we were meant to die off. An expiry date for human kind. We just got too smart and too carefree, and it ended.

If you’re reading this, then you know about the floods. The rain and the earthquakes. For one year the rain kept coming and slowly everything drowned. People went insane from the sound of the rain. The constant hammering on their roofs and windows. We were trapped on rooftops without much coverage. Nothing could fly because of the lightning and fog.  Everything was bloated and never dried. Your skin went wrinkly and food became poisonous and rotten. Then the water went down.

I remember the gunshots. The looting. People were fist fighting over food and fuel. Then it was land and houses and towards the end, law and order. Those that survived the flood ended up killing one another. And of those that survived the genocide, scatted. I pass some bodies from time to time that are thin and must have died of hunger. Others, hanging by their necks or cut their own wrists.

If you’re reading this, then you’re not dead, like me. And you must find me and together we can live. I don’t have much food, but I find something every day to keep me going. I saw a rat today. It ran across the road in front of me and I just about jumped out of my skin. It’s been two years since I’ve seen an animal, other than human. The last animal was a dog and someone was eating it.

My name is Carl Whitby. This city used to be my home, where I worked and where you, most likely, worked too. You may not have lived here, because not many people decided to live in the city. You hear the cars and the horns and the people. The violence and the mayhem going right past your window. It’s not for everybody, but I liked it. I liked the coffee shops and books stores. I liked the proximity and the towering business blocks. The early morning bustle and the ironed ties and clopping of expensive shoes, that was all for me. I loved it. Now, I haven’t heard a bird whistle in years.

If we were to meet, you would probably ask me how I survived, as I would you. But I don’t know the answer. I survived because, somehow, I did. I know that sounds contrived and lacking sense, but in each step of the way, after the rain stopped, I kept slipping through the grips of death and ended up alone.

Am I the only one left? No. I’ve seen others. But I stay clear, as do they. It’s been so long I fear whoever I had seen, probably died.

__

This morning I camped in the ruins of an old bank. The counter was rotten and smelled damp, as did the carpets and chairs, but it had a door that could shut and lock. I found the manager’s office and cleared the computer from the desk and lay my sleeping bag down. I used my gas stove and cooked beans in a pot and washed it after in a small pooling of water in the sink in the banks bathroom. I found money, some dry but most wet. I took the dry money, for no other reason other than starting a fire later or using it to wipe.  I ate, slept and sat reading a book I found under one of the counters. It wasn’t one I would have normally read, but it was interesting none the less.

The next day I stalked the streets. My energy levels were down as they had been since fresh fruit and vegetables stopped growing. I wonder how much nutrition cans of beans and pickled onions actually give you? I’m certain I can’t survive off this forever.  

The city makes no noise sometimes. Normally there is the sounds of the wind whistling through smashed windows or the sounds of brick crumbling, but at this moment, there is nothing. Like the city was holding its breath as I walked across its dilapidated flesh.

__

I stood in front of the building I used to work in and looked upwards. The sun had a grey tone, as if it was slowly dying. Maybe it had already died?

I climbed over the debris of broken planks of wood and busted tables and random garbage and went inside. The lift I used to use was trapped half way up the door, there was someone’s legs sticking out. Their skin was rotten and had peeled mostly from the bone. From where I was standing I couldn’t smell it, thank god. Or thank whoever took over when god left. I took the stairs and went up the few levels. When I got to the exit door I kicked it in hard and it buckled in half. Inside the office there was a breeze. Long sheets of silver foil hung from the ceiling, insulation from the air-conditioning. I saw the desks that I had walked past thousands of times, never really looking, never really paying attention. Now they sat, peeling their linoleum top and rotting slowly till the end of time. I turned my head slowly to the office I used to be in. The door was still shut, exactly how I left it when we were sent home after the announcement on the radio. I wish I could hear that again, maybe I don’t? I don’t know. Thinking back to that day the message seemed so fake. A joke someone was playing on us. Nobody knew what was going to happen. If we did, would we have changed anything? Maybe. I turned the handle and looked inside. My coffee cup was on the desk, some dark liquid was still in it. Some had evaporated over time. I tipped it out and took the mug, closing the door behind me. I remember why I hadn’t been up here yet, the feeling of isolation is rich. It’s a thick as soup. People I knew, no longer here. I have to get out.

Out on the streets I could hear the city crying. I heard its death rattle years ago and now it’s on its last breath. When will the city finally give in? Or has it already?

