Chapter Thirty Five

Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds. - J. Robert Oppenheimer recalling the Bhagavad Gita while watching the Trinity nuclear test.

Chapter Thirty Five

For the last couple of days, since the visit by Nubbins, Death had been feeling increasingly concerned that, perhaps, her depression was less about her frustration with work, and more about her own selfish desires. She fought the idea, insisting to herself that her job actually was pointless. And it was true that she would never complete her work. At least, not until all of humanity was wiped out and that, in itself, was probably going to be something of a drag.

As she was digging into a fresh tube of cookie dough, however, she had a thought. More of a realization, really. A revelation.

Her work, she realized, was what kept the world moving. Those who achieved largely did so because they realized they had little time and wished to make the most of it. Without her, there was no balance to birth. There was no reason to fear anything.

It was possible, she thought, that her work was ultimately the greatest force for good. She did have a purpose. Her work was what gave life value.

She dropped the spoon and tube of cookie dough, and got out of bed. She had to get cleaned up, and get back to work at once.

“Oh, fuck. Poor Hep!” she exclaimed. She hurried to the shower.

#

Ares had gone home the night before. Hep and Scroat were currently in the foothills of a mountain range just outside Phoenix, where James Robert Quiggley, Jim-Bob to his friends, was about to blow hisownself the fuck up with a homemade bomb in a fifty gallon drum.

Hep and Scroat waited and watched as James wired up the detonator box. He was very careful to make sure everything was wired correctly, and that all the fail safes were in place. His safety plan would have been immaculate if he’d correctly figured the dangerous blast radius of the bomb. He was about two hundred feet too close.

Hep checked his watch. Two minutes to showtime.

#

Death toweled herself off quickly and threw on the first clothes she could find that looked presentable, then pulled her cloak on over them. She grabbed her spare stopwatch and clipboard, turned off the TV and checked her appearance once last time in the mirror before disappearing.

#

Jim Bob had satisfied himself that all the necessary safety steps had been taken. He attached the last two wires to the detonator, and put on his hearing and eye protection. He looked around his immediate area through a pair of binoculars, to make sure there weren’t any bystanders he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t see Hep and Scroat, waiting patiently well outside the blast radius.

“One minute to detonation!” Jim Bob hollered through an electronic bullhorn. He flipped the power switch on the detonator, and watched the seconds tick by on his Timex.

“Thirty seconds to detonation!” he hollered, then “twenty seconds!”

He flipped up the safety cover keeping the trigger button from accidentally being pushed.

“Ten seconds and counting to detonation! Ten.... Nine... Eight...”

Hep and Scroat were surprised by the appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman in a black cloak. She was just in front of them, smiling and holding a stopwatch and a clipboard.

“Seven... Six...”

“I’ll handle this one, guys. Thanks for all your help,” Death said.

“Three... Two... One...” then there was a terrific explosion. The fifty gallon drum was ripped to shreds, sending shrapnel flying one thousand yards in any direction. Jim Bob was torn to pieces by the flying debris and sheer force of the explosion. His hearing protection and safety glasses were thrown from his head. There was a mini mushroom cloud at ground zero.

When the dust and debris had settled, Jim Bob’s soul stood where his body had been two seconds earlier.

“Well that ain’t right,” Jim Bob said, and scratched his head.

Then he saw a very pale, very beautiful woman in a black cloak smiling at him.

“Hello, Jim Bob. Would you walk with me?” she asked him.

“Well, yes ma’am. It would be my honor,” he said and took her hand.

#

On battlefields, remote and urban, all over the world, the gunfire and explosions suddenly stopped. A great many soldiers who had been terribly wounded during the course of the fighting looked at one another, confused, and fell down properly dead.

Car crash victims, people consumed by diseases, drug users, old people, babies, professionals, construction workers, doctors, patients... everyone who should have been dead, suddenly was.

Clean up of all the bodies was going to be quite the logistical nightmare.

#

Death found James King in his old house. The one he’d lived in before he became a rich and powerful businessman. He was playing in the basement with a chemistry set, amusing himself by changing the color of a clear solution green by adding another clear liquid, and then back to clear again with the addition of a different chemical.

