Breathless - 1. Breathless

I don’t get it. I am as much a part of society as the next person, as much a human being as anyone else, yet here I am with a feeling of rejection, abandonment and absolute isolation like nothing I have ever felt before. I mean what did I ever say that was so wrong? Is it so awful that I just want my fellow man to know the truth of our situation? Is it wrong to want to give people an informed decision? For heavens sakes! Could I be so wrong to assume that people would understand and appreciate my observations, or be grateful for my attention to detail, or even my genuine desire to forewarn them of things to come?

I am no fool. I know that what I say is scary, it is essentially life altering. Indeed if I am perfectly honest it is cataclysmic in its revelation to our world as we know it, yet it is the truth as I know it, and I cannot hide from it, nor should it be hidden from mankind. It was only for this reason alone that I chose to speak out and sound the alarm. It was simply my intention to give people a chance to become aware of what is coming, what is in our not so distant future that has led me to publicly predict the demise of our world.

Yet as much as I wanted to share this knowledge with mankind, mankind wanted only to shut me up. The things I was saying, the warning I was giving, the words of doom that I predicted, were things that our leaders could not have me shouting from the roof tops. I was laughed at, scorned publicly, made to be a laughing stock on national television. Media channels complicit in the cover up of the truth, scientists laughing publicly and governors openly declaring me crazy, spawning criticism of my work and dismissing my predictions as the ravings of a mentally unstable man through their degrading coverage of my proclamations.

Before this time, I have tried to bring this day to the attention of my fellow men and women. As the clock ticks towards the end of time, as the sun rises on the last day of planet earth, as we charge resolute towards our final day on planet earth, I can only say that I tried my best to bring these things to the attention of every person that would hear my voice, and heed my words. I can only pray that they are ready.

Thomas rolled over and threw his arm across the figure lying next to him. In his state of semi slumber, he recognised the heat of his lover, as it travelled up his arm and coursed through his blood, reminding him of how he often considered Stephen to be the most effective form of central heating he knew. While he did not want to remove his arm from across his companions chest, he knew that to leave it draped across the rippling muscles would only cause further warmth to become imparted into him, and while it was only dawn, the heat of the day was already making it uncomfortable lying on the thin sheets they inhabited.

Sighing to himself, Thomas withdrew his arm. His eyes flicked open and he lay there on his stomach staring at the dark locks of hair that sprawled out across the pillow next to him. Waves of apple scented hair that was so familiar to him, a place that he cherished to pass his hands through when gently making love on the sofa, locks that reached out in the breeze to give Stephen the appearance of some high fashion model posing for a camera shoot. His eyes travelled down from the fine head of hair he so fancied and stopped at the chin that pointed towards the ceiling, a fine dusting of stubble visible in the light of the dawn breaking through the blinds.

In this position, Stephen’s chin was the most prominent part of his handsome face visible to Thomas, yet despite the fact that the remaining features of his profile were hidden from sight, Thomas merely need close his eyes to picture the glowing splendour of the countenance of the man he adored. His eyes sank further down his prone body, coming to rest upon the chest which was gently rising and falling with the regular inhale of air as he breathed in his sleep. His dark nipple stood proud, the crest of the pectoral muscle which lay openly on display, almost reminding Thomas of the rounded bosom of the female of their species. While he would never admit this to Stephen, he did sometimes consider the chiselled features of his defined chest as being a little too much; as though he should be seeking advice on a bra for the massive muscles he trained so to develop. A cheeky smile curled at the corner of his mouth as these thoughts once more trickled through his mind as he lay there admiring the body of his lover.

Stephen would be mortified to learn that Thomas considered his toned body to be excessive. To even hear that he sometimes pictured him trying on some item of female clothing would totally destroy his manly visage and humiliate the gentle giant that slumbered next to him. Thomas had always been physically attracted to Stephen’s physique, the hours of endless effort he spent developing a finely toned body of bulging muscle and curved sinew was something that had first drawn Thomas to Stephen. His steadfast dedication to fitness, sparing no effort, taking no short cuts was something that he had come to admire in this man he loved so.

“As passionate about his body as he is about mine when he looks so lovingly at me as we fuck,” Thomas thought to himself.

Never one for stealthy diplomacy, Thomas allowed himself to chuckle mentally as he blinked slowly; reflecting inwardly on how much he loved Stephen. He allowed his eyes to roam further down the body he was inspecting, discovering once more that wonderfully bushy treasure trail that sprouted up from just below Stephens belly button, and burned a path down into the fine nest of pubic hair that lay at the base of the most well endowed young body builder ever to enter his gym. That notion that men who pushed iron for a hobby were building their muscles to make up for a lack in the manhood department was a myth that was promptly dispelled when you got to admire the naked form of the god sprawled out on the mattress next to Thomas.

Thomas felt a surge of activity pulse into his groin, his own measure of manliness expanding beneath him. It amazed him how effortless it was for him to become aroused as he looked at the peaceful form of manliness next to him. He merely had to think of Stephen’s naked body, and a raging erection overtook him. Just the thought of his pert buttocks would make him desperately horny and craving sexual attention. He only had to look into the deep blue pools of Stephen’s eyes to want to lose himself in the embrace of his friendly giant.

He closed his eyes, feeling his loins growing out of control as he swelled harder and harder beneath him, a light sweat breaking out across his forehead, his breathing becoming ragged. It was ridiculous how sexually charged he felt, yet he’d only spent a few moments glancing across the trim form of the naked man beside him. With his eyes closed he let out a sigh, acknowledging to himself, that the body next to him was so much a part of him, that without him, life would quite simply not be worth living. Thomas was quite simply head over heels in love. Well no, maybe not quite at this moment. It would be more accurate to say that, at this precise moment, he was head over heels in lust.