__

I write this knowing it may be the last thing ever written on this planet. Do the others write? Most likely not. Survival is the number one challenge. Why do I write at all? On scrap pieces of paper I find and tissues and napkins. I’ve written on the back of menus from Turkish restaurants now littered with car parts and animal faeces.

Suppose one day the next group of humanoids descends from wherever and they read this. Will they take heed? Or will they roll it into a ball and toss it behind their backs with the rest of the garbage and move on?

__

Today I walked through the city centre. Never before has it felt so empty. Does that greying sun just shine for me? The people I had seen a year ago, where would they be now? Dead? Or do they have a small community somewhere. I don’t know if I want to be a part of it. I’ve been alone for so long. It’s possible I didn’t see anyone...

Magazines scatter the empty streets, their pages curled and sun blistered. Eaten and torn to shreds by animals.

I wondered through the food court and found tin sliced pineapple at the pizza store and a small tin of olives. The used by date had gone on both, but I kept them anyway. A stench came from the far corner near an burger shack, I knew that smell and avoided it.

When I went back out into the streets I heard howling of some animal and almost fell to the ground in surprise. Tears streamed down my face and I started muttering to myself. Other Life! What rounded the corner I did not expect to see, or never would under normal circumstances. Two hyenas, scruffy and thin were staring at me through yellow, hungry eyes. I believe we both paused for a moment and appreciated seeing other life in this baron wasteland.

They gnashed their teeth, wicked and yellow, broken from trying to eat uneatable things. They came after me. I turned and sprinted, dropping my bag, as it was heavy with tins and other things. I knew my body was in good shape, bar a little on the skinny side. But could I outrun two hyenas?

I ran over, first a bonnet of a car, sliding off its hot metal hood, then over two upturned motorcycles. I leapt off a bin, black from being on fire and clutched onto a shop canopy. I heard the chomping of jaws under me, if I hadn’t jumped surely I would have been mauled!

I climbed up the canopy and looked for my bag in the distance. It was lost from sight in the stray trash. I would find it later. The windows to my left were all shut and locked. I leapt to the next ledge and gripped the wall like a spider. The canines followed under me, they had my scent. I jumped again, this time the gap was longer and I caught the ledge by my fingertips and shimmied along till I found a decent sized lip to climb up on. I went up the building, slipping only once. I heard the hyena’s howl with hunger pains. They whinnied and moaned as I made my escape to the roof. I didn’t have my lighter or matches or water. How long would I have to wait up here till they left? I would find out soon enough.

__

I write this on the roof top. On the cracked and stained concrete. I think some is blood. Who knows what the other stains are? I woke and it was night. I looked over the edge and the hyenas were gone. I hope they aren’t hiding, waiting for me to climb down and retrieve my bag.

__

I hear the cit cry. It is far off. It comes to my ears in echoes, faded and dying. Did this city always talk? Where we, as humans, too loud to hear it whisper? It could have been warning us the whole time. Telling us to get away! Reach the highest point and take food, but we were too loud to hear.

My descent into insanity is growing stronger. My grasp on this nightmarish world is slipping and I don’t know how long I can hold on for. I must leave the city.

__

None of the cars go. The water wrecked their engines. Bikes would be useless with the amount of trash and debris in the way. I think I would have to travel by foot. Decide where to go. I’ll need footwear, two pairs. Food, just enough to carry. I’ll need water and bedding. These things, the city offers. I can find them here. I will set off in two days. In that time...I will know where I’m headed.

__

My chest is pounding and I’m out of breath. So as I write this it may become illegible. I will begin an hour ago and detail the events that unfolded. I am both happy and sad, and you shall know why...

I remembered an army disposal store several streets over from the main city centre. I knew it would have been raided after the flood, but sometimes people don’t think of the obvious places to look and there still might be things there. The boots I need, perhaps. So I gathered my bag together and ate the tin pineapple along the way to the disposal store.

The door had been pried open and left hanging off its hinges. How long ago this happened, was anyone’s guess. I stood at the door way and looked at the stairs as they descended into the shop store. The walls were pained in camouflage colours and had netting strung up to give it the illusion of an army bunker. I would have taken the netting if I thought it useful, but I left it and went down the stairs.

