The Fifth Day Read online

  “But you’re a believer, right, Jeff?” Zolzaya asked. “If this was the Rapture, why are you here?”

  “I dunno.” He frowned. “I’ve believed in the Lord most of my life. I read the Scriptures every day, and I work for the church. I was sure I’d be taken, and not left behind with the likes of you.”

  “Hey now.”

  “No offense intended,” Jeff said. “I’m kind of upset, is all.”

  Zolzaya gave him a raised eyebrow. “You’re more upset that you got left behind than you are that everyone else seems to be gone?”

  “Of course. I mean, the others I’ll meet in heaven eventually.”

  “How do you know they all went to heaven?” Margo asked.

  “Well, where else? You don’t get Raptured down to hell. That’s not the way it works.”

  “I’m not buying that this is the Rapture,” Zolzaya said.

  “Sure it is,” Jeff answered, again with a certainty that made arguing nearly impossible. “If it’s not the Rapture, what is it?” He added, more to himself than to her, “I must have done something sinful in the Lord’s eyes without realizing it. But as long as I don’t take the Mark of the Beast, I should be fine.”

  “Wasn’t there a movie about the Rapture that started this way?” Margo asked. “With lots of people disappearing?”

  “Maybe. But movies are fiction.” Zolzaya used her Authority Voice, hoping it worked better on these two than it had on Vinnie. “And figuring out exactly what happened can wait till later—till we’ve decided what exactly to do next.”

  “We need to try to find others,” Margo said. “There must be someone else in town.”

  “Do you want to come along?” Zolzaya said.

  Jeff shrugged. “I suppose.” He snapped his book shut, which unsurprisingly turned out to be a Bible with a worn cover. “But watch out for Beasts and Whores and stuff. They’re bound to be here, too.”

  Zolzaya turned, trying to control her urge to roll her eyes, and they walked up Denton Street toward the center of town, stepping around more piles of clothes and abandoned purses and backpacks. They had only gone a few blocks when there was the sound of disconsolate weeping, and turned in that direction. They crossed in front of a doctor’s office and a big old house with a placard out front that said Furness Psychotherapy Services before passing along a row of homes with nicely-landscaped front yards.

  The fourth house was the source of the crying. It was a long, high-pitched wail, interspersed with hysterical sobs. They walked up the stairs that led to the front porch, Jeff hanging back. He said, under his breath, “It could be one of the Beast’s minions,” but Zolzaya didn’t respond and Margo didn’t appear to hear him.

  The front door was closed, but the window was open, which was likely the only reason they had heard the sound. They knocked on the door, and instantly the weeping was cut off, as if someone had shut off a recording.

  But there was a gasping, hitching intake of breath, and a child’s voice said, “Who’s there?”

  “We’re trying to find people,” Zolzaya said.

  “Anyone who is still here,” Margo added.

  There was a long pause, but then the voice from inside said, “So, it really happened? Everyone is gone?”

  “Not everyone,” Zolzaya said. “But yes, a lot of people have disappeared.”

  There was a sound of footsteps on a wooden floor, and then the door opened a crack to show the face of a boy, perhaps thirteen years old, with cornsilk-blond hair and a tear-streaked face. “My whole family is gone. And I went over to the Acostas’ house, next door. They’re gone, too.” His face twisted. “Jimmy Acosta is my best friend.”

  “What’s your name?” Margo said, in a gentle voice.

  “Ben. Ben Ingersoll.”

  “I’m Margo Nishikawa.”

  “And I’m Zolzaya. But if that’s hard to say, you can call me Z. That’s what my best friend does.” Hot tears welled up, but she fought them back. “Did.”

  “Jeff East,” came a voice from behind them. He was still at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with suspicion in his eyes, clutching his Bible to his chest. “Do you have the Mark of the Beast?”

  “Oh, come on.” This time Zolzaya actually did roll her eyes. “He’s only a kid.”

  “I’m not a kid.” Ben ran a sleeve across his eyes. “I’m in eighth grade.”