He licked his lips and could feel the mental energy preparing his muscles for the pounce he knew he was about to make. That naked man was about to wake up to the most alarmingly aroused man ravaging him in lustful angst. Well there was nothing new there.

Thomas stepped out of the wardrobe, having changed into his suit after the most remarkable shower. He was immensely satisfied with himself. The day had broken with him watching the light of dawn creep across the beauty of the man he loved, highlighting the facets of the body he worshiped as the shadows were pushed from the darkness of the night.

He had then boldly pounced upon his dozing lover, and breathed life into the quite body via the most earth shattering kiss, his hands roaming and exploring the ripples and curves that moments before he’d been staring at. His senses were alive to the excitement he could feel from the body below him as his skin pressed itself into Stephen’s torso, trying desperately it seemed to meld himself into the form of the man under him.

The two men had rolled, and squirmed and wrestled in their quest of superiority as they tussled, love being written in the atmosphere around them, lust being charged to the electrons between them, desire being communicated through the glances they shared with each other. No words needed to be spoken, no sound other than the heavy breathing, the smack of broken kisses, the rustle of sheets sliding over, under, past skin, hands, feet, limbs.

It was two sweaty and emotionally charged men that clawed at one another, yearning to find an adequate expression for their love of each other, lost in the confusion of sexual eroticism. Two men that made such fierce love that Venus herself would have been jealous. This had been an excellent way to start the day.

So, as Thomas had washed the sex from himself below the steaming stream of droplets from the shower head, he’d felt contented, at one with himself and his world. He knew that the man of his dreams, the one that inhabited this world with him was a few yards away preparing himself some ultra healthy breakfast, while he prepared himself for the working day, revitalising himself below the warm water, washing away the sweat of their early morning sexual antics.

Life was grand. Actually life was surprisingly pleasant. He felt alive. He felt inspired to be all he could be, the best Thomas that he was able to be. He knew that Stephen had made him a better man. He hummed to himself as he stood before the mirror tying his tie; a blue silk fashion accessory – standard issue for his position in law enforcement as a detective of the major case squad. For some reason, it was a Maroon 5 number that replayed itself through his mind as he watched his fingers perfecting the knot that threatened to constrict his jugular.

He reached for the dark jacket which he shrugged into, a sudden sting shooting through his bum cheek as Stephen came up behind him, slapping his exposed rear as his arms stretched to reach into the sleeves of his jacket.

“Damn Stephen,” he exclaimed reflexively. “Ease up on the power drives; you’ll leave a hand print man!”

“Exactly!” Stephen nodded.

Thomas frowned. “Exactly what?”

“I’m branding my property boyo,” Stephen giggled.

Thomas looked at Stephen with an expression of incredulity. “You’re branding my ass with your paw print?”

“Too right,” Stephen giggled some more.

Thomas snorted and shook his head. “I’ve married a clown,” he muttered.

Stephen feigned alarm and challenged Thomas. “A clown? Damn boyo, I’ll have you know this, Clown, is the finest tradition of masculinity around, and you will acknowledge this fact if you want to avoid the other cheek of your derrière being tanned as much as the one I’ve already laid claim too!”

Thomas roared. It was this witty banter that he lived for, part of the reason that he believed he and Stephen worked so well as a couple.

Stephen flicked the remote of the Bose sound system and Fun. streamed through the bedroom as he wiggled his bum. Thomas continued to chuckle as his boyfriend vainly attempted to dance around their room, winking in his direction as he suggestively moved his hips, throwing an imaginary rope in Thomas’ direction, miming the actions of reeling him in for a passionate kiss.

“You are amazing,” Thomas breathed as they minced up against each other, moving in time to the beat of We Are Young.

“You better believe it baby,” Stephen giggled through a kiss.

“You taste of grapes baby.” Thomas licked his lips.

“Uh huh.” Stephen stepped aside and moved across to the cupboard. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’d be a good thing if you had shared, you greedy guts.” Thomas stated.

“Since when do you eat fruit in the morning?” Stephen grunted.

“Since it tastes that bloody good off you,” Thomas giggled.

“Oh please,” Stephen enunciated, “Your cereal is on the counter!”

He grabbed a pair of briefs from the wardrobe and made his way into the bathroom to prepare for his day as Thomas made his way whistling as he went to consume his morning meal. It was the start of a good day.

It was around the same time that a particularly sombre meeting of the Cobra Committee had assembled in Whitehall in Central London. A hushed buzz floated around the situation room as the delegates awaited the arrival of the Prime Minister who was to chair the meeting. At the far end of the room, a tiny man with grey hair and horn rimmed glasses nervously paced a small square of the floor space, mulling over his presentation in his mind.

Dr Franklin Murray was a leading scientist from the National Marine Research Institute, and what he’d discovered over night after years of preliminary research, both alarmed and petrified him. His report to senior ministers that evening had begun the hectic process of convening the government’s most senior crisis team first thing that morning, and now as they awaited the arrival of the head of state, there was a nervous tension in the air.

Things were serious, and the men grouped around the table knew it. There were glances in Dr Murray’s direction, glances of disdain, suspicion, and resentment almost. He was the barer of unwelcome news, something that politicians hated, and the media loved. What people didn’t fully appreciate as yet was that this news was not just awful news, it was catastrophic news.

There was a rush of frenetic activity as the Prime Minister swept into the room followed by two Downing Street aides. He addressed everyone, the delegation of senior cabinet ministers, officials and representatives of the various disaster organisations contracted to the government and invited the committee to take their seats around the table.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” the Prime Minster acknowledged the gathered personnel around him. “Thank you for all getting here so quickly this morning. I have been briefed in summary, but Dr Murray is here to fill us all in more thoroughly.”

