Page 35 of The End of the World As We Know It

His hand came away from the animal.

He picked up the gun and jammed the barrel in his mouth. He’d been presented with a choice to make, granted an opportunity to take himself out of the equation. A game was being played by elemental forces that were bigger than him, too big for him to even begin to comprehend. He was a piece on a vast, invisible board, a pawn, and it was within his power now to remove himself from it.

To opt out.

He wouldn’t mind not being a part of that game, not at all.

He closed his eyes and increased the pressure of his finger against the trigger, his hand shaking as he willed himself to find the strength necessary to finish the job and end his pain. In his mind, he visualized how it would happen, the big boom as the weapon discharged, the back of his head blowing apart in glorious Technicolor, a splash of bright red against black chrome, an instant, irrevocable obliteration of everything he’d ever been.

Corey’s moment of self-annihilation was perhaps just one more second away when he felt the dog’s tongue lap against the back of his hand, conveying an insistent urgency tinged with desperation. When he opened his eyes, the dog lifted a paw and placed it lightly against his arm.

Corey eased the gun out of his mouth and stared at the ugly lump of metal.

He looked at the dog again and said, “You know what, buddy? Fuck this. Fuck all of it, actually. The fucked-up mind games. The dreams. Even the guilt. Every goddamn bit of it.”

Corey got to his feet and so did the dog, the animal turning in rapid, tight circles, wagging its tail in a frenzy of joy.

Corey laughed.

He reared his hand back and heaved the gun away, sending it clattering down the street.

Then he looked at the dog and said, “Let’s let all the gods and demons and whatever else play their big game of good against evil. It’ll all take care of itself without us, for better or worse, somewhere down the line.” The dog tilted its head, ears perking as Corey talked. “What do you say you and me go for a walk? You like that idea, boy?”

The dog pointed its snout upward and snapped off three quick, enthusiastic barks.

He liked the idea a lot, it seemed.

Corey and the dog started walking.

They walked together for a long, long time.

LOCKDOWN

Bev Vincent

The meeting took place at the community hall on June 30. In the past, the building had been used as a schoolhouse, when there were children on the island, but the last teenager had moved to the mainland five years ago to attend community college in Portland, and there weren’t many prospects for more youngsters to join the Maine island’s aging population.

The hall also saw occasional use as a church, but only for major religious holidays and no preacher had made the six-mile journey by boat for years. There had been a few wakes and an affirmation ceremony when Nancy and Dottie solemnized their relationship. These days, it was mostly used for parties and for the occasional town meeting. It wasn’t often Seacliff Island’s thirteen residents needed to assemble to discuss something. Life here normally proceeded at a leisurely pace, with few disagreements other than the usual squabbles among neighbors who lived in close proximity.

On this Friday afternoon, the meeting hall held fifteen people. The honeymooners from Kentucky staying with the Bouchards, who rented their spare room to the occasional tourist, had been invitedto attend, since the matter under discussion impacted them as well. Dick Collins, the retired historian, author of three books that did not appear on the shelves of anyone else on the island, had requested the gathering. He felt the situation was too urgent to let another day pass.

The stacking chairs had been assembled into a sweeping arc by Margaret Gagnon, who tended to appoint herself to such tasks. There was another chair at the focus of the curve. Dick occupied it now, but that did not imply he was the leader of the community. He had called the meeting, so he would speak first.

Once everyone was seated and the last breath mint had been unwrapped, Dick stood. He swiveled slightly in each direction to take everyone in. The fourteen faces before him were, without exception, grim. He knew these people well—except for the honeymooners, who looked more frightened than everyone else. The others had all lived here for years—decades, even. Several of the residents had been born here.

He drew in a breath and released it. “We’ve all seen the news from the mainland, and I’m sure you’ve heard from friends and relatives as well. It’s a lot to take in, and I think it’s safe to assume that we don’t know everything. Politicians never tell the whole story and sometimes they out-and-out lie.”

Several members of his audience murmured their assent. People who chose to live in such a remote location generally had less trust in the government than the average citizen.

“No one here is old enough to remember the pandemic of 1918—although Mildred would have been alive back then.”

“Barely,” Mildred Turner said with a shy smile. “You too, maybe?”

Dick pursed his lips. “Well over half a million people died, and it took two years for it to clear up. Based on what I’m hearing, this is far worse. Anyone who comes into contact with an infected person gets this so-called superflu. If you get it, you die. No exceptions.” He took another deep breath. “Things are falling apart over there.Looting and rioting. I know the president said the disease isn’t lethal and everything’s under control, but I don’t believe him.”

There were grumbles in the audience. The few people on the island who’d bothered to vote in the last election had likely supported the man in the White House, but he wasn’t rising to the occasion during this time of national crisis.

“My proposal is simple, but imperative. Seacliff Island is well provisioned. The supply boat arrived a week ago, and our pantries and cellars are well stocked. Our gardens are planted. There are plenty of fish and lobster in the gulf and there probably won’t be any game wardens to enforce the daily bag limit. In a way, this is the sort of crisis we’ve always been preparing for.” He paused before delivering his conclusion. “We have to lock the island down. No one gets on. That’s the only way to keep us free of the virus.”