“No one was born on the Island. We all just woke up here one morning. We had apartments and clothes and food in our refrigerators. When we pressed a switch, the light went on. When we turned the tap, water came from the faucet. We had jobs, too. On my bedroom dresser, I had keys to a shop a few blocks away from here.” Pickering smiled blissfully, almost overcome by the memory. “I was Mr. Pickering, a ladies’ dressmaker. There were bolts of expensive fabric in my store. I wasn’t an ordinary tailor. That’s clear.”
“But didn’t you wonder why you were here?”
“That first morning was a magical time because-for a few hours-everyone thought that they were in a special place. People explored the whole Island, examining the different buildings and the destroyed bridge.” For the first time, Gabriel glimpsed a hint of sensitivity and intelligence behind the fear. “That was such a happy day, Gabriel. You can’t believe how happy. Because all of us believed that we were in a wonderful place. Some even suggested that we had been transported to heaven.”
“But couldn’t you remember your parents or your childhood?”
“There are no personal memories earlier than that first day. A few dreams. That’s all. Everyone here can write words and add numbers. We can use tools and drive cars. But no one remembers being taught these skills.”
“So the city wasn’t destroyed that first day?”
“Of course not.” Pickering picked up some empty wine bottles and placed them against the wall. “There was electric light. All the cars had gasoline. That afternoon people were talking about organizing a government and repairing the bridge. If you stood on a rooftop, you could see that the Island was in the middle of an enormous river. Another shore was just a few miles away.”
“And then what happened?”
“The fighting started that evening-a few men kicking and punching one another while the rest of us watched like children learning a new game. By dawn of the next day, everyone began killing.” Pickering looked almost proud of himself. “Even I killed a man who was trying to break into my shop. I used my scissors.”
“But why did people destroy their own houses?”
“The city was divided into sectors ruled by different warlords. There were checkpoints and borders and dead zones. This was the Green Sector for a long time. Our warlord was a man named Vinnick until his second in command killed him.”
“And how long did the fighting last?”
“There are no calendars on the Island, and all the clocks have been destroyed. People used to count days, but then different groups came up with different numbers and, of course, they fought about who was right. For a while, our Green Sector had a treaty with the Red Sector, but we made a secret alliance and betrayed them to the Blues. There were handguns and rifles in the beginning, and then the bullets were gone and people had to make their own weapons. Finally, the warlords were killed and their armies melted away. Now there is a commissioner who sends out patrols.”
“But why couldn’t everyone work out some kind of agreement?”
Pickering laughed without thinking, then looked frightened. “I don’t mean to offend, sir. My friend Gabriel. Don’t be angry. Your question was just…unexpected.”
“I’m not angry.”
“In the time of the warlords, people began to say that the fighting would go on until a certain number of people had survived. We argued about the number. Was it ninety-nine survivors or thirteen or three? No one knows. But we believe these survivors will find a way to leave this place and the rest of us will be reborn to suffer again.”
“So how many people are left?”
“Maybe ten percent of the original population. Some of us are cockroaches. We hide in the walls and beneath the floors-and survive. People who don’t hide are called wolves. They walk around the city with their patrols and kill everyone they see.”
“And that’s why you hide?”
“Yes!” Pickering looked confident. “With all my heart, I can assure you the cockroaches will outlast the wolves.”
“Look, I’m not part of this war and I don’t want to be on anyone’s side. I’m searching for another visitor. That’s all.”
“I understand, Gabriel.” Pickering picked up a cracked bathroom sink and placed it in one corner of the room. “Please accept my hospitality. Stay here while I search for your visitor. Do not risk yourself, my friend. If a patrol finds you, the wolves will kill you in the street.”
Before Gabriel could react, Pickering had pushed the burned mattress to one side, slipped through the gap, and then replaced the barrier. Gabriel remained in the easy chair thinking about everything he had seen since he stood up beside the river. The violent souls in this realm would be trapped here forever in an endless cycle of rage and destruction. But there was nothing unusual about hell. His own world had already been given glimpses of its fury.
The gas flare burning from the slender copper pipe seemed to use all the oxygen in the room. Gabriel was sweating and his mouth was dry. He knew that he shouldn’t eat food in this place, but he would need to find a source of water.
Gabriel stood up, pushed the mattress away, and left Pickering’s hiding place. As he began to explore the building, he realized that it had once been divided up into offices. Desks and chairs, file cabinets and old-fashioned typewriters had been abandoned, and now everything was covered with a fine white dust. Who had worked here? Had they left their apartments that first morning and gone to their jobs with a vague feeling that all this was just an extension of their dreams?
Still searching for water, he found a shattered window and looked down at the street. Two soot-covered automobiles were smashed together, their hoods crumpled up like crushed boxes. Pickering came around the corner, and Gabriel stepped back into the shadows. The thin man stopped and looked over his shoulder as if he were waiting for someone.
A few seconds later, five men appeared. If Pickering called himself a cockroach, then these men were obviously the wolves. They wore an odd assortment of clothes gathered from different sources. A blond man with braided hair wore bush shorts and a black tuxedo jacket with satin lapels. He walked beside a black man wearing a white lab coat. The wolves were armed with homemade weapons-clubs, swords, axes, and knives.
Gabriel left the room immediately, took a wrong turn, and ended up in another suite of deserted offices. By the time he reached the marble staircase, he could hear Pickering’s breathless voice coming from the ground floor.
“This way, everyone. This way.”
Gabriel continued up the staircase to the third floor. Looking down the stairwell, he saw a flash of orange fire. One of the wolves had just lit a torch crudely made from a table leg wrapped with tar-covered rags.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Pickering said. “He was here. Look, he’s gone upstairs. Can’t you see?”
Gabriel realized that he had left footprints in the fine white dust that covered the staircase. The hallway behind him was also covered with dust. No matter where he stepped, the wolves would be able to track him down.
Can’t stay here, he thought, and continued up the staircase. The stairs ended on the fifth floor. He passed through a steel fire door hanging from one hinge and found himself on the roof. The yellowish-gray clouds that covered the sky had turned dark and billowy, as if a malignant rain were about to fall. Gazing over the skyline, he could see the shattered bridge and the black line of the river.
Gabriel walked to the low safety wall that ran around the edge of the roof. There was a fifteen-foot gap between where he was standing and the adjacent building. If the jump failed, he would never return to his own world. Would Maya ever see his dead body? Would she press her ear to his chest and realize that his heart had finally stopped beating? He circled the roof once, twice, and returned to his original position. Because of the safety wall, he couldn’t run and throw himself forward.