The Second Intelligent Species: The Cyclical Earth by Dale Langlois Page A

reminded me of a scene from H.G. Well’s book, “War of the Worlds,” the area totallydevastated, with the Martian machine looking over its accomplishments.
    “That’s where we can get some fresh water,” I said, but didn’t know how just yet.
    We had to leave the interstate and cross a bridge. I looked down into the water and saw about fifteen or twenty bodies surrounded by dead fish of varying sizes. The fish didn’t make it either because of all the soot and ash in the water. A thick film rested on the surface, broken only where rats swam through; there were hundreds of them scurrying on the bank.
    Every flash of lightning gave a different perspective.
    The bodies were bloated, but only the part sticking out of the water was burned, all black, except their spines, collarbones and skulls. Several conjoined flashes of lightning revealed the total horror. Every one of them drowned. They’d stayed under as long as they could. When they poked their heads up to breath, they were met with searing hot air and ash, the exact scenario the father and his daughters experienced. It was the same at nearly every bridge we crossed.
    The lightning made it easy to head towards the water tower. We didn’t need to stick to the streets. We could walk around the cellars and cut cross lots, dodging the remains of buildings and automobiles.
    The tower was the highest thing left standing in that area. We could see what was left of some of the taller buildings down closer to the center of the city, but the skyline was very different than I remembered it. The earthquake had leveled the tallest buildings, the fires lowered the rest.
    We only had a couple of blocks to go to get to the tower. I thought we would have spotted a fire or some torches the closer we got. We saw nothing.
    “I’m going to try and get us some clean water. You stay here and see if you can find cloth for more torches.” I had been gathering old crusty grease along the way, but the only clothing we had found was on bodies, and I couldn’t go through that again. “Make sure you stay within shouting distance. We don’t want to lose each other.”
    The storm intensified, and seeing was no longer an issue. The tower loomed on a hill, back dropped by clouds linked together by ribbons of lightning. Thunder claps never had a rest between each other.
    In the past, Beth and I would sit outside to watch a summer storm, kind of romantic. This storm radiated a more ominous emotion, eerie, like something from a Stephen King novel.
    I turned several times to make sure I could still see Beth. She was wandering near the river.
    The climb was exhausting. When I approached the base of the tower it was clear a building once stood before the fire, but the debris seemed placed along the edges revealing a path. Once I made it to the base, I could see a big pipe wrench on the piping leading from the tower.
    Somebody had taken these pipes apart to get water. “There are survivors,” I said.
    I quickly turned and ran to tell Beth the good news. “Forget the cloth,” I yelled. “People…, people have been here. Come up here, hurry up.” I doubt that she understood anything I said.
    I could see her coming up the hill. She yelled something inaudible as she ran.
    This time I was going to wait for her to get closer. I didn’t feel like repeating myself. My constant diarrhea and vomiting had weakened me, and I knew she wouldn’t be able to understand me anyways.
    “What did you say? Did you see somebody alive?” Then she said something I couldn’t understand. She kept asking questions all the way up the hill. She was really getting pissed that I wasn’t answering her back. “Will you answer me, damn it?” She finally made it to the top of the hill. She was too out of breath to ask any more questions. “What… you. What…” She grabbed all the air left in her lungs and squeezed out, “Talk to me, asshole.” She threw down some clothing she found.
    “There are people here.