When the World Ends

Part 1: Chapter 3

When the World Ends is a novel by Eduard F. Vinyamata

Smeared in blood, the polished brass entry knob told a dreadful story.

Alex and Luis had pieced it together. Someone had vomited on the sidewalk nearby. She had been wearing a cream-colored shoulder bag which now laid open next to the vomit puddle. As others fell sick around her, she had somehow found enough strength to stand up and drag her vomit soaked shoes towards 11 Betania street, where Luis’ parents lived.

The problem was that the entrance was below street level. A short white fence had to be opened and then, eight steps had to be walked down before reaching the Mahogany wood and polished brass entrance door.

She had fallen at the stairs, cutting or hitting herself with enough force to leave behind a thin trail of blood which ended at the polished brass knob.

“I didn’t recognize her from her shoulder bag,” Luis said. He was standing in front of the entry door, key in hand, next to Alex. “But if we find her inside and she’s a neighbor I’ll know her for sure…”

“Let’s try buzzing everyone before going in?” Alex said.

Luis nodded, and Alex buzzed every neighbor for several seconds, insisting on the third apartment at the third floor, where Luis’ parents lived. They waited in silence for over a minute, but nobody answered.

“Perhaps your parents aren’t home,” Alex said. He knew Luis’ family. They had invited him to lunch many times, and he had watched movies and had napped on their white leather sofa. The possibility of finding their bodies slumped on that sofa, fallen on the kitchen floor or naked and in a puddle by the shower made his legs weak. The idea of recognizing their twisted faces made him breathless.

And they were not even his parents. He tried reading Luis’ face, but the scarce light wouldn’t let him. Luis was fidgeting with the neck of his shirt with one hand, and squeezing the key to the entrance door with the other as if he could juice courage out of it.

“I think,” Luis said in a quivering voice, “That if my family had survived they would be home and they would have answered.”

Alex pursed his lips, moved closer to Luis and placed a hand on his elbow. “Maybe I could open the door and take a look first.” That was the last thing Alex wanted to do, but Luis was his friend.

He took the key from Luis’s grasp and careful not get blood on his hands he opened the door.

The entrance hall was paneled in dark wood with shoddy, yellow-hued lighting. The walls were bare but for two rows of mailboxes on one side and a large mirror on the other. A blood trail crossed the hall and turned a corner. A metallic rolling noise clunked from that direction.

Alex followed the blood trail, tiptoeing towards the clatter. Luis followed him close behind.

The cream-colored shoulder bag woman laid dead inside the elevator cabin. One of her legs stuck out from it, preventing the doors from closing. Luis covered his mouth with his hand. He recognized her as one of the neighbors who lived on the fifth floor.

They took the stairs, Alex still leading the way. He kept the walls at arm’s length, brushing them with his fingertips as if to make sure they weren’t coming any closer. Being indoors and climbing narrow stairs at an apartment building wasn’t like being indoors at the mall. Here, the constricted space made it obvious he was breathing in the last air the dead had exhaled. With Luis behind him and gloom all around he couldn’t just instantly run and escape should the situation require it. He feared coagulating spills making him slip, bent limbs and gaping jaws poking out of nowhere, making him trip. But the stairs were clear, and they made it to Luis’ parent’s front door.

Luis ringed the doorbell, but nobody answered. “I still visited them often,” he said, fidgeting. “My mom cooked meals a couple of days ahead. She wanted my brother to have a healthy lunch during his noon break at the uni. I’d come whenever I had nothing to eat at my place. It was usually in the middle of the night, like now. I’d eat a tupper or two and leave. My brother always called the next day, hysterical. But my mom never complained…”

Alex nodded. Luis was stalling. He wanted to comfort him with a hug, but he stopped himself. This afternoon’s hug at the tanning salon notwithstanding, Luis was stiff about physical contact with another guy. Alex didn’t want to make him feel even more uncomfortable. “I’ll go in first,” he said.

The apartment opened to a long dark corridor. Luis turned on the lights. It was empty. The first door on the right led to the kitchen. Alex felt for the kitchen’s light switch before peeking inside. Empty as well. Breakfast was half eaten on the small wooden table and yesterday’s dirty dishes were still in the sink. The checkered floor was free of body fluids.

The bathroom was next. Alex tried the door handle, and it wasn’t locked. He peeked inside. Empty again. He shook his head at Luis, who always took a second look at the cleared rooms.

Now the corridor opened to the living room. Nothing on the white leather sofa, nobody on the thick yellow carpet and everything in order at the dining table. “I don’t think they’re here,” Alex said, relieved.

Luis seemed to embolden and looked in the bedrooms. In the meantime, Alex checked Luis’ father home office. A floor to ceiling library took the right wall of the room. It was filled to the brim with large-edition books in between wrinkled magazines and pouchy document folders. On the opposite wall, Luis’ father had framed pictures of buildings he had worked on. These surrounded a little window and a table next to it. The room had stacks of papers, construction site hats and tubular map cases spread on every available surface, even on the floor. But like in the bedrooms and the rest of the apartment, they found no bodies.