He glanced around the table, every eye falling on him.

“People this is no laughing matter, and what we are about to discuss is serious and critical. Please give us your full attention.”

He nodded to Dr Murray. “Over to you sir.”

Dr Murray stood up, nervously wringing his hands and looked around the room.

“Ladies, gentlemen, hello.” He emphasised each word. “I would normally say good morning, however, this is no day to call good, and the tidings I bear could not be considered good.” He looked around the room. Every eye was on him, the room was deathly hushed. He had the full and dedicated attention of every person in the room.

“As you may or may not be aware, the Ross Hewer Team of the National Marine Research Institute has been studying over seven hundred dead zones littered across our planet’s oceans. Dead zones have never been a real issue and many are well known, like the Chesapeake Bay for example. However, over the last ten years these zones have been increasing in number and size with serious consequences. These dead zones lead to a situation within the ocean structure that we refer to as Oceanic Anoxic Events. We have known about the existence of OAE’s for a number of years now, and there is a theory that it is these Anoxic Events that lead to a number of mass extinctions in the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods due to severe changes in the percentage of various compounds and molecules necessary for life.”

Dr Murray paused and looked around the table again. He cleared his throat.

“The process of an Anoxic Event is fairly straightforward to explain. As the earth warms, we are well aware that the polar ice caps are melting, and this increase in fresh water into the ocean interferes with the global currents. These interferences are linked to the lapse of key oceanic current circulations we refer to as oceanic conveyors and the lack of this circulation in turn leads to a catastrophic build-up of carbon based compounds in the lower oceanic layers, thus lowering the percentage of oxygen – sometimes eliminating it completely, hence why they are named ‘dead zones’.”

A murmur went around the table as the words sunk in. Once more Dr Murray nervously cleared his throat, scanning the faces of the people around the table before he continued.

“This causes increased toxicity in the waters, which has lead to an unprecedented impact on oceanic plankton; our oceans are being saturated with decaying plant and animal matter and the build up of toxins and sulphides which in turn is leading to all remaining oceanic life being rapidly poisoned and thusly, eliminated. This mass extinction of oceanic life forms is creating a knock on effect with our own climactic conditions and affecting the state of our planets atmospheric and climatic conditions. You see, the depletion of plankton is severely affecting the recycling process of our atmospheric oxygen levels!”

“Last year we reported that there was a substantial depletion in the amount of oxygen content in the composition of our planets atmosphere, a reduction of about 38% reducing our planets oxygen reserve from around 20.88% of the total atmosphere make up to around 14.47%. This prompted our research to focus on what was causing the massive increase in the creation of oceanic dead zones, and we have since discovered that it is likely to a simultaneous episode of under water volcanic outgassing, increasing levels of carbon dioxide to about six times its natural level leading to a complete suffocation of oceanic life in these zones.”

Dr Murray paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the table before him. The room remained deathly silent throughout.

“Ladies and gentlemen we did not fully understand the impact that these dead zones have on the Quaternary period, but we can now link the increases in annual mean temperatures over the last ten years to a release of volcanic outgassing of natural gas in the form of methane, that we term as an “Oceanic Burp”. It is this sudden release of massive amounts of natural gas that has caused such vast swings in the annual temperatures, and why earlier this summer we were experiencing such abnormally hot temperatures across the northern, equatorial regions. We believe that an unusually large Oceanic Burp took place in the Pacific Ocean around March 2012, and in turn lead to what we term a Super Greenhouse Event which caused the unusually high temperatures. This process has only served to accelerate the demise of our atmosphere’s oxygen levels. As you all know, this summer we battled against extraordinary and extreme forest fires causing a significant burn off of green belt areas throughout the planet, which have only served to further deplete the oxygen content of the earth’s atmosphere and add untold pressure to our dwindling supply of vegetation. For the photosynthesis process to be effective, we need a sufficient coverage of flora across our planets surface. Our research shows that we stand at the door of a tipping point in our world’s existence.”

No one dared to say a word. Every eye drilled into Dr Murray, to petrified to believe what he was saying, not willing to accept the facts. Dr Murray looked around the room with a sad look on his face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, given the large burn off of our green forests, the vast wipe out of ocean plankton, and the destruction of algae through surface run off of pesticides and fertilisers, we have concluded that based on our global population and demand on atmospheric oxygen, it would only take one more significant Oceanic Burp to tip the scale out of our favour in a catastrophic manner. One more release of natural gas into our atmosphere from any point across the world’s oceans is going to trigger an Extinction Event unlike any other seen on the surface of our world. It will happen devastatingly quick, impossible to predict and utterly wipe out humanity as we know it.”

Dr Murray sat down. Silence reigned. No one dared to look at anyone else. Most of the people present in the room stared blankly ahead of them, contemplating what they had heard. Finally, the Prime Minister drew in a deep breath and looked up at Dr Murray.

“So what can we do Frank?”

Dr Murray hung his head in shame. He did not respond immediately, thinking, choosing his words, wondering how he was going to say what he had to say. When he raised his head, his eyes were moist. Everyone could see the tremor on his brow. His anxiety was obvious, palpable. It hung in the air; delegates could almost taste it in their mouths. Eventually he spoke.

“Mr Prime Minister. Sir, There is nothing we can do but prepare to die.”

A cry of alarm sounded from several people gathered around the room. Death? Extermination in this manner? Mankind did not die this way!. Mankind found answers to their problems, solutions to their woes. There was no Can’t, Won’t, Nothing, in mankind’s dictionary. People were survivors, creative, adaptable. The mere thought of being wiped out by such a stupid scenario was beyond many of those gathered around the table. Generals were prepared for extermination by nuclear bombs, ministers prepared for death by some earth shattering natural disaster. Medical professionals prepared for some biblical plague and ordinary people perhaps believing that the sun would scorch the earth, or another ice age would suddenly arrive and freeze us all out, but to run out of oxygen? To suffocate like flies trapped in a bottle, this was unthinkable.