The store had obviously been raided but whoever had done it had left in a hurry. Most the stock was still in its place. All the knives were gone, but a few. I reached through the smashed glass counter and picked up one and slid it into my belt. Next I grabbed a sachet of Quick-Oats from the next counter and a few pens from the desk. I walked towards the rear of the store and started sorting though the clothing. The days were getting colder and the nights ever more so. The jackets that were left where large and weighty, some were torn and eaten so I left them. I found a pair of light green trousers in my size and flung them over my shoulder. Over head was a crossbow dangling from the ceiling by a piece of string, some sort of display. It was still there because, at my guess, nobody saw it, or it was too high to get. I found a wooden crate behind the second counter and placed it under the crossbow and climbed up. With one swift tug it came from the roof, as well as dust and cobwebs. Standing on the crate I noticed bullet holes in the walls. They sprayed upwards along the ceiling. There must have been a fire fight down here. I looked to the ground and saw dried blood. Dark, dark red and long since soaked into the carpet.

I climbed down and used the string as a strap and placed it over my shoulder. I walked further to the back of the store and saw that the rear wall was on a slid rail. I pushed hard and it slid open on rusted wheels. There were boxes of spare shoes for the display, but no shoes left in the store. I started looking through the boxes for my size when I heard something. It was footsteps coming down the stairs into the store!

My stomach lurched into my throat and I started to shake. Another person! An animal? What? My hand went instinctively to the knife and pulled it from my belt. I knew I had the advantage from where I was, as I would see them first before they saw me. I pushed my back against the rack of dust jackets and ammo vests and gripped my knife and waited. The footsteps came like thunder in the night, steady and slow. Rolling with unsureness and apprehension. Sweat dripped down my neck and caught in my collar. My knuckles were white and I heard my teeth clatter together. Suddenly, a darken figure appeared on the steps. It took two steps and stopped. It’s back was to me and I dared not to breath in case I made a sound.

It seemed like an eternity the figure stood for. It’s head rotated and looked around. It sniffed and took another step. It was only one more step before it was on the ground. What was it waiting for?

Slowly it took its last footing onto the ground and it looked into the cabinet where the knives were. There was one more in there after I took mine. Now, I could tell it was male. Broad shoulders and short cropped hair and large hands that reached into the glass and plucked the knife from its holding sheath. The man brought it up to his eye line and examined it closely. He must have been wondering the same that I was, why weren’t all the items from here taken earlier?

To my relief he slipped it into his back pocket and went to the next counter. Mine was already out, shaking and facing him. By the time he reached for it I would have already cut his throat. I waited in the dark, not knowing what to do next. The man looked back at the stairs and my heart stopped, I thought he would surely see me, but he didn’t. He unzipped his fly and began urinating there, on the spot. The smell was putrid and his act vulgar, we were still human for god sake. He zipped up and turned around, his eyes spotting me amongst the shadows. A strange glare crossed his eyes, it was of surprise and awe. I thrust forward, knocking things as I went. I held the blade out and the tip touched his chest. It cut a small incision in his shirt and he stood there, staring at me. His eyes darted to the stairs. I thought it was a trick, so I didn’t look to see. I didn’t hear the anyone coming down the stairs, so I knew he was bluffing. Maybe there was someone waiting up top.

My heart was pounding so fast I thought I would pass out. I could see him sweating, his eyes dilated and focused on my face. He could be memorising my features for all I knew, possibly he was in a group and they would hunt me down and kill me. I stepped back and withdrew the knife from his chest. I waved it towards the stairs and he took off running. He bolted up the stairs and I heard him talk, then came the sounds of running on concrete until it faded. My head was light and my heart was full, I started to cry and didn’t know if it was seeing another human, or knowing that if he had the upper hand, I could have died. I’ll never know.

I wrote this on a length of receipt I found in the stores cash register.

From now on I’ll have to travel in the shadows.

__

Today I climbed up the side of a building. I used the window sills for hand holds and pushed my weight up. I swung across to a flag pole (its flag torn and burned) and leapt to a window across the way. I’m getting better at manoeuvring through this city without restrictions. I can leap across close buildings and grip things I never thought possible.

I slid through  an open window. This was a grand old mansion just out of the city. I’d always seen it when I drove . I thought it was decadent and luscious. Inside I stare up at the chandelier. It looks like diamonds hanging off polished silver. Years ago, it could have been worth a lot. Now I look at it and think how I could use the silver for something, cooking, a weapon, parts for something.

