The Fall of Man

Part II chapter 23

Chapter 23

Noah sits in silence in the empty hospital chapel. Tears, long since dried, have cut wide streaks through the dirt still encrusted on his face. In his lap, a tiny baby sleeps, cocooned in Gwen’s white hospital smock. A plain wooden box is perched on the torn red nylon cover of the seat next to theirs.

The vicar approaches Noah where he sits along the front row of pews, and lays a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, my boy. We have another ceremony to perform in a few minutes.” Noah looks over his shoulder. He sees black-clad figures gathering through the stained glass of the chapel doors.

“They’re pretty regular at the moment. It’s really quite tiring.” He takes a seat beside Noah. For a second, the calming presence reminds him of Arnold.

“Father, what should I do?”

“We’ll put her remains in the memorial wall. We can try to find a spot close to your father if you like.”

“No. I mean what should I DO?”

“Go home, son. Try to be safe, and take care of this one. He looks down at the sleeping baby. We don’t see many of these any more. What’s the little fella’s name?”

“Evelyn.”

“Evelyn.          Lovely.”

En route to the registry office, they pass the East gate to the city. A portcullis has been lowered into the tall opening. Through a dense lattice of reinforced steel bars, the landscape is barren. A flock of crows swirls like a vortex, moving from one bare patch of dirt to the next. Noah knows that their only chance for survival is to break through the Wall - to escape the crumbling city before it disintegrates entirely - and head out into the wilderness that lies beyond the stale belt of farmland. Under his arm, baby Evelyn coughs, the cold air chilling her lungs through the swaddling sheets. Noah’s earpiece buzzes.

“Doctor Marsh?”

“Noah.       I’m so sorry about Gwen. I’d like to come and see you. And the baby – Evelyn - too. How is she?”

“She’s cold. Cold and hungry. We’re on our way home now.”

“Where are you going, Noah? Your weren’t supposed to leav-”

“I told you. Home. Where else would we go?”

“I don’t know – I wasn’t sure what you’d… Noah, you must stay close. Things are going to get… difficult.”

“What do you mean? Things ARE difficult.”

“The weather – food - everything. It’s going to be bad.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Noah, you both need us. It wasn’t easy – or cheap – rehabilitating you. It’s taken more time and effort that you could possibly realise. We need to know that you and your daughter are safe. A lot is riding on this.”

“What do you mean? Another storm’s coming. We need to get home.”

“Listen for a second.” She pauses. She sounds nervous. “Ten years ago, there were too many people. Too many mouths to feed and not enough resources. A difficult decision was made - the population had to be… controlled. So that we could save what was important. But now, we have another problem. The sterility is entrenched. We need your help; you’ve not been exposed long term to the effects of the SunScreen. You have a child now – a baby girl. The first in years.”

“She won’t be your guinea pig, Jane. It’s over.”

“Please, Noah. Think about this for a second. We can help you. It’s a shame you didn’t pick someone stronger for your partner, but we did everything we-”

He removes the earpiece. It coils in on itself like a startled grub, the blue bulb still glowing at its tail. He tosses it into the tattered grass and metal of the central reservation, and pulls his woollen coat tighter around the tiny, sleeping body that is swaddled against his ribs.

As they approach the hospital apartment buildings, the cranes are busily at work – their long booms once again tracking great arcs across the sky. Another unit spirals freely in space as it is plucked from the top of a tower. In the background, the incinerator chimneys smoulder skywards with a thick, black smoke.

Up on the thirty-fourth floor, Noah sets the baby down on top of the bed, and locks his door to the outside world…