Pandemonium broke out around the table as everyone struggled to speak above each other. No one could accept that Dr Murray had brought them news of their impending doom. There was no way that Niall Edwards was correct in predicting twenty years earlier that the world would be snuffed out like a light. This was NOT happening!

The Prime Minister stood up and raised his hands for quiet. A hush fell across the meeting.

“Dr Murray,” he said addressing the man sitting quietly at the end of the table. “Once more, I ask you, what do we do?”

Franklin Murray stood up, looked around the room genuinely sorry to be the barer of such news. “Sir, you go home, hug your loved ones and spend whatever time you have left making sure they know how important they are to you,” he said quietly.

Cole Mitchell had been working for Quadcore a marine research laboratory based in Invercargill, New Zealand for many years. As one of their lead researchers, he had been tasked as the project manager for a small group of scientists whose job it had been to monitor two dead sea zones just off the coast of the South Island in the Tasman Sea.

As one of the organisations involved in submissions of their own test results and research materials to the National Marine Research Institute in London, England, Cole had quickly come to learn that there was more to the dead sea zones than first met the eye, and he was just as quick to realise that there was a tight sanction on information coming out of the London Research Centre. He knew something was afoot, and through his own dedicated analysis of the material he had at hand, he was able to draw his own conclusions based on his time as a marine biologist.

It had been late one evening when the conclusion of his deliberation hit him, and he was devastated at his findings. For several days, Cole had battled with his conclusions, checking and rechecking his stats, reanalysing his data, computing his calculations over and over again, always returning to the same conclusion. The beginning of the end was upon them.

Finally, he’d decided it needed to be reported, and he steeled himself to place a call to Dr Franklin Murray, the lead researcher for the Ross Hewer Team in London. He decided he needed to speak with the head honcho and get his discovery checked if not confirmed. As the receiver rang in his ear, he nervously tapped his pen on his pad, awaiting a response on the other end.

“Dr Murray?” He asked when a voice twanged down the line. “Yes it is Dr Mitchell from Quadcore, New Zealand. Dr I need to talk to you.”

For the next forty minutes, Cole and Franklin spoke in hushed tones, discussing Cole’s findings. He was horrified to hear his conclusions confirmed and even more distressed to have it confirmed to him that he was correct in his conclusion that the end of the world was neigh.

Cole knew for himself that there was no possible way of predicting how long they had left. He could not begin to fathom if there was enough time to find a solution, yet immediately his mind turned to questioning the possibility of finding some man made intervention that would give them a shot at survival. He voiced his optimism to Dr Murray, and was met with an affirmation that he also hoped there would be enough time, yet Cole could sense the doubt in Dr Murray’s voice. He felt his own optimism draining from him as he realised that there was little hope at this stage of the game. Realisation of the full impact of the facts at hand had come too late for humanity this time around. While the world worried about wars and famine or some meteorological strike by an asteroid or some other such space giant to wipe out mankind, the real threat was right here under their noses, undiscovered until it was too damned late.

Frustration hit him, and he thanked Dr Murray for his time, slamming the telephone receiver into its cradle in anger. This was not right. His son deserved more than this. Matthew was only sixteen and had his whole life ahead of him. Bright, intelligent, funny, charismatic, he would become anything he wanted to be, and would be fantastic at whatever it was he chose to become. He was a delightful young man, and Cole loved him dearly. He did not deserve this.

Cole packed up his notes and left the office to drive home. He arrived and parked his car in front of the suburban house, sitting in his vehicle staring through the front windows into the lounge they shared as a family. He could not bring himself to believe that, at some point in the very near future, they would not be able to share that space any longer, that time was ticking rapidly against them all now. He wanted to scream out, to lose control. He wanted to cry, wanted to get angry, wanted to punish someone. Emotion ripped through him like a bolt, and he trembled as he sat there, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow. This just was not right.

He sat there in the darkness for a long time until he had composed himself. Tired but calmer, he closed and locked the garage and made his way into the house. He put his car keys in the bowl on the side table in the hall and popped his brief case down next to it.

“I’m home,” he called out.

There was a shuffling from above as someone moved around in one of the rooms and the sound of pots and pans from the kitchen. He stood for a moment considering how normal everything seemed, yet he knew that this normality, this lifestyle that he’d taken for granted, never fully appreciated, and never truly embraced was now hopelessly inadequate.

He ambled towards the kitchen, pausing to glance at the family pictures adorned along the wall as he passed. Cherished memories of a life he had shared with his wife and child. Moments of bliss and happiness, and in that instant, he realised that it was time for him to take control of whatever time they had left together. He stopped and stared at the largest picture on the wall, all three of them happy and smiling on the beach at Tautuku Bay. It was their favourite place to be, and he had bought the family a small holiday cabin on a farm within the Catlins Forest which backed onto the coast. This was where they would go, where they needed to be. This was the place where they could all feel at peace, close to each other, a world away from the craziness and chaos that would unfold as details of the impending doom broke out.

He turned and called out for Matthew to come downstairs and strode into the kitchen. He fondly cuddled up to his wife who was busy at the stove, and nuzzled her neck in greeting. She smiled at his attentiveness while stirring the gravy simmering on the stove. Dinner smelt delicious.

“You had a good day honey?”

“Hmmmm,” he mumbled kissing her neck some more.

Shelly giggled and shrugged from the ticklish sensation. She swivelled in his arms to face him. “You have come home in a frisky mood young man,” she winked.