  “We’re going around to find other people,” Margo said. “You should come with us. It’s better than being alone.”

  Ben nodded. He seemed to be trying not to cry again. His lips tightened, and his breathing was harsh and shallow. “Should I take anything?”

  “We’re not going far. We’ll be on foot. We can come back if you want.”

  “My friend Jimmy said that there were monsters outside.”

  Something about the seriousness of his tone made Zolzaya shiver. She tried to keep her tone light. “Well, we haven’t seen any. In fact, except for the four of us, we haven’t seen anyone at all.”

  “Where did everyone go?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Jeff raised a hand. “I do.”

  Ben turned and looked at him, frowning, his mouth open in surprise.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Zolzaya said. “Shut up, Jeff.”

  They left the house and walked back to Denton Street. The quiet was unnerving, and Ben kept glancing around him with nervous, jerky movements, as if he expected something to jump out and grab him. But there were no monsters, and no other people, only the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant growl of the ocean.

  Their path led past another major traffic accident. One of the empty cars had a bumper sticker that Jeff pointed at. “See? I told you.”

  In case of the Rapture, this car will be empty.

  Zolzaya rolled her eyes. “So now you’re convinced by a bumper sticker?”

  “I was already convinced. But the bumper sticker is telling the truth.”

  She rounded on him, and his eyes widened behind his plastic-framed glasses. “Look. I’m not sure what happened here. But I’ll lay good money that it has nothing to do with End Times bullshit. Okay, I’ll admit that I have no explanation at the moment. But the idea that some Bronze Age prophecy is coming true, and that ninety-five percent of the people in California have been whisked off to heaven, is ridiculous. Do you honestly think there are that many holy people in this place?”

  Jeff frowned. “No. I guess not.”

  “Exactly. Your Book of Revelation—didn’t it say that the ones who are raptured would be the ones who were the True Believers?”

  “Yes. But it’s not Revelation. It’s Matthew twenty-four thirty-one.” He opened his Bible, squinting through his glasses at the minuscule type. “‘And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.’”

  “I didn’t hear a trumpet.” Ben scratched his head.

  “Neither did I.” Z gave a sharp gesture with one hand. “And most of the people in Furness were ordinary folks. Do you honestly believe that the only ones evil enough not to be assumed bodily into heaven are the four of us?”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Jeff said solemnly.

  Zolzaya groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  “We’ve been left here to witness the End Times. No one will convince me otherwise.” Jeff gave a sidelong look at Z. “Maybe you have the Mark of the Beast, and are trying to tempt me.”

  “The only Mark I have is this one.” She pulled up the leg of her jeans to reveal a green-and-gold Celtic knot tattoo on her left calf. “And I’m not trying to tempt you, only to get you to see reason.”

  “That’s what the Evil One would say. ‘When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which was sown in his heart.’ Matthew thirteen nineteen.”

  “Okay, you can shutteth the hell up.”

  Jef
f glared at her. “The evil are always afraid of the truth. I bet your name isn’t even Zolzaya.” He jerked a thumb in Margo’s direction. “She said you were from Bulgaria, but you sound like a plain old American to me.”

  Zolzaya opened her mouth, then shut it again. Then she looked over at Margo, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. Oh, well, it was her own fault for lying. “I’m not the Evil One, but given what’s happened, I should own up. If we’re in this together, I should tell you the truth. Confession time. I’m not really a psychic.”

  “You’re not?” Margo eyes got very wide. “But you predicted all this. You told me yesterday.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not sure how to explain that. But I’m no psychic. I’m an ordinary, non-psychic person who likes to make my rent and utilities payments and put food on the table.”

  “You did pretty well by me.” Margo’s voice remained stubborn.

  “That’s nice of you. And Jeff’s right. I’m not from Bulgaria. Until a few months ago, I was Carrie Loeffler from Oxnard.”

  “Ha!” Jeff said.

  “I did wonder why you lost your accent,” Margo admitted.