Luis dropped himself on the sofa with a sigh. He massaged his chest, seemed to remember something and sprang up again. He scurried to his ex-bedroom. It used to have a bunk bed and a large closet. Now that Luis was gone, his brother had kept the closet but replaced the lower bunk bed with a table a chair and an Apple computer.

Luis took a box from the big closet. It was labeled with his name in crude capital letters. He rummaged through it and produced a silver cross neckless.

Had today been a Sunday, Luis would have been at church with his dad. Years ago, when Alex found about Luis never missing Mass on Sundays, he couldn’t believe it. Alex didn’t know anyone his age that went to church and Luis didn’t strike him as a religious type. Luis confessed he went to mass to relax. He didn’t actually listen to the priest. Spending time with his dad was more important. Plus they had a Spanish ham sandwich breakfast together after every mass.

“I’ve never seen you wear a cross before,” Alex said.

“It’s my first communion cross. I wore it for a long time, actually. Should we try the Internet?” he gestured towards the computer.

Google didn’t work. Facebook didn’t work. Newspapers didn’t work. The connection was active, but the computer couldn’t connect to the servers.

Back in the living room, Luis turned on the TV and began flicking through the channels. He scrolled past Cartoons, old documentaries and what he declared to be his favorite programming — music videos. Everything was still broadcasting as if nothing had happened. He kept going until he reached the 3/24 news channel. It was dark and silent. All the other live stations were dark too.

* * *

The shriek of parakeets jerked him awake.

“Fucking parrots surviving the rapture,” Alex mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Luis was snoring on the sofa, his left thumb near his lips as if about to suck on it.

Alex tried the TV again for live broadcasts. He found nothing.

He paced the flat, poked around Luis’ father library and found a pair of working walkie talkies and a little flashlight on top of a stack of magazines.

“Hey,” Luis said, drowsy at the door.

“Good morning.”

“What’s good about it?” Luis walked away.

Alex took the walkie talkies and the flashlight and followed him to the bathroom. “We should go out and explore,” he said, showing him what he had found. “The city center is where survivors will likely meet.”

“I guess so. If there are any.”

“If we find we’re alone we’ll get us some provisions, some spray paint, and leave messages on the walls.”

Their drive down to the city center was as slow as their one uptown, but it was still better than walking. The dead weren’t getting any prettier. Their faces had turned waxy white and their extremities purple and swollen.

Catalunya square was sprinkled with them.

Alex and Luis left the BMW in front of the Hard Rock Cafe building. Alex had once fancied living in the penthouse on top of it. Perhaps in another universe.

They crossed the street towards the Francesc Macià monument, an inverted concrete staircase at the edge of Catalunya square. The traffic lights blinked at the frozen traffic and at the lifeless pedestrians on the sidewalk. The breeze ruffled the leaves of the evergreen trees around the square. They walked past them and into the open, marbled center.

The square was surrounded by large buildings on all sides. El Triangle shopping center was south. The Banesto building was west, framed by the Tibidabo mountain far behind it. El Corte Ingles building was north. And several hotels, the Hard Rock Café building and La Rambla boulevard were east, on the sea side.

Since he was a kid, Alex had imaged that El Corte Ingles building — a gray, roundish, smooth structure — looked like a space ship. It even had a bridge: a long curved glass wall on the top floor.

The reality, however, was much less exciting. El Corte Ingles was just a department store, and the top floor was a cafeteria with panoramic views of the city.

“The square is emptier than I thought it would be,” Luis said.

“You expected more bodies?”

“Yeah. And fewer pigeons waddling around them.”

“It was a holiday yesterday,” Alex said. “Maybe everyone was sleeping in, and that’s — ”

“Did you hear that?” Luis said, alarmed.

Alex looked around. “What? Where?”

“Like a washing machine. Listen!”

Alex noticed a faint, washing machine-on-its-spin-cycle like sound. “Could it be a Helicopter?” he said.

Luis’ mouth dropped. His eyes couldn’t be more open. “I think so! Which means we’re…”

“Rescued?”

“Yeah!” he said, and they both started jumping.

“Where is it?”Alex said. The noise was distant, and the surrounding buildings blocked their view of the sky on every side.

Luis helped himself to a walkie talkie from Alex’ messenger bag. “I’ll look towards the mountains on Via Laietana street,” he said, taking off. “And you look towards the sea on La Rambla!”

They sprinted in opposite directions. Alex arrived at the top of La Rambla, a wide boulevard with kiosks for tourists and tall, naked London plane trees lined on each side. Above them, only limpid blue sky. No sign of any helicopter.