“I blame it one that wonderful form allure that your body gives off every time I walk in a room,” he cooed.

Shelly laughed, her head falling back, the waves of golden hair splaying out tantalisingly. Cole leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you flirting with me Mr Cole Mitchell?”

“Guilty as charged, and loving every minute of it Mrs Mitchell,” he confirmed. He kissed her again as Matthew walked into the kitchen.

“Dad!” Matthew scolded. “Put mom down or we will never get dinner.”

They both laughed out loud, and Cole turned to look at his son. Tall and well proportioned for a sixteen year old, his glorious red hair was dark and damp from the shower, and he had on his flannel pyjamas. His bright green eyes sparkled mischievously as he looked over at his father molesting his mother before the stove.

“Have you done your homework clever clogs?” Cole asked him.

Matthew scowled at his father for a moment, and then said, “Of course I have, dad. Do I ever NOT do my homework?”

Cole nodded his head in approval, moving across the kitchen towards his son. “So what have you been up to all day boy?” He asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Father and son stood bantering at the table as Shelly served up three plates of steaming food. They sat down and tucked into their dinner, Matthew entertaining his parents with stories of his antics at school while they ate. Cole found it difficult to find any appetite for the roast beef in front of him, and simply sat listening as he toyed with the meat on his plate.

“Are you ok darling?” Shelly eventually asked him.

He glanced up at her and smiled. “I need to speak to you both,” he said and paused. “It’s just; I don’t actually know how I am to say what I need to say.”

Both Shelly and Matthew stopped eating and looked at him. “What’s wrong dad?” Matthew asked in a concerned voice.

Cole bowed his head and began his dreadful story. As he explained the technical aspects of their discovery, he could see, first the confusion, then the realisation of understanding creep across his families face, then the full horror of the realisation that all this, everything that they shared as a family in that precise moment was under threat.

There was a deathly hush over the table. Dinner forgotten about, appetite quelled, the food on the plates served only as a distraction, something to fiddle with as they processed their thoughts independently.

“They will figure out some way to fix this dad. Surely?” Matthew voiced his opinion.

“Even if we threw every penny the world has at research, it’d take us a fair while to perfect a mechanism to provide oxygen in the quantities we need son, and even then, it would take us another few years to construct a centre with enough capacity to handle production. We just don’t have the time. This crisis has crept up on us. We have simply discovered it all too damn late.”

The answer was dark, final. It drove the nail into the coffin. Hard as it was to accept this was the reality that the family faced. “So what do we do?” Shelly asked quietly.

“Tomorrow morning we pack up, and we are going out to Tautuku. We will stay there till it happens.” Cole replied.

“What about school?” Matthew asked.

Even Shelly looked shocked.

“What does work or school have to offer us right now?” asked Cole. “We are going to be together as a family, out of the way of the chaos and hostilities that may break out if things are leaked into the public domain. We are going to see out what time we have together, happy, free and in a place we love, that loves us.”

Cole looked around the table at his wife and son. There was resignation on their faces; troubled eyes peered across the dinner plates at him, heavy hearts trying desperately to process what they had heard. It was too much for laymen’s minds to deal with. Thoughts of friends, relatives, loved ones raced through their minds. Questions about what to take and what to leave cropped up; suddenly so much to consider, ponder, ask. It was just too much to cope with. Matthew slammed down his cutlery and leapt up from the table, running out of the kitchen and retreating to his room.

Shelly looked over at Cole and took his hand. “Give him time, he’ll come round,” she whispered.

Cole shut his eyes. It was hard on him. Being the one to deliver this news to people he knew would be concerned about others, and having to ask them not to say anything was torture on them all. He squeezed Shelly’s hand and brought it up to his lips and kissed it. Quietly they got up and cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then they slowly wandered into the bedroom, got out the travel bags and began to pack.

It was fairly late when Matthew crept down the stairs and entered the lounge where his father lay sprawled across the couch, the television playing some random action thriller whilst on mute, a large cup of brandy balanced on his knee.

He padded over to the sofa and sat down next to his dad who put an arm around him, marvelling at his son’s stunning looks. He had his mother’s hair, his eyes, and facial features that he was never quite sure where they came from.

“Are you ok?” He whispered.

Matthew shook his head, he eyes glazed over as he stared at some spot on the carpet. He grimaced and made to say something but stopped.

“What is it?” Cole gently rubbed his back, encouraging him to share.

“Dad, I think I am in love, and I don’t want to leave her behind!” Matthew gasped, turning to look at his father, his eyes deploring him to understand.

Cole held his son’s gaze, blinking a few times as he looked at the fierce intensity in his son’s eyes. Inwardly he groaned to himself. These were the complications that he knew would make the decision he’d made toughest, and the most risky. It would only take a few people talking in panicked tones to unleash pandemonium. He did not want to be the one responsible for that.

“Who is she?” He asked gently.

“Rachel dad,” Matthew said.

Cole sat up. This changed things slightly. Rachel had been one of Cole’s friends since they’d lived next door. Her parents had been killed in a car wreck a few years before, and as she was already seventeen, she was currently staying at a children’s shelter in town until she was eighteen and could be responsible for herself.

He could easily include Rachel in their little escape plan, and the orphanage would just assume that she’d run away to the city. Cole didn’t think that anyone would come looking for Rachel staying in a holiday cabin with a family. Actually, he was pretty sure that in the time they had left, they would not create any serious issue if Rachel went with them.