  Zolzaya looked over at Jeff. “I’m not a minion of Satan, I’m an ordinary person. Okay, my job was a cheat, I’ll admit it. And I sometimes claimed extra deductions on my income tax. Last month I told my landlord that the rent check must have been delayed, when I knew I’d put off paying him because my checking account balance was too low to cover it. I was living in sin with my boyfriend, and we fornicated like crazy every chance we got. No great big evil, only ordinary little failings like everyone else.”

  “Does ‘fornicate’ mean what I think it means?” Ben asked.

  “Yup.”

  He gave a snicker, a crimson blush spreading over his fair skin.

  “So if you can explain, Mister King James Bible, how a Scripture-quoting church custodian got left here along with a bush-league sinner like me, have at it. Or are you still waiting for the Beast With Seven Heads to show up and eat me?”

  “That’s in the prophecy. I’m sorry if you don’t like it.”

  “Meaning you do?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t matter much whether I like it or not. I’m just trying to live by God’s word. He tells us what to do, down to the last details. It’s all right here.” He tapped his Bible with his index finger.

  “I dunno.” She was dubious, and it came out in her voice. “My sense is that if God exists at all, he’s not a micromanager. I think if there is a God, he set things in motion, and then sits back and watches. He’s not an actor in the play. More like an audience member.”

  Jeff’s face set in a stubborn frown. “He’s both. Director, too.”

  “Well,” Margo said, “if God’s around, I’d really like it if he showed up and explained himself, because he’s got a lot to answer for.”

  “He will. Not that he owes us an explanation. But sooner or later, he will come back to Earth. Mark my words.”

  “Duly marked.” Zolzaya gestured dismissively. “You’re impossible.”

  “Hey, Z,” Ben said. “Can I still call you Zolzaya? It’s prettier than Carrie.”

  A slow smile spread over her face. “Sure. I guess if we are the only ones left, we can reinvent ourselves however we want.”

  Margo agreed. “I think you look more like a Zolzaya than a Carrie, anyhow. I’m with Ben.”

  “Okay. Zolzaya it is. But I still swear I’m not psychic. I don’t think I ever had an accurate Tarot card reading before yesterday.”

  Margo winced. “Once is enough.”

  —

  THEY SPENT THE afternoon wandering around downtown Furness without seeing another human being. They passed the clinic where Margo had worked for the past fifteen years—she was a registered nurse—and she choked back a sob when she saw a crumpled set of scrubs with a cheerful design of penguins and polar bears that she recognized as belonging to her friend and coworker, Sharon Wolcott. Lying next to them was a box full of donuts.

  “Sharon always got there early.” Margo’s voice cracked. “She liked to bring snacks for everyone.”

  Ben slipped his hand into Margo’s, and held it tight, and she looked down at him gratefully.

  They walked to the beach, then along the boardwalk. No one was there, not that they expected anyone to be. In the distance, a little black dog was running and splashing in the waves, trailing a long leash behind it. Ben tried calling to it, but either it didn’t hear or was relishing its freedom so much that it wasn’t listening.

  “I’m hungry,” Jeff said to no one in particular.

  “It must be about noon,” Margo said. “What should we do for food?”

  “There’s food back at my house,” Ben said. “But we’ve walked a long way. Maybe there’s a hot dog stand or something.”

  Zolzaya snorted. “Run by who?”

  “Oh.” Ben’s voice sounded disconsolate. “Right.”

  The boardwalk angled back up toward First Street, and where they met there was a souvenir store, a surf shop, and Pete’s Groceries. As they approached, there was a regular clunking noise, dull, low-pitched. A little closer, and Zolzaya caught movement near the entrance of the store.

  This time it turned out not to be another survivor. A shopping cart, standing askew in the doorway, was being struck repeatedly by the automatic sliding door. Next to the cart was a purse, its contents spilled on the pavement.

  Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.

  And it would keep doing it until the power failed. Words floated through Zolzaya’s mind as she watched it bouncing back and forth—Empty. Lifeless. Abandoned. Was the whole world like this, with appliances and electronics and machines still running, running for nothing and no one, until finally one by one they malfunctioned and stopped?

