The Claw

Or: How We Burned the World Down — Chapter One

“You wanna know something?” asked the middle-aged man with dirty spectacles and a tattered green sweater,

His companion, who was about twenty years his senior and similarly adorned in tatters, turned his head slightly. It was his way of saying yes.

“You’ll think I’m insane,” continued the spectacled man, “but I don’t think I miss the old world.”

There was a pause. The older man, whose age only seemed to extenuate his hardened features, said nothing. Not at first. Then, “Nobody misses the old world. They miss a memory, an ideal, not the real thing.”

“Was it really that bad?”

The older man sighed. “It was probably worse.”

“Yeah, probably,” conceded the other.

For the next several minutes the two men stood in silence. They were on the third floor of what was once an impressive building, but which was presently only a fraction of its former size. The wreckage had piled so high that one could ascend and descend to and from the third floor with relative ease. Its windows had all been blown out, as had practically every window in the city-centre, and they were looking down at the street below. Waiting for something.

“What’s the time?” asked the older man.

“It’s,” began the other, looking at his wrist, “almost seven.”

“Well, anytime now I suppose.”

The sun was well on its journey past the horizon, and the remaining light was dissipating fast.

“Let’s hope, I don’t wanna be scrambling about in the dark.”

The older man let out a short “ha!”

“What?”

“I would imagine that this city is safer in the dark than it ever was before.”

“Maybe. But then again, we had the police. Now what do we have?”

“There were enough police in this city to take over a small country, but how safe did you actually feel?”

“Guess that army wasn’t much help in the end, was it?” asked the spectacled man.

“Nothing was of much help in the end.”

“I like this better.”

“You like what better?”

“This…” said the spectacled man, gesturing towards the ruins and debris.

“A man of chaos?” asked his companion.

“To be honest, I found life back then to be much more chaotic.”

“Really?” inquired the other.

“I always felt like I was on the verge of losing control, ya know? One thing after the other, piling up like that rubble down there.”

“And now?”

“Now, it’s all gone to hell. So I really don’t have to worry.” He added a slight grin.

“It’s simpler isn’t it?”

“Much simpler.”

“Makes you think about it all differently.”

“Like,” replied the spectacled man, “like it was worth it.”

“It happened, that’s all there is to it. Whether it was worth it or not, who knows? We’re alive, everyone else is dead. I don’t know why that is, but here we are.”

“Makes you wonder, though. Why the hell am I here? If the fittest are supposed to survive, something’s gone terribly wrong. I mean,” he gestured to the other, “you’re tough, I’m not surprised that you’re here. But me? Come on.”

“The rules of the game are different,” responded the older man. “And we changed them.”

“Who said that?” replied the spectacled man. “Did you say that?”

“What do you mean, ‘Did I say it?’ ” He looked at his friend. His face was round and rather unimpressive, but there was something lingering about in the eyes. Even through the layer of grime which had accumulated on those rather silly looking glasses one could see it.

“No, I’m just not used to you — “

“To me what?” interrupted the other.

“To you speaking so much. The whole way here I could hardly get a word out of you, now you’re waxing eloquent.”

“Huh,” was the man’s reply, as if he hadn’t even noticed. “Suppose I ran out of things to say when the world burned down.”

“And here I had pegged you as some sort of neanderthal,” commented the spectacled man. “Guess one shouldn’t be too hasty in his judgments of others.”

“No, I guess not.”

“There,” said the spectacled man in a loud whisper, pointing down at the street.

There was something moving along the ground, about a hundred yards away. It had emerged from the dark threshold of another building.

The older man squinted, the light was minimal and he struggled to see. “I’m surprised you can see anything with those glasses of yours.”

“Do you see it?”

“Wait,” said the older man impatiently. Then, “I see it. He’s coming this way.”

The creature was cautiously moving in their direction, but thus far unaware of their presence.

“Come on, boy,” said the man with spectacles.

“He’s gonna take it.”

“Let’s hope.”

For about five minutes they said nothing, watching intently.

“You think that’s enough time?”

The older man replied, “I would bet.”

“I can hardly see now,” commented the other.

“I stopped seeing five minutes ago, let’s go down.”

“You sure?”

The man responded by grabbing his backpack from the ground beside him. He reached in and pulled out a headlamp, which he quickly secured to his head.

“No, but I’m not waiting all night.” He turned on the light and began descending the slope of rubble, a staircase of concrete, using the exposed rebar as support. His friend hesitated, obviously unsure of the decision.

“You coming?”