He and Matthew talked it over and made some plans. Matthew had sent Rachel a text message, and he’d then called her. They had talked, and he had explained to her that he was keen on her. Cole had then spoken with her and explained that some serious issues were underfoot and it would be best to get out of town for a while but that it was not something he could make public knowledge. He told her that she would be welcome to come with them as she was almost a part of the family and her mom and dad would have appreciated Cole looking out for her. He used every trick he knew to try and convince her to come with them, and then he’d passed the phone back to his son, and sat on the couch next to Matthew feeling tense, worried and wound up like the sixteen year old boy next to him.

Finally, he’d heard his son exclaim jubilantly indicating that she must have agreed to come. He fell back on the sofa and let out a massive sigh and took a huge gulp of his brandy. At least he could give his son some measure of happiness, and if that included a young love in the time that he had left, he could see no harm in that.

Opa tied up the bow lines securing the boat to its moorings. It had been another disastrous days fishing. Things had not been right out on the high seas for a number of weeks now, and Opa and Jan had struggled to get anywhere near their required quota of fish. Neither man knew the real cause, but Opa was wise enough to know that something was seriously wrong. Never in his seventy four years as a fisherman had he failed so dramatically to fill his quota of fish. The fact that it was over a sustained period was unprecedented, and while he had no idea what its real reason was, he was well aware that exceptionally difficult times lay ahead for the Van de Merwe family.

Jan and Gloria Van de Merwe had emigrated from South Africa in early 2000 to set up a life in Mozambique. Jan and his father-in-law had been fishermen all their lives and had bought a medium sized trawler and acquired a license to fish the Mozambique Channel for sardines. Initially they had met with fantastic success, and the family had been buoyant with their new found wealth, Gloria opening a café in the centre of town providing All Day Breakfasts and BBQ’d fresh Sardines, a Portuguese delicacy. The little café had been a storming success, and things were going remarkably well for the family. Claude, their oldest son, ran his own small business hiring bicycles to the tourist trade in Maputo, while Justin was still at school and in the afternoon ran his own little private venture selling tourist trinkets made by the locals on the beach.

It was scorching hot again, despite the fact that it was meant to be the middle of winter. It seemed that this year there had been no cooling at all in the temperature as the seasons changed. The days were slightly shorter, and the stars had changed their alignment, but other than that, it would have seemed almost as if it were the height of summer if you paused to think about it.

Admittedly it was never truly cold in Maputo, but then again, in winter you could work right through the day most days. However, this year, siesta was as much a part of the winter months as it was during the hottest summer months. It was eleven in the morning and had they had a load of fish on board, they would have had less than an hour to unload before the local dock workers went home for the afternoon to rest through the hottest part of the day.

In some ways, he was grateful that he did not have a full hold of fish, but it hurt him to admit that. Jan muttered that he was going to the bar as he stomped past Opa, leaving him standing there on the quay side looking out over the dock. He wondered what was happening to the world. He had an uneasy feeling in his bones, and he did not like it one bit. He decided to head home and wait for Justin to get home from school.

Justin was his favourite grandchild and the apple of his eye. He would sit for hours talking with him, telling tales of the sea, and surprising the boy with stories of storms and pirates and daring battles on the waves. Justin loved his Opa and together they would spend countless hours keeping each other company when there was nothing else to do.

He wondered up the harbour side and made his way over to the bus stop. Jan would have the van, and would probably come back later in the day, and Opa couldn’t be bothered waiting around for him today. He boarded the bus and endured the forty five minute journey into town.

He jumped off on the Josaih Tongogara stop in the centre of town and wondered the five blocks across town to Gloria’s Trotters Café which was on the ground floor of their high rise flat complex. The flat the family shared was on the eighteenth floor of the Monetmutapa building. He poked his head in the café and winked at Gloria stood behind the counter in a blue and white apron.

“Smells bloody good in here Gloria,” he chortled.

“Oh Opa, you always love the smell in here,” Gloria smiled in greeting.

“Too right my sun child,” Opa confirmed. “You prepare food worthy of Gods my dear.”

Gloria beamed at him. “You are too kind dad.”

Opa chuckled to himself and turned to go. “I’ll see you upstairs,” he said.

He let the door of the café swing closed behind him, and strode into the foyer of the high rise building. Twenty one floors of flats, two flats per floor, some forty families lived in the building. It had been home to the Van de Merwe clan since they had arrived in Maputo. It was centrally located, close to the bus stop, close to the fish market, relatively near to Justin’s school, and the café was located just downstairs. What more could the family ask for?

The one other saving grace of the flat was that being so high up, the flat benefited from an ocean breeze that often was the only breath of fresh air in the oppressive heat that would grip the city. Opa had come to love this place, and afternoons. After having docked and unloaded the days catch, checked in on his daughter to make sure she was smiling, he could sit quietly on the balcony and have a smoke while he waited for Justin to return from school.

Today was no different. As the sun blazed down, and the mid day heat sucked the life out of the bustle of the city, he fell back into his battered deck chair and kicked his feet up over the railing. He pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch and set about preparing the bowl with some of the finest wet golden Virgina tobacco he so loved. He smiled faintly, content with life. He was together with the people he loved, safe and secure away from the violence of the Durban beach front, and not doing too badly. If only the fish would figure out what they were doing so they could get back to catching something in their nets, life would be just perfect.

It began in the Seychelles. An abnormally large patch of the Indian Ocean that had taken on a horrid green hue from the noxious mixture of death, gases and rotting vegetation that clung to the dead zone in the waters. Late in the afternoon of the 21^st day of December 2012, an almighty eruption below the tectonic plates caused a violent tremor to shake the ocean floor. The vibrations broke off a massive overhanging shelf around four miles from the surface of the seas that hung out over a deep ocean trench. As it plummeted into the depths below, it caused a massive displacement in the water, causing the formation of an enormous tsunami which rushed outward in a circle, breaking to the surface some five minutes after the destruction of the underwater shelf.

