Deadly Rainbows

by michaelcahill

Background
At the beginning. The characters are subjected to a disaster of unknown origin that has caused quite a bit of death. They have survived and set up camp in Yosemite.

I’m the writer. I’m not saying I am a great writer. I’m not saying that I should be the one to record these events that unfold before us all. It is simply that amongst our little lost conclave that I am the writer. There is no doubt within others in this group an ability to record these events. Indeed, there are probably some with more ability that is simply untapped. That said, it is I with some experience and more importantly a predilection to do this. Should I just record the events as they happen, perhaps lending a sage comment here and there as though anyone would be interested?

Or, maybe I am the Anne Frank of this group, writing my thoughts and experiences, unaware of the context that they may one day reside in. I’m sure that, as in the holocaust, the overall recording of events is well transcribed and documented. Honestly, none of us knows exactly what happened. We only suspect the scope of what has befallen our planet and more importantly (to us at least) its inhabitants.

It is as though the earth itself struck out at us, weary perhaps of our needling presence. It, no doubt, would’ve been a spectacular show to view from afar. To be in the center of it was terrifying that being a word newly defined. Over a relatively short period of time the sky began to change color until what once would’ve been considered a spectacular sunset became a permanent modern art, abstract, riot of color.

I stood inside a redwood tree. I put the thought of how stupid it was that a hole had been carved out of the center of it out of my mind. I marveled at the size and age and let the majesty of its life engulf me. I needed the time away from what awaited me outside of this carved out world I had momentarily entered.

I stepped out and looked at the amazing beauty of the California sky. It looked as though every rainbow ever formed had congregated together at this one spot and danced above our heads. We couldn't enjoy it, of course, we knew vaguely that its source came from places that were not conducive to healthy futures.

There had been so many stories of natural disasters and terrorist induced disasters that there could be no way to determine what had and had not happened. What scared us the most was what was next. I don't think anybody knew including our own beloved United States of America. I wasn't even so sure that my own country wouldn't be the one to light the fuse that would blow the whole thing up.

It was beautiful, but the knowledge that the sky wasn’t supposed to look like that made it a constant threatening and impossible to ignore presence. Finally, the sky just exploded into a war unleashed by every mythical god ever imagined. There were bolts of lightning seemingly intentionally aimed. There were gaseous clouds randomly wreaking havoc and death on whomever encountered them.

After the initial onslaught, the chaos became more predictable. It was now possible to protect one's self and seek shelter to a degree. We could see evidence in the distance of other survivors, Campfires near the horizon here and there let us know that we were not totally alone, but at the same time, there was an understandable reluctance to breach the unknown and seek them out. And truthfully, the campfires bespoke a situation similar to our own; there was no sense of hope that they had more to offer than we did.

Television, telephones, radios and computers offered static to our anxious yearnings for answers. Before long, the few batteries we had were dead and contacting anyone became a past fleeting thought. There remained a glimmer of hope that perhaps there was some kind of remnant of civilization somewhere in the world that might find us and restore something of our former grand existence.

There are 13 of us at our little campfire. I will attempt to introduce you as we go along. There are strangers here. But, there are pre-existing relationships as well. There is a pregnant girl with us, as well as a possible father. Some of us worked together and even shared a home. As time passes, all of these relationships continue to evolve based upon the current straits in which we find ourselves.

Who's in charge obscures daily and leadership becomes innate and less and less beholding to precedent. It seems to be more influenced by circumstance. After all, if one is being attacked, it seems a soldier would benefit more than an entrepreneur or a shy musician or, dare I say, a wannabe writer.

First, I will introduce you to Jennifer. She is the pregnant girl. She is also the person that I credit our survival to. I hadn’t considered the true effects of pregnancy before. Sure, I understood that there was definitely an altered state to consider in a mother to be. There are cravings and heightened senses as well as a sense of nothing else matters like it once did. She was my friend before these events and continues to be to this day. I assure you that I am not the father to be. I do confess however that the thought had occurred to me. Well, that is for another time.

It was Jennifer that I took my cue from when disaster struck, her reactions were primal in nature but, not primitive, I watched as her nose twitched and her eyes narrowed. Whatever direction she choose I, as the reluctant leader, followed. And all followed me unaware of the true dynamic. Whatever instincts she brought to bear were totally correct and no doubt the reason for our survival.

All around us, life withered into a convulsing pool of death. Human, animal even plant life seemed to indiscriminately succumb while others ran on unscathed. Jennifer knew in a way that wasn’t intellectual the path to survival. To my credit, I realized in a totally cerebral way that this was so.

In a somewhat orderly way, we quickly settled in. We were in Yosemite National Park on an outing with clients from the board and care where some of us worked. I was a caregiver. I passed out meds, cooked, and provided as much counseling as I could muster. Usually I listened and that was probably the best therapeutic approach to employ for people that weren’t usually listened to at all. Jennifer was our driver and Carlos was the owner.

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At the beginning. I have added to the supposedly complete story before the first posting, so complete is a relative word. I wrote this before I joined here and I can see a difference in my writing. I am always open to suggestion and when they are good, I usually keep them in mind and often run with them. So, feel free.

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The sky is pretty, but deadly.

A chapter in the book Yosemite

Deadly Rainbows

by michaelcahill

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