“I guess,” was the response. He also fixed a light to his head and began to embark down the hill of wreckage. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Now?” asked his friend, who had just stepped over what looked like a microwave.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your question?” he asked with labored breath.

“All this time,“ the man looked for an appropriate foothold, took it, then continued, “and I don’t even know your name.”

“You want to know my name?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“That we don’t know each other’s names? I suppose.”

“Well, personally,” said the spectacled man, who was having a much harder time navigating his way down than his older friend, “I think it’s crazy.”

“So what’s your name, then?”

“See, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I could tell you anything I wanted, and you’d have no idea.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“One thing I like so much about this situation is the anonymity.”

“There’s a hole here you’re gonna wanna watch out for.”

“Thanks,” responded the other. “But I don’t see any reason in being anonymous with everybody.”

“So,” said the older man, “are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

“It’s Michael. Common name for a common man.”

“Nice to meet you Michael.”

“What about you?” asked Michael.

“What about me?”

“What’s your name?”

“I didn’t say I’d give it, did I?”

Michael hadn’t expected this response. “But I just told you mine? What reason would you have not to tell me yours?”

“Like you said, anonymity.”

“Sure, but I also said we can’t be anonymous all the time.”

“Tell you what,” said his nameless friend, “we make it back okay tonight, I’ll tell you my name.”

The older, nameless man reached the bottom of the wreckage and stooped over to catch his breath. A few minutes later, Michael joined him.

“Well, that was fun,” commented Michael.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Hey, hold on a minute,” lamented Michael, out of breath.

The two stood there for a couple of minutes while Michael regained himself. The sun had set, the stars above were beginning to reveal themselves.

“Never used to be able to see the stars,” commented the nameless man, looking up at the night sky.

“In some places you still can’t,” replied Michael. “It’s like there’s a firmament in the sky, keeping the light out. And when it rains, it’s like acid.”

“You‘ve seen it?” asked nameless.

“In the south, yes.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“I was in a bunker.”

“Lucky.”

“I stayed there for three months. Came out skin and bones.”

“You didn’t get sick?”

“I had a suit. Kept me safe until I got out of dodge.”

“How bad was it?”

“The leftovers?”

“Yeah.”

“Horrible.”

There was a pause.

“Let’s go,” said nameless.

“Yeah.”

The two approached slowly, uncertain of what they’d find.

“Looks like it worked,” said Michael.

“I’ll say, he looks dead.”

“Not dead, just sleeping.”

Their lights shone down on a dog, scrawny as could be, sound asleep next to a bowl of canned tuna, at least half of which had been eaten.

“How much did you put in there?” asked nameless.

“I dunno, enough clearly.”

“He’s a beagle alright.”

“Pure-bred.”

“Poor guy hasn’t had a proper meal in months.”

“I’ll grab the wagon.”

As Michael was fetching the cart, nameless knelt down beside the sleeping K-9, who was sprawled out on his side. He gently rubbed the dog’s head.

“One hell of a life, isn’t it?”

A moment or two later, Michael returned. He was pulling behind him a plastic Fisher Price wagon in which had been placed a fleece blanket. Nameless carefully picked up the dog and placed him inside.

“Onward,” said Michael.

The two men and the sleeping pooch made their way across the scorched, debris-laden surface. It was rough going, but they made it work.

“So, you hear about the Claw?”

“The Claw?”

“Yeah, the killer. This was his city, wasn’t it?”

“Never heard of him.”

“You must have lived under a rock then.”

“Must’ve.”

After some time of silence, nameless followed up. “So why’d they call him the Claw?”

“Hmm, good question. I don’t know,” replied Michael. “Oh wait, I think he killed someone with the backend of a hammer.”

“Just one person?”

“No, there were lots. Worst serial killer the city’s ever seen.”

“Did they catch him?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Guess not.”

Nameless looked over his shoulder at the wagon. “How’s our friend?”

Michael stopped for a moment, shining his light on the zonked out dog behind him. “Looks good.”

They kept moving.

“So, were you in that bunker with anyone else?”

“Excuse me?”

“The bunker. That you hid out in.”

“Oh, yeah. There was no one. Well, not at the end.”

“What do you mean?” inquired nameless.

“There were others to start, but they didn’t make it.”

“What happened? Not enough food?”

“I’d rather not get into it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Besides, you still haven’t told me your name.”

Nameless grinned.

There was a sudden whimper from behind them. They stopped, going back to the wagon to examine their furry friend.

“Is he awake?” asked Michael.

“No,” said nameless. “He’s dreaming.”