  Her mind rebelled. It couldn’t be. There had to be more people. Maybe whatever this was had only affected this area, and the rest of the world was going on as it had before.

  But something told her that wasn’t true. Some odd force had taken away nearly everyone on Earth, leaving the remaining people to do what they were doing—wandering aimlessly, trying to figure things out and collect the pieces. And sooner or later, they’d be scrambling simply to survive.

  Zolzaya moved the cart away, and the door slid smoothly open. The cessation of the noise was a relief, but the interior of the grocery store was the worst place they’d been yet. Everywhere else, even on the boardwalk or in front of Jeff’s church, the emptiness had been less surreal, less overwhelming. But this store, which at that time of day should be bustling with activity, standing silent and open—it was simultaneously familiar to the point of banality, and completely awry. The combination was absurd, and somewhere between laughable and utterly terrifying.

  Zolzaya forced back her fear, grabbed the cart, and entered the store. The door slid shut behind them. They went up and down the aisle, putting items of all sorts into the cart. Margo grabbed chips and salsa, cans of refried beans and soup, pasta and spaghetti sauce. Ben gravitated toward the cookies. Zolzaya loaded the cart with fresh vegetables.

  “This is stealing,” Jeff said.

  Zolzaya gave a harsh sigh. “From whom?”

  “From the children of God.”

  “If the children of God show up, I’m happy to share. And you’re the one who said you were hungry. If your conscience is bothering you, find something else to eat.”

  Jeff had no ready answer to that, but he didn’t add anything to the cart.

  A thought struck Z as she picked up another head of lettuce. “We should take as much in the way of fresh and frozen stuff as we can manage.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if there really isn’t anyone running the show—if this has happened everywhere, and not only coastal California—then sooner or later, the power’s going to go out. At that point, stuff starts spoiling. We should take it and use it up, because we may not get more soon.”

  “Oh.” Margo regarded the bag of Ramen in her hand. “Th
at’s a good idea.”

  “Let’s get ice cream!” Ben’s eyes lit up.

  Margo’s brow furrowed. “But what if things change again?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose Jeff’s right, and other terrible things start happening. We don’t know, maybe everybody disappearing is only the start.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Jeff said.

  “So maybe we should get more than only perishables. Maybe we should really stock up, you know? Everything. Plan for the worst. Plan as if we might not be able to get back here again. Ever.”

  Zolzaya shuddered at the matter-of-fact way the older woman said those words, which implied something horrific that she hadn’t even considered. When Jeff talked about the Beast and the Four Horsemen, she’d immediately filed what he’d said under “Superstitious Nonsense.” But something had caused all of this, whether or not it was the prophecies of the Book of Revelation being fulfilled.

  And that something might not be done with them yet.

  “That’s smart.” Zolzaya kept her voice steady with an effort. “Get stuff that’s nutritious and will last a while without refrigeration. Margo has a point.”

  Finally, they had two shopping carts loaded to the brim with enough food of various sorts to last… how long? A week? Two? It’d have to be enough for now, and with luck, Margo’s dire warning wouldn’t hold.

  Despite her bold words, she felt a peculiar reluctance to walk out of the store without paying. The electronic door swished open to let her exit, and she couldn’t help a quick look around to make sure that no one saw their blatant shoplifting.

  They wheeled the full carts across the parking lot, with its empty cars and piles of dropped clothes and remnants of abandoned lives, back to the street.

  “We should head home,” Ben said. “The ice cream’ll melt.”

  Zolzaya agreed. “A good idea. The sun’s getting high in the sky. Pretty soon we’ll lose all the frozen stuff if we don’t get it to a freezer.”

  The walk back to Ben’s house took a half hour, and no one said much. Jeff muttered what sounded like prayers under his breath, and twice Margo startled at some movement, but the first time was a gull and the second a plastic grocery bag blowing down the street. The grocery carts rattled, wheels wobbling every time they crossed a crack in the cement.