Cain walked the empty City streets. At one time York had been filled with people. Filled with life. Tourists from all over the world came and visited. Now, like every other town, York was dead. If anyone did still walk the streets, then they were ghosts. But even a ghost would be company.
Directly in front of Cain a sign spread its metal arms and offered directions. With the whole town open to him he could go anywhere he wanted. The Minster seemed as good a place as any.
As he walked, the only sound he heard was that of his own feet. Once, the streets were filled with cars and busses and the air was alive with birds. Once. Not now. That was before. How long ago, he wondered. Five years? Six? Ten? More? He didn’t know. For Cain every day was the same, and each one was filled with emptiness.
When it happened, it happened fast—some kind of biological weapon. People lay where they dropped: in their homes, at work, in the streets. The bodies were everywhere. The smell was everywhere. Then, Mother Nature sent in her cleaners—the flies.
For the flies, the eating was good. They multiplied quickly and formed huge black clouds. By day the buzzing of their wings was unbearable. Nights were better, but when the flies did eventually settle to sleep, they covered everything with a huge, black, writhing blanket.
If the flies were bad, their offspring was worse. The blanket they formed was a white one, and underneath it the bodies of the sleeping were tossed and turned until they were just bones.
In time, however, the flies' food supply diminished and their numbers did likewise. Cain did not miss those creatures of the air, but he would always miss the birds.
After the weapon detonated, the infection spread rapidly, but no conquering heroes came to survey their handy work and nobody came to claim the spoils of war. There was nothing. Only death.
Somewhere, someone must have manufactured the virus—or whatever it was—and it seemed only common sense that, along with the weapon, they would have developed an antidote for their own people. But it was apparent to Cain that this was not the case. Either that or the antidote hadn’t worked. Maybe the virus had mutated, even, rendering any antidote useless. He did not know and his questions were pointless. There was no one to furnish the answers. All Cain did know was that, since then, he had not seen another living person—not one—and he had long since given up all hope of ever doing so. He was alone and his punishment was unbearable.
Standing in front of the Minster, he looked up. As the clouds drifted by, they made the building look as if it was swaying. If only it was. If only it would fall down on top of him and end his torment. Such dreams were useless. A falling building would only bring him more pain, not the release he longed for. Lowering his head, he walked inside.
Even in the present circumstances the Minster felt like a house of God. That, at least, offered Cain some comfort. He spent a lot of time in places of worship. God was his only company now, but God was a silent companion.
Leaflets, yellow with age, fluttered on a display stand beside the door. Cain picked up one and looked at it. Then he noticed the little, black boxes. Audio guides. He took one and placed the headphones against his ear. When he pressed the button, all it played was silence. Even a canned voice would be better than no voice at all, but even that comfort was to be denied him. Trying again, he reached for the next box. Then another and another still. Like the rest of the world, they were all dead.
He had been punished for so long. An eternity. Would there never be any compassion for him? He headed towards the alter at the far end of the building.
Cain had spent his whole life on the move, never daring to stay in one place for too long in case people noticed he was different. People persecuted those who were different, he knew that, so he kept on moving, and he kept his secret. Alone.
Then mankind destroyed itself, and Cain was more alone than ever.
People were always fascinated, Cain had noticed, by the idea of immortality. Films were made about immortal beings: Vampires, sword-bearing highlanders, fountains of youth. Before the films there were books, and always the dream of cheating death.
Some people even chose to have their bodies frozen after death, in the hope that one day they’d be thawed out and live again. Immortality was their impossible dream. For Cain it was a living nightmare.
He reached the altar and kneeled to pray. Once again, he begged that the mark be lifted from him, allowing him to finally rest in peace. What was done was done, and Cain was no more able to return his brother's life than he was of ending his own. And he was sorry. He had been sorry for a very longtime.
ENDS