As the wave broke on the surface of the lifeless waters, an astronomical quantity of gas was released into the atmosphere tipping the scales and launching a sequence of events that caused a chain reaction that could not be stopped. Inhabitants of islands throughout the Indian Ocean didn’t even have a chance to realise what had transpired as suddenly people fell, gasping for breath, desperate, urgent, in the throws of death. Mothers, daughters, fathers and sons, people from every walk of life, snuffed out in moments. As the green wave surged and ripped across lands that stood in its way as it stormed outwards from the epicentre of the quake, every lifeless body fallen from the spreading lack of oxygen was swept along with it, plucked from the place where they had fallen dying by the angry waters of the tsunami.

It was quick, and as it spiralled outward, moving ever further before the real danger began to become noticed. At first it was the seismology stations that sounded the alarm of the earthquake in the Indian Ocean, giving rise to a Tsunami Alert to be released from the International Earth Monitoring Station in the South Pacific. As Tsunami warning stations began sounding throughout the region, people began to flee their homes, heading for higher ground, the vivid images of hundreds of thousands of dead and missing in the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami still fresh in people’s minds. No one spotted the Oxygen Depletion Zone spreading out with the wave. The first time people noticed that something else was amiss was when the depletion zone hit India. Imagine a population in its billions, falling to the floor, clutching at their necks, crying out as they gasped for breath.

It took about ten minutes for people to die. At first it was just a dire breathlessness that slowly became more and more acute. As breathing became laboured, people would go into panic, rushing around in desperation trying to understand what was happening, until the eventual collapse - each individual, writhing on the ground, desperate for another life sustaining breath only to allow more useless compounds into their oxygen starved lungs; their brains screaming for energy, denied with every inhalation as the spasms and twitches begin to slow and still, leaving billions of lifeless corpses, lying where they fell. Much of the world’s population had no idea what was happening. No one had told them to worry or prepare for a Mayan Extinction Event.

In Mozambique, the tsunami alarms were ringing up and down the coast. People that lived at ground level began to move inland, but one of the biggest problems faced in Mozambique is the low lying savannah that stretches for the Chimanimani mountain range in the west right up to the coast. This land had fallen victim to flooding many, many times in the past, causing untold suffering and destruction to the population of the nation. All anyone could do was get as far inland as they could and hope the waters just didn’t have the power to surge that far inland.

For the Van de Merwe family, they knew the safest place for them to stay was right in the building they lived. Chances were that the boat and café would be destroyed, but at least in the twenty one story high rise complex, they would be relatively safe. As a matter of fact, Opa and Justin had made their way up to the roof top to see if they could find out what all the fuss was about. If the Tsunami alarms were ringing, maybe they would see the wave coming from up there and be able to warn some people.

The idea was probably foolish, if you were not out of the way of the wave by that time, there was little chance you were going to make it out of the way, but there was no real guarantee that the wave would even make it to Mozambique. It had been countries further up the coast, closer to the horn of African that had been affected in 2004. Maybe the same would happen this time.

“What will we see Opa?” Justin asked.

“Well my boy,” croaked the old man. “I am not quite sure if I am to be perfectly honest. It will probably just be a mighty wave that will rush ashore.”

“Oh wow, it will be fast then won’t it Opa?” Justin sounded enthralled at the prospect.

“Yes my boy, it will come devilishly fast.” Opa coughed slightly, gasping a little for air.

“Do you think it will knock over our building Opa?” Justin asked, looking a little alarmed by his own idea.

“No, no my boy,” Opa laughed. “We will be perfectly safe up here I am sure.”

He coughed again, realising that he was not getting quite the amount of air he actually needed, gasping slightly. ‘Oh no he thought to himself. I can’t be having a heart attack now?’

He reached out for Justin and wrapped his arms around the boy, sinking to his knees behind him as they stood peering out at the sea below them, waiting for the wave to arrive.

Opa coughed again, his breath deep and wheezy as he fought to breath in. “I love you my boy,” he whispered as he hugged him tight.

In New Zealand, it was dark and late. Matthew and Rachel has sneaked out of the house and gone for a walk down on the beach. The night sky was magnificent, the stars glowed brightly, and every now and then a flash of light would burn brightly across the darkness as a meteor burnt up in the atmosphere.

Matthew squeezed Rachel’s hands tightly. “Rachel can I tell you something?” He asked, looking at her in the pale light of the stars.

“You can tell me anything,” she answered softly, turning to face him.

The sounds of the waves crashing further down the beach added a peaceful and calming feeling to the moment, two young lovers learning to communicate, learning to enjoy the company of the other. The touch, the feeling of having someone close, close enough to hold onto. Close enough to love.

“I don’t want to sound stupid or as if I am trying to say something wrong to you,” Matthew was struggling to find words.

Rachel squeezed his hand. “Matt, stop.” She said looking him in the eye. “Say what it is you need to say.”

Matthew sighed deeply. “Rachel, dad discovered a few days ago now that our world is coming to an end, and it is going to happen soon.”

Rachel smiled and looked at him. “I know,” she said.

Matthew looked confused. “You know?” He asked.

“Yeah your mom had a talk with me the other day. She explained what was going on and answered my questions.”

“Oh wow, and you never said anything?” Matthew looked relieved yet puzzled at the same time.

“Well, I am here with you aren’t I? I am right where I want to be, and I am glad we were finally able to be honest with each other. I have always liked you Matt.”

Matthew beamed with bashful pride. “Me too,” he muttered shyly.

“Can I ask you to do something?” Asked Rachel.

Matthew frowned briefly, and then asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Please kiss me,” she whispered.

Matthew grinned. “Um, wow. Ok.”