“Hello, James,” Death said.

James put down the beakers he’d been holding and said, “Hello. I’ve been wondering when you were going to show up again.”

“I was delayed by a personal crisis,” Death said.

“That’s OK.”

“From what I’d heard, you’ve become quite the business success story. You have a mansion in L.A. and a collection of expensive cars. What are you doing back here?”

“I realized that stuff didn’t really matter. It was a lot of fun, but it didn’t make me as happy as my chemistry set in my basement.”

“I see,” Death said. “And what happened with your lady friend?”

“I let her get away,” James said. He looked at his hands.

“You have regrets,” Death said.

“Oh yes.”

“Good. A life without regrets is one that was not truly lived,” Death said.

James smiled.

“Are you ready to go now, James?” Death asked him.

James stood up, and said, “Yes, I suppose I am. I’ve gotten more life than I deserved, and I achieved almost everything I wanted to. With a couple screw-ups.”

Death smiled all the wider. “You know, it really seems to be a shame to kill a man who’s already invented a cure for cancer, and has finally figured out what he wants from life.”

James looked extremely puzzled, but excited. “Really?”

“Yes. I’d suggest you make the most of what time you have left, James. You might try to, oh, rekindle an old flame, perhaps? Maybe invent something new. I’ll be seeing you around,” Death said, and winked at him.

Then she disappeared.

James’s jaw worked up and down a couple of times. He looked at his chemistry set and his watch, as though they might provide him with some vital clue. Then he ran upstairs and picked up the phone.

#

Hep and Scroat were sitting in Ares’s living room. He had replaced the cushions and pillows with proper furniture, albeit it was mostly made of black leather.

Ares was making a huge racket in another room, looking for something. “Ah ha! Here it is!”

Ares came back into the room, beaming, and carrying an ornate and perfectly wrought shield and armor. Achilles’s armor.

Hep stood up, and Ares handed the shield and armor to him.

“As promised, sir.”

“It’s just like I remembered it. How did you find it again.”

Ares looked away, and touched the side of his nose. “It fell off a truck.”

Hep was about to say something more, when he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a pale woman wearing a black cloak.

“Uh, hi,” is what he said.

“Hello, Hephaistos. I didn’t really properly thank you for all of your help. You really did more than should have been expected of you, and I wish I had a way I could repay you.”

Scroat mumbled, “I could think of a way...”

Ares clouted him on the back of the head.

“It’s OK,” Hep said. “I’m always happy to help a friend in need.”

“You’re far too kind,” Death said. She leaned over and kissed Hep on the cheek.

He blushed deeply, and mumbled a lot of nonsense before saying “thank you.”

“Well, gentlemen, I have a lot to do, so I’ll be on my way. Ares,” she looked at him and smiled, “try to stay out of trouble.”

“Sure thing. I hardly ever get into any trouble,” Ares said.

“See you around, Scroat,” Death said.

“Yep, later,” Scroat said, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, hey, wait!” Ares said. “I wanted to give you something. It’s not really much use to me any way.”

He lead Death, Hep and Scroat out to his garage and opened the door. There, gleaming and perfect, was the motorcycle Hep had built for him. Thankfully, Ares had not ruined it when he was a confused hippie. Its paint was black as the darkest cave, and its chrome shone like the stars at night. It sat, long and low, begging for someone to master it.

“I want you to have this. I hear riding helps when you’re feeling down, and I’m a terrible fucking rider to be honest. You need some proper transportation, anyways,” Ares said and handed Death the keys.

She looked at Hep “Your handiwork, I presume?”

“Yeah, all me,” Hep said, proudly.

“Very nicely done,” Death said. She swung a leg over the seat, and lifted the bike off its kickstand. The key slipped into the ignition switch as though it had been longing to go home. Death thumbed the starter button, and the motor roared to life.

“Death’s mighty steed,” Death said, almost to herself, as the bike rumbled underneath her. “See you around, then, guys.”

With that, she and the motorcycle were gone, as though she’d never been there.

THE END.