The hallway is scattered with paintings. Some are gone, mostly likely in the riot. Upstairs I hear something and throw myself into one of the rooms and hide. I draw my knife, but it doesn’t come again. A rat perhaps? Old wood falling in on itself? I figure my paranoia is heightened from interacting with the man from the army disposal store. I haven’t forgotten the hyenas either, but something tells me it was a hallucination. I need more cans of food, than I can get out of here, get into the country and let my mind rest.

The day was getting on and I felt exhausted from the trek to this place. I’ll sleep on the bed I found and prop a chair behind the door. I’ll try to awaken early and move on by day break.

__

During the night I awoke to hear moaning. I figure it was a dream and pushed the dusty pillow over my head and went back to sleep.

Is it God’s will that we had to die? Why didn’t he kill me? Morbid thoughts.

I’m sick of writing, but I truly believe it’s the only thing that’s keeping my mind sane.

__

I woke before dawn and crept around the mansion checking drawers and closets. I found a black scarf which I took and toothpaste. It was old, but still better than nothing. In one room someone had started a fire and cooked something on a rotating wire spit. The window was busted out and you could see the city in the distance, under the early morning glow.

I made my way to the kitchen and searched everywhere. Nothing. Someone had been here before me and raided the pantry. There wasn’t anything left but a greening cube of rotting bread.

Houses like this have a basement, I thought. Or a wine cellar. Hopefully the first marauders missed it. I’ll spend the next few hours looking for it and report back.

__

The entrance to the cellar was outside and around the rear of the house. It had a padlock that was rusted and covered in moss and vines. I few hits with a brick I found in the garden and it dropped off. I opened the twin swinging doors and went down. I lit a candle I had in my backpack and searched the dank basement. There was nothing but wine and boxes full of old clothes and books. I took two bottles of red and left.

I’ll head back to the city tomorrow and gather food and water, then I’ll leave. I still don’t know where I’ll go. Besides the fields, free of houses and buildings, after that I do not know. I imagine it’s for the best. Time will lead me somewhere, I’m sure of it.

__

Back in the city and I already feel nuisance. My hands are shaking and when I look up to the dying sun I get dizzy and light headed. I fear I have accepted claustrophobia into my life. I feel the need to leave more than ever. This will be sooner than I anticipated. Tomorrow I’ll be gone.

__

I hear you crying city.

I hear you.

__

Her name is Isabella. And I found her on the kitchen floor of the donut shop. This is my recollection of how I found her;

I needed water for my trip and I was going store to store searching in their fridges and boxes for unopened, bottled, water. I had found two already, but they weren’t very big and I need at least five, I thought, to make the trip outwards. I was standing on a paved piece of mall that came off the main strip when I saw the donut shop. Those shops normally only sold coffee and tea, but I hadn’t looked in there yet and went over.

I must be used to stepping quietly and making as little sound as possible, as when I walked in I heard whimpering. I had heard it for days. I figured it was my mind " listening to the city cry, but to my utter astonishment, it was not.

I heard the sobbing and moaning coming from the back room. Slowly I slipped my knife out and considered running, but these cries weren’t of loneliness, but of agony. Gingerly I stepped through the store and slid over the counter. I saw water bottles cast along the floor, all empty. Tins lay stricken across the tiles, empty and their sauce dried and rancid.

I knelt down and peered around the door. First I saw legs and decided that seeing another dead human wasn’t what my brain needed, but the legs moved. They kicked and scraped along the floor. Then came a ghastly scream, painful and glass-shattering. I looked quickly and saw a young woman, clutching her side, her eyes clamped shut. Tears rolled down her face and she was grinding her teeth so hard I thought they would break. When she opened her eyes again, she saw me and her hand reached out to grab me, but I spun around and lay on the floor on the other side of the doorway.

‘Mister!’ she yelled, ‘Sir! Help me! Please! I’m dying!’

Her words were quick and demanding. She didn’t care if I was a roving murder or looter, she needed help.

‘What is wrong?’ I called back.

‘Something inside me hurts! Please help!’

I peered back around and the woman was clutching her side. I slid on my knees over to her and as soon as I was in reach she grasped me and didn’t let go. Her nails dug into my flesh and drew blood.

‘Something inside me hurts...please.’

‘I’m not a Doctor,’ I told her, ‘I can’t help you.’

‘Pain killers...get me painkillers! And a medical book, anything...something, please.’

I backed away from her, pulling my arm free. Around her were bottles of water, several full. There were also muesli bars and crisps. There were towels, some stained and defecated in. How long had she been here?

