The end of our world arrived on that day, just like the day before, during the early dawn, when the sun was a faint glow on the east horizon. We’d already packed our bags, just the basics: a few outfits, toothbrushes and paste, a bar of soap to share, medications, and one book each for me and my Mary—something to read while on the run. There wasn’t much else we could carry or had time to pack, not knowing the status of things from hour to hour. We’d find food somewhere, not a meal, but something to hold us over—if need be.
The big one was on the way, again. The message blaring over our smartphones; the whine of sirens; the emergency broadcast system counting down the minutes and seconds in high definition—repetitive instructions from a virtual voice and human appearing avatar, like a YouTube video in continuous loop mode..
We exited the apartment swiftly, but not until the stampede of feet had ended: our masked neighbors attempting to beat the doomsday clock, sounding like a band of panicked horses galloping down the building stairs, running from or to the proverbial fire with their legally purchased assault rifles and high capacity magazines. At long last, their proud display of Second Amendment rights, nobody to argue with them during a state of war.
“The big one is coming,” one neighbor said to me in the stairwell. “Where’s your weapon? Bring what you got, man!”
I pulled out my stainless steel hunting knife to show him, the one I’d inherited from Uncle Abe. He chuckled and said, “What the heck will you do with that?”
“Basic survival tasks, not for taking down a nuke,” I replied. “You know, cleaning fish, skinning something for meat, cutting through fibrous plants, carving a message into a tree, or anything that needs a sharp blade.” I smiled at the tree remark, thinking it was funny, but he had on his game face, serious as fuck!
“Hey man, it is better to be armed to the teeth, just in case. It is your right! Second Amendment, dude. Time to use it, now or never by the look of things!”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but your assault rifle won’t be more effective than my knife, not against a remote controlled nuke. If we or they push the button, we’re all dead. There’s nothing to shoot at here, other than ourselves.”
He stared at me, one of those long, silent stares, like I’d just incriminated myself as the enemy. Mary tugged at my shirt to stop…to quit while I was ahead. He noticed and smirked. “Yeah pal, good luck to you folks. Gotta run!” He fled down the stairs, hoisting the assault rifle over his shoulder, heading off to the theater of war, wherever that was.
I grabbed Mary’s hand, led her back upstairs to our apartment. We didn’t want to get caught up in the next rush coming from the third floor—knocked to the ground and trampled over—or confronted by the assault rifle gang assembling in the parking lot.
After a quick bathroom break, I locked our apartment door to keep our belongings safe, just in case the world didn’t end that day, like it hadn’t the day before, and the days before that. Mary and I stood by the door holding hands. She clutched the bible to her chest with the other hand, and I kept mine on the bone handle of my knife. We waited for the blinding flash, or a public service announcement text calling off the latest scare, informing us to stand down and safety our weapons for another hour, day, night, or whatever.
My thoughts briefly shifted to Charlton Heston, his words more poignant than ever:
“Oh my God… we finally really did it. You maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!”
~ Planet of the Apes
© 2022 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Notes from David 