A Killing Rain

A Killing Rain

by Scott Speck

At eight A.M. the Politburo interrupted radio – every station. Twenty minutes later they commandeered television – every channel. Aleksandr was wheeling his bike out the door when the emergency public address system squealed and crackled to life.

Then a female voice spoke. It was her he realized, the voice chosen in the direst of circumstances. She was… Motherland – all-knowing, confident, demanding obedience. Her every syllable echoed off like a ghost among the gray buildings.

Complete all preparation by twelve o’clock noon today. After that, remain in your homes. Lock and bolt all doors.

The sky above was clear and blue, the air fresh as he pedaled hard past block after block of cement block apartments. This might be his last bike ride for a long time, and he relished the exertion as he maneuvered deftly between the cars and trucks jamming the streets. Around him, horns blared. Fists shook. Tempers flared.

Close and latch all windows. Cover all windows and doors with plastic sheet, sealed at the edges with weatherproof tape.

The hardware store was mobbed, but he found what he needed – plastic sheet, waterproof tape, water jugs, batteries – check. The checkout line was crazy – people’s names and ID numbers were recorded to prevent double buying. This happened at Christmas some years, with potatoes and vodka, but it was a first at the hardware store. As the list of previous shoppers grew and grew, each subsequent check took that much longer.

Turn off all fans and ventilation systems. Only drink water stored in containers filled on or before April 26th. Eat only canned goods or frozen foods packaged on or before April 26th.

Pickings were slim by the time he reached the market. Customers jockeyed, carts collided, customers squabbled over the final fatty roast, the last lilting cabbage. He foraged for what he could – lots of canned soup and beans, mostly. His friend Yuri, a part-time cashier, slipped him the market’s last tin of potted pork. Food – check.

Do not drink, cook, or bathe with tap water. Boiling water does not eliminate contamination.

On his ride home, the bike’s saddle bags and his backpack bulged. The overloaded pack pained his back as he pedaled past a dozen pointless arguments. He saw men shoving men and men shoving boys. He passed two drivers in a fist fight, their cars fused at the bumpers, a ruptured radiator steaming. “Where do you people think you’re going?” an old man jeered at a line of idling cars. He sat on a bench and jabbed the air with his cane. The man was right – there was no way out of town. Trains rerouted. Planes diverted a thousand miles. Highways for government mobilization only.

Do not collect rain water or snow. Do not expose yourself to precipitation of any kind, including fog. Do not consume any garden fruits or vegetables picked after April 26th.

His building’s entrance door was propped open when he arrived. He pedaled straight through, pulled into an elevator where two elderly couples clutched shopping bags, their eyes shifting nervously. He wondered if they had children, grandchildren, and how powerless they must have felt. His own parents lived well upwind of the disaster. He’d tried calling them when the television first displayed the civil emergency screen, but the phone lines were already overloaded by a panicked public.

Do not consume any fresh eggs or meat, including fowl and seafood, bought after April 26th.

This progression of grim regulations and warnings – each one ratcheted up his tension. As the elevator door groaned shut, he heard a group of men arguing just outside the building, then glass shattered.

Aleksandr had gathered his own provisions with hours to spare. As luck would have it, his parents had driven down to see him a week ago, and they’d brought along boxes of canned goods, powdered milk, and lots of difficult-to-find items to help him on his first stint away from home.

After emptying his bags and taking out the trash, he closed, locked, and bolted his door... He double-sheeted and taped up the only window in his flat, then his door, and wedged two bath towels along the floor underneath. After filling a row of large collapsible water cubes, he took a long, hot shower, then filled the tub and sink with more water. Lastly, he readied a bucket as a chamber pot, in case the toilet stopped flushing.

Do not hunt or fish or eat any wild game. Stay clear of reservoirs, streams, rivers, and lakes.

An invisible cloud approached – a deadly, gaseous mass one thousand miles long and growing, and he turned on the radio for the latest news. Nothing had changed – the mandatory shelter-in-place order was still in effect for a vast region. He tried calling his parents again, then his sister who lived just south of him, but none of his calls went through.

He avoided the news and tried to blank his mind of worry. After eating a sandwich, he dove into a long novel and lived there for hours.

“I’ll read the books Sonia sent me,” he thought, “and check the news briefly in the morning and evening, for the next few days, or the next few weeks, or however long it takes.”

By five P.M., every store shelf was bare, every gas pump empty. Everywhere. Then an air raid siren came to life, moaning out in a haunting rise and fall. Two minutes later, the city fell silent…

A distant rumble rolled through the building. He lay down his book and paused, not breathing. It came again – this time there was no mistake – thunder. He switched off the ceiling light, sat on the bed, listened closely to the first heavy drops spattering the window. The phone rang, jarring him. He picked up after the first ring. It was his sister Sonia.

“Rain?” she said, her voice high-pitched, frantic. “Why did it have to rain? On tonight of all nights? It’s going to bring the cloud down on us!”

His heart began to pound as she went on. She worked as a chemist and knew a lot more about science than he did as a motor mechanic, class two.

“Do you have enough food?” he asked. “Did you seal up your flat as airtight as possible?”

“Of course I have. I have enough to eat and enough water for perhaps a month. How about you?”

“About the same, I think. People are going crazy out there!”

Through the phone, he heard a loud boom of thunder and the hiss of heavy rain. His sister remained speechless for a while, no doubt dreading the radiation raining down about her. More thunder rolled outside his own building, and the rainfall was definitely picking up in intensity. He thought of the seventy thousand people in town and wondered how they would all fair. How long would it take for the radiation to subside?

“I hope this doesn’t last long!” Aleksandr said. “Sonia, we’ll be alright. I love you!"

He heard a click as his call disconnected. Other people needed their own phone time, no matter how brief, to reach out to their loved ones. He hung up the phone and watched through the plastic sheeting as rain trailed down the window. Then, for the first time, he felt relieved. He had food and water and only himself and Sonia to worry about. At twenty years of age, he was fit and healthy and took no medications, unlike the older people who lived all around him. He could remain secure in his flat and catch up on his reading until things got back to normal.

A fire alarm sprang to life, out in the hallway, and his heart seized. Its continuous, shrill vibration conducted through the floors, up the walls, into the back of his skull now resting heavily on faded wallpaper. Feet scuffled past his door. Then, he smelled smoke, and dread filled him. Not the scent of burning paper or wood, but the acrid stench of a building on fire – plastic, furniture, carpet.

A man shouted, “Fire! It’s bad! Everyone – outside!” Thunder boomed, knocking a framed picture from the wall, and then the heavens opened…

He ran to his door and pulled free the towels along the floor, only to watch a thin sheet of smoke slide through and into his flat. The chemical stench was unbearable, and he began to cough. Then he felt the surface of the door – it was warm and getting hotter by the minute. He hastily replaced the towels.

There were more and more muffled shouts and screams, as people out in the hallway were caught in the thick smoke. He looked about himself at the wealth of provisions stacked against the walls and dreaded leaving it behind. But as the shouts and screams gained in volume, he reacted instinctively. There was only one choice...

He dug his raincoat from the closet, tore free the window sheeting, and lifted the sash. The storm roared in, and cold rain stung his face, blurred his vision.

He paused in the window frame, his legs dangling one story up. The lawn below flickered orange in the leaping flames as heat penetrated his cold, wet clothing.

Aleksandr jumped…