The People on the Hill

They had long ago accepted into their minds’ DNA that such things were possible in the prairies and deserts, unknown except by the necessary few until they were revealed in the news and became the stuff of history to be learned and forgotten.  It had been weeks since the news had come and, as was usual with the threat of impending foul weather or a present disaster of any stripe, had been dissected and turned inside out and speculated upon by experts and amateurs and victims for hours and days until there was nothing left but sludge with sparkles.

They drifted to a hillside overlooking the City on the bay and gave Ian, the only permanent resident there, wide berth, knowing that he preferred to be alone and lorn.  At first, they held their peace, some, passing the time with binoculars and telescopes and nothing new to report.  Several days were spent sharing some minutiae from their lives with the occasional foray into current events until they could think of something to say that had not already been done to death.  There was no point in speaking about their reasons for being on that hill.

They moved from no sense to nonsense.

“’It’s all held up with two-by-fours.’”

“What?”

“Charlie said that once when we were on Mount Tam looking back at the City.  I could almost see it.”

Ian shrugged.  He’d known it all along.

“It’s not what they said. It’s what they didn’t say.”

“What?”

“That anyone who didn’t want to stay for it could leave.”

After an interval, the bridges and tunnels into the City were closed.  Anyone with business there could accomplish it remotely.  Then, communication with the City ceased – land lines, cell phones, wifi.

Then, the thrumming began.

Ian perked up, his countenance full not of expectation, but foreknowledge.

The lights went out throughout the City and the binoculars and telescopes returned to their duty on the hill.  A cacophony of indiscernible shouts arose, quieted, arose.  There were splashes.

It was agreed but unspoken among them that they had allowed too much to go unnoticed in increments large and small over a very long time.

“Ah ha.  Ahem,” from Ian, for he understood that in their singular obsession, they had ceased to notice that they were filthy – some, emaciated, all, pungent.

The sky behind the City brightened slightly.  The thrum thrum continued in counterpoint to voluptuous shrieks.

A ring of light appeared halfway up the skyline and pressed down and upward toward an invisible point in the sky.

Ian stood up.

“Kumbay…”

“Shut up, Frank.”

They followed Ian’s example, rising to their feet.

Ian turned and sneered.

They sat, unconsciously putting greater distance between them.

The pulsing thrums grew louder and held.

Sensing the gulf between them was too great, they scooted together again and only then, noticed what Ian had:  they smelled.

“Aha,” from Ian, his eyes on the closest bridge.

Again, they rose.

When Ian walked determinedly toward the bridge, they followed.

“Should we hope that it works?” from one of their number to no one in particular.

“It won’t matter,” from Ian to them.

“Why not?”

“Because if it works there, it will work here.  And if it doesn’t work there, maybe yours is the better topography.”

“Why are you talking to us all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.”

“Who are you talking to, then?”

“Myself,” Ian replied wryly.