The dog was fidgeting, making little yelps and whimpers as he did so.

“You had a dog?”

“Yeah, she did the same thing.”

“Shh, little doggy,” said Michael. “You think he has a name?”

“I imagine.”

“What’s it say?”

Nameless reached down and grabbed the rusty pendant attached to the collar. “I can’t read it.”

“No name, just like you,” said Michael sarcastically.

“Let’s keep moving, I’d like to get back before morning.”

“Maybe we should name him,” said Michael as they started off again.

“What would we name him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a dog.”

“Can’t imagine never having a dog. Didn’t you want one as a kid?”

“I think every kid wanted a dog. My old man wasn’t interested.”

“Probably for the best. Too many kids want dogs but don’t want to look after ‘em.”

‘Funny,” commented Michael.

“What is?”

“They always used to talk about overpopulation. Remember that talk show host, always telling folks to get their pets snipped?”

“I thought that was before your time.”

“Nah, I watched it as a child. Guess overpopulation isn’t a problem anymore.”

“Not anymore,” replied nameless.

“How about those tree-huggers, always piping about how we were gonna ruin Mother Earth.”

“I didn’t mind until they rolled out those paper straws.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Michael. “Don’t get me started on those stupid straws. It’s like, ‘My world’s about to burn, at least give me a straw that doesn’t dissolve.’ ”

“You said it.”

Michael sighed. “Those were the good ol’ days. When we were worried about straws.”

Aside from the sound of the plastic wheels rolling along the rugged ground, and their voices, and the faint whimpers of the dog, the night was silent. A stark contrast with the city’s vibrant past, with its collection of innumerable and often discordant sounds.

“You think we’ll ever get back to where we were?” asked Michael.

“Back to where we were?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Us. Society. Civilization.”

“Where is it that you think we were?” asked nameless cynically.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s best we don’t get back to where we were.”

“You think it’s possible to build a better world?”

“Better according to who? Everyone wants a better world, but not everyone agrees with what that looks like.”

“Maybe it’s a world with less pain. Where people don’t hurt others for selfish reasons.”

“Some would say you have to hurt people to get what you want. Name a revolution that didn’t involve violence and destruction.”

“I guess they would say their actions were justified. For the greater good.”

“Exactly. Everyone’s got a reason. Everyone’s righteous in their own eyes.”

“You think everyone is selfish?”

“Everyone’s selfish. Even the most altruistic of us.”

There was a moment of silence. Michael was considering what had been said.

“So there’s no hope?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Michael. Maybe. Maybe not. People had hope for a long time. People have always preached hope. And where did that get us?”

“But maybe we needed to get here to get there. To that better place, whatever it is. Maybe it’s a restart.”

“I think if we do get to that place, it’ll be because of optimists like yourself, who believe exactly as you do. That’s if the cynics like me don’t destroy them.”

“But there’ll always be people like me.”

Nameless smiled a little. “I guess so.”

The men carried on through the streets of the dark city. The quiet city. For an hour they walked in silence.

Then, a sound. They stopped.

“What is that?” asked Michael.

“I don’t know,” said nameless. “It sounds like…”

“Like music.”

The men remained still, listening to the faint melody.

“Is that a violin?” asked nameless.

“I’m not much of a musician.”

“Sounds like a violin.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“Ahead, I don’t know how far.”

“No,” said nameless, “It’s coming from down there.” He gestured to the street on their right.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Should we go,” asked Michael.

“I don’t know.”

“What about the dog?”

“I don’t think he’s going to wake up anytime soon. Let’s go check it out,” said nameless.

“Or maybe one of us should go, ya know?”

Nameless contemplated this. “Might not be a bad idea. I assume you’re nominating me?”

“Well, I’m not going,” said Michael resolutely.

“You’ll wait here with the dog?”

“I guess.”

“Okay then,” said nameless, turning to walk down the dark side street.

“Wait,” said Michael. Nameless stopped.

“Yes?”

“The gun.”

“What about it?”

“Who has it?”

“You do,” said nameless.

“Oh,” responded Michael. Then, “maybe you should have it.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Maybe he’s trying to lure you with that music,” retorted Michael.

“Maybe,” said nameless, who was already on his way.

Michael stood still, watching as his friend disappeared into the darkness, beyond the light of his headlamp. It was suddenly very eerie, and he felt extremely vulnerable. He turned to the dog, still fast asleep. He sat down on the ground beside the wagon and placed his hand on the dog’s warm, ribby side.

“Just me and you know,” he said, and turned off the light.