He was so used to seeing toy blue lights flying up and down — illegal street vendors sold them all the time on La Rambla — that he dumbly missed seeing those too. Several of the many bundles of clothes and limbs that spotted the boulevard were probably street vendors.

The washing machine-like sound was so faint now he could have been only hallucinating it.

He turned his walkie-talkie on and pressed the button. “Luis, you there?”

Luis’ voice crackled over the speaker. “I just saw it!” he said. “It went really low, and the buildings are blocking it. It looked like a black military helicopter. Get over here, quick.”

Alex broke into a run.

When he reached the opposite side of the square, there was no sign of Luis or the helicopter. It was just him, some corpses, and a few pigeons pecking at the ground.

Alex spoke to the walkie-talkie: “Luis, where the hell are you?”

“Inside El Corte Ingles,” Luis said, panting. “I’m going up to the roof and try to spot the helicopter. It’s more likely they’ll see us there too! Come!”

“No,” Alex said. “If the helicopter reappears when we’re both inside the building, they’ll miss us for sure. I’ll stay here until you get to the roof.”

Luis agreed, and Alex paced the square for what felt like an eternity.

Everything was quiet, even more now that Luis was gone. Had they missed the helicopter for good? Maybe they should jump back in the car and try to locate it.

“Alex, look up!” Luis said through the walkie-talkie. The nearby pigeons broke into a flight from the sudden noise.

Luis was waving at him from the roof. “Come up!”

Alex ran into the department store.

An invisible wall of sickly sweet warm air washed him over as he crossed the entrance. The heating system hadn’t stopped working, and it felt warm inside. The lights shone bright and soft music played in the background.

The ground floor of the department store, as far as Alex could see, was dedicated to perfumes, jewelry, and clothing accessories. The stands were busy with racks of colorful clothes hanging limp, perfume bottles, glittering jewels, and watches.

He spotted 41 millimeters black Omega Diver watch next to the escalators. All he had to do was to reach for the watch under the glass counter. He made his hand into a tight fist, glanced at the escalators, glanced at the watch, swore and ran upstairs.

Much like on the ground floor, the first floor seemed empty, as if the store was ready to open to the public but they hadn’t let people in yet. Almost no corpses could be spotted. Most were curled under the counters. Still, he had to pass by several shoppers who lay sprawled in the main aisles. One woman had died clutching her two children, her ashen face locked in an expression of grief. Alex tried to keep his gaze straight ahead as he hurried by.

“The helicopter is up again! I’m waving at them!” Luis said over the walkie-talkie as Alex climbed the escalators past the second floor.

“They were heading north, but they changed course. Where are you? Hurry up!” Luis yelled over the speaker as Alex reached the fourth floor.

Alex leaned on the escalator’s handrail, panting. “I’m halfway up.”

By the time he reached the sixth floor, he could hear the helicopter’s rotors cutting through the department’s store piped music.

Luis’ voice blasted through the walkie-talkie: “They’re almost here. They saw me! We’re saved!”

Alex couldn’t answer right away. He was breathless and sweating.

Alex took a gulp of air and started up the last two floors.

By the time he reached the panoramic cafeteria, the clatter and bang of the helicopter’s rotors was deafening. He had to lean on his knees for a moment to catch his breath.

He glanced at his surroundings, past the dead on the tables and at the bar. He didn’t see an obvious exit to the roof.

Alex pushed the talk button and yelled, “Luis, I’m in the cafeteria. Where’s the exit?”

There was no answer. The helicopter rotors must be drowning out his voice.

Then something weird happened: the sound of the helicopter grew fainter, as if it were flying away again.

Alex looked frantically around, this time spotting an open service door behind the bar counter. He jumped over the bar counter, passed through the service door and found himself in a small storage room with an exit door on the other side. He pushed through it and emerged onto the roof.

The cold wind slapped him. The roof appeared empty, but for Luis’ green jacket, flapping on the floor. He squinted out at the skyline in the direction of the sound of the receding helicopter. He spotted it. Already far to his right, flying towards the north side of the city.

He panicked and fumbled with his walkie-talkie. He pressed the talk button. “Luis, where are you!”

His own voice came back to him, amplified and distorted from under Luis’ jacket. He walked towards the edge of the building and grabbed the jacket. Luis’ walkie-talkie lay underneath it. Alex’s heart burned in his chest, bathed in adrenaline. Did he just leave me here?

He swallowed, and trembling, he picked the walkie-talkie with his free hand. Was Luis playing a joke on him?

He looked around him. The roof was small, and Luis wasn’t there, which meant he was either up on the helicopter or…

Alex closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look down.

But he did.

Luis’ body was eight floors below, smashed like a watermelon against the ground.

Alex dropped the walkie-talkie and then noticed his hand was sticky and warm.

He looked at it.

It was smeared with fresh blood.