Hesitantly he leaned forward and Rachel put her arms around his neck. For a long moment, they stood there on the beach looking at one another, sharing a smile, searching the others eyes. Then Matthew leaned in and gently brushed against Rachel’s lips.

Instantly he could taste cherry. A buzz of electricity passed through him, and he felt Rachel’s arms tremble across his shoulders. He pressed harder against her lips, the embrace complete, the kiss whole. His tongue softly flicked across Rachel’s lips, the taste of cherry becoming intense in his mouth.

Rachel pulled him into her, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. They stood there for an untold passage of time, lost in a dream, caught in the mists of love and passion and urgency.

When they finally parted for breath, Matthew leaned his head against Rachel’s forehead, a massive smile splayed out across his face.

“Oh wow,” whispered Matthew, staring into Rachel’s eyes.

Rachel glowed, cheeks flushed and warm in the crisp night air. “Thank you,” she said softly.

The couple parted and holding hands continued to stroll along the beach. Things around them may be falling apart, and time may be limited, but in that moment, nothing could be as perfect as this.

Word finally broke out on the Internet, and soon messages were being received from Southern Asian countries and Eastern African countries that were experiencing shortages of breathable air. It did not take long for social media to go into meltdown spreading the message that something was terribly wrong. Disorder broke out in cities not yet affected by the oxygen depletion zone. Mankind is not designed to cope with the devastation. We are not equipped to deal with annihilation. The selfish desire of man to live on, to survive, meant that people we suddenly desperate to discover quantities of bottled oxygen in a vain attempt to survive this mysterious affliction that was suffocating people left right and centre.

Hospitals were overrun, gas bottling plants attacked, pharmacies broken into. Disruption and catastrophe broke out across the globe as the wave of death spread out across the surface of our planet.

Thomas was in his car on his way home when the announcement came across the radio. Stunned he pulled over and listened as the reporter read out the breaking news as if it were nothing more normal than the murder he’d been tasked to investigate that morning. The world was ending, his world was ending, and the reporter just carried on reading as if nothing else mattered anymore. Thomas cursed to himself.

He reached for his mobile phone and began dialling, only to realise that it would be a fruitless endeavour as every person on the planet that was not yet extinguished would be on their mobile trying to call someone. He reached into his glove box and retrieved his blue light and opened his window, snapping it onto the roof of his car. He flicked two switches and a siren screamed its distress signal as a blue strobe struck out into the daylight. He slammed the accelerator of his BMW response car to the floor and flew down the hard shoulder of the motorway towards the city.

On entering into the outskirts of Sheffield, Thomas realised he was not going to make it home, neither would he reach his office at this rate. Cars were stopped everywhere, with people out of their vehicles screaming at one another to move or get out of the way. No one was going any further along this route. Some people were stood using cell phones of their own, desperate to try and connect with that special person as the tidal wave of lifeless air tore towards them.

Thomas swung his car into a side road, and drove as far as he was able, heading for the only place that he could think of. As he screeched to a halt looking at the red box just ahead of him, the irony of his situation slapped him full in the face. It had only been moments earlier as he’d been flying along the motorway in the fast lane that he’d been singing along with Maroon 5 to his favourite song of the moment, Payphone, and here he was, desperate to reach a payphone needing to call home and speak to the man that he’d once made all those plans for two with. This was a cruel twist in his glorious world of perfection. He leapt out of his car and dug in his pocket for some change. He slammed it into the machine and punched in the number. The phone rang. There was a click as it was answered the other end, and he heard that voice saying the words, “I love you Thomas, now, always and forever.”

Far above the earth’s atmosphere, four astronauts sat in the International Space Station looking down at planet earth. It belied a peaceful place, a blue globe of wonder, a special home to billions of souls.

Three men and a woman looked down on perhaps the biggest grave yard in the galaxy. Over seven billion people had lost their lives in a matter of hours as eventually the world we knew simply ran out of gas to support the people that inhabited its surface.

The planet had served the human race well. The planet had fought out as long as it was able, given love, peace and happiness to so many. It had let life prosper, and wealth grow. It had seen science advance and medicine become a phenomenal power. The population of the world had exploded, and every inch of the surface of our planet had been explored. Super powers and come and gone, wars had been won and lost. It was home to so much, and the jewel in the crown of a species that were resourceful, endeavouring, creative and extraordinary.

Yet through all that, it was mans desire to know it all, have it all, own it all, be it all that had brought about the demise of this home. We all knew it couldn’t last forever, yet now as these last four living humans sat and looked down at the world they called home, they realised painfully that our greed had not allowed us to accept that our world would come to an end in our lifetime.

We’d fooled ourselves into believing that we had infinite amounts of time left. Tricked our fellow man into a false acceptance that it was ok to live chasing a dream to be better, live larger and become bolder than we’d ever been before. We didn’t slow down anything, failing to listen to the scientists that warned us, never stopping to hear the words of people that understood the risks we were taking.

Now as the four of them sat looking down on the death of a legacy, realisation dawned on them that they were the last hope for humanity. They had a finite supply of food, oxygen, and general stores needed to survive for three months. After that time had elapsed, they would enter a supply pod, and return to earth, to land under parachute in the deserts of Nevada. What awaited them on their return, no one could know, they could only pray and hope that for their sake things had returned to some semblance of normality. Maybe this time, mankind would actually get to chart exactly what happens after an extinction event.

Three months to wait, three months to see if the human race would continue.

So it was all true. The Mayan’s had predicted the end of the world in 2012. The mad man Niall Edwards had told the world it would end gasping for breath like a fish out of water. No one had listened. Nobody had changed their lifestyle, altered their habits, or reduced their demands on the planet. It would seem that the sad reality was that mankind had always been destined to destroy itself. Maybe in three months time, mankind could try again.