Chapter 3
No matter how terrible things are, eventually you have to stop crying. I stopped when I ran out of tears. It felt terrible, as if my eyes were all dried out. I could tell that they must be red, and I found it hard to see; they hurt as I blinked against the light, trying to see what there was around me.
But the nightmare remained; there remained nobody there. I looked back in the store and there was no clerk behind the counter, nobody racing to answer the frenzied blaring alarm. I was still alone, just me. In the whole city
When there is nothing to do, I think it is instinctive for people to move, to look, to see if there is something somewhere else, something to do, to see.
I had no idea what there might be, in fact, I was pretty sure there was nothing. But still, I struggled to my feet and started walking, down the still street, silent except for the wind and my own footsteps, my cane clicking on the asphalt, my limping steps echoing off the buildings around me.
Then, I heard another sound. I jumped in surprise as I heard something fluttering, echoing through the air. I looked behind me, but I saw nothing moving; I looked around, but still there was nothing. Then the street suddenly grew much darker, and my heart leaped in my throat; I thought for a moment that the sun had been blocked out, and some demon had come for me.
It may seem funny now, but after my morning, it seemed like a real possibility. I looked up, afraid of what I might see, and I saw a gigantic cloud moving directly overhead, winding through the streets between the buildings. I gaped at it, rooted to the spot, transfixed, and too fascinated to run even if I might have been able to.
The cloud coiled over me, moving against the wind, as if it were a living thing, its parts moving and fluttering. Then it struck me: it was not a cloud; it was a flock of pigeons!
It was huge; thousands at least, tens of thousands, maybe millions of them, black and menacing. I was overcome as I realized what they were; I stared up, craning my neck, watching as they flew by over my head.
I loved those pigeons at that moment; I had hardly ever noticed them my whole life, passing them by, ignoring them, and thinking of them as a nuisance, pests, even. They were the first living thing I had seen all day, the first sign of life, the first motion I had seen, the first indication that I was not the only living thing left in the world. I was not entirely alone.
I laughed, a little crazily, and waved to them as they flew by over my head, all the thousands of them gathered together in a single gigantic flock. Eventually, I watched as the last of them flew by, the tail end of the flock tapering off into a few thin streams of birds, then even they were gone.
I stood, and stared after them until even the sound of their passing had faded away. And I stood there for I don’t know how long, my thoughts empty and void, as if I had no capacity for thought, my mind wiped blank.
Then, I looked around, and I saw a stroller. It lay fallen on its side in a gutter, one wheel fallen off, the others turning slowly in the stiff wind, and I remembered Klemens, and I found I had tears to cry again.
My eyes slowly focused on what stood beyond the stroller, and I saw a bar, ‘Slow Joe’s’ it was called. Biting back a sob, I limped toward the doors, still ajar.