I nodded quickly and took off running.

__

I lifted a bin out of its metal frame. It’s weight suggested it was half full. I carried it on my shoulder, over to the large glass window and threw it. The glass smashed and shattered over the concrete and carpet. The noise ricocheted down through the city centre.  I walked through the gap and into the Library. It took me close to an hour to find the medical section. The woman wanted a medical book, but there were hundreds. I found one entitled ‘Medicine 101: Basic Ailments and Treatment’ and one called ‘1^st Year Medicine: A Doctor’s Note.’ The first one was thick and heavy, making it hard to carry. I fear I knew what she had and dared not think about it.

Next I went to the closest Pharmacy, which was across the street. It had bars and security screens across and was impossible to get in. I searched the city for another one and found two within several shops of one another. The first had its font burnt and inside had been raided. There was plenty of painkillers left, most likely the looters were after anti-biotics and anything to get them high. I took several boxes of Ibuprofen and ran back to the donut shop.

When I got back the woman was unconscious. Her hand was over the side of her stomach and she was breathing heavy. I woke her by shaking her shoulder and she saw me and became startled and almost violent. When she recognised me she calmed down and rested. I gave her some painkillers with water and she went back to sleep.

I sat and watched her sleep. Her face was red and flustered. Sweat was pouring down her neck and she looked on the verge of death. I took one of the books and opened it. I didn’t know where to start, so I just started reading.

It wasn’t until the next afternoon did I read something that confirmed my worst nightmares.

__

She woke and ate and we exchanged names and a little about how we had been surviving. She said her name was Isabella and she had seen me several times before, wondering the streets. She hadn’t seen the hyena’s which gave me great concern.

I told her I’d read something in the medical book. Her eyebrows pursed together and she gritted her teeth as I told her.

‘It’s you appendix.’

She started crying loudly. Tears poured down her face. Her moans were sickening and disturbing. As a child I had once seen a kid break his arm and hearing his agonizing cries had made me nearly vomit. She had brought me back to that memory.

‘You need to take it out.’ She told me through sobs and coughing.

‘I’m not a Doctor. I can’t do surgery. It’ll be too dangerous.’

She started to swear and she sat up, to strike me or talk closer to me, I don’t know. But the pain forced her back down. She told me I had to, or she would die. I knew she was in grave danger, but surgery was impossible.

‘Get the f**k out!’ she cried, ‘Go! Get out!’ She threw several bottles of water at me till I left.

That night I slept just outside the store on the cold, hard ground. Through the night I woke to hear her crying and moaning.

__

Morning came and it brought a dense fog. I heard growling and barking far in the distance and hurried back inside. The fog was so thick I couldn’t see across the way. It was colder too, far colder than any morning I have had since....

The crying had stopped. I turned and looked over to the kitchen area. My first thoughts were, she’s sleeping, finally. I strolled quietly over to the kitchen and peered around the door. Her eyes were open, as was her mouth. Her skin was white and her chest still. She had died during the night, early morning, and I wasn’t there to comfort her. A pain hit my chest that forced me to my knees.

When the fog clears I will bury her somewhere and get out of this god forsaken city.

__

I dragged Isabella. Oh God! Did I drag her. A fragile woman. The poison exploding inside her and killing her. I dragged her by her shoulders, feeling her head slump from side to side on my wrists. I found a garden in the city centre where there were once flowers and people. All around talking and having lunch and laughing. I dug a hole and placed her in it and covered her body back up.

Something I feel inside my chest sits like a lead anchor. It hurts and I cry often. I want to ask the question; was it my fault? Could I have done something? But I cannot ask myself because I know it is.

I gather the rest of Isabella’s water and walk away from the city. I feel it watching my back as I go. On the tree in front of me a bird lands. It’s red feathers and black beak stand out against the grey and dying world. If this is the last cardinal, then I may be the last human.

I cross a bridge and begin my journey somewhere.

The End

 

 

Author's Note

A small section of his diary. Wanted to write more, but couldn't fit it into my schedule. Will add to it if people dig it. thanks.

Reviews

[x]

handing by their necks should be hanging and there were a few other minor typo's. A diet of canned beans and pickled onions...man, I'm not sure I'd want to find you...lol. This is well written and easy to read. It's interesting and I believe it tells the story extremely well. As a story teller, I think you have great ability. I think I am understanding here that this is a section of a diary of a survivor. The write covers this angle well and overall, it works. Well done.