The Island at the End of the World (ii)

A few days later, Finn did his weekly trip to the mainland, docking in the town harbour as usual. It was a bright morning - fresh and vibrant, like it had been painted in pastels: the other boats bobbing gently on their moorings; some fishermen unloading a catch there; late visitors at the quayside shops; herring gulls wheeling overhead - the sun catching their wingtips and sparkling on the laurel-green waves.

After checking for mail at the Post Office, he headed to the small supermarket. There, he couldn't help noticing that some essentials were low on stock. Big gaps on the canned goods shelves. The bottled water was out altogether. Supply problems, he guessed. He asked the woman at the checkout.

“People are stockpiling again,” she said, shaking her head with annoyance. “It's just like back during Covid. I blame all this social media stuff, stirring things up as usual. We're going to 'ave to start limiting things soon.”

“I don’t have the internet myself any more,” Finn said. “But I hear things on the radio.”

She took his money and counted his change.

“My husband said it’ll all blow over. Like that storm t’other night. I don't know what's the matter with people. Ain't we 'ad enough wars? They never learn, these men." She patted the back of his hand. "No offence, like.”

He smiled. "None taken. And I agree with you. It's partly why I moved here, away from it all."

"Don't blame you," she said. "Don't blame anyone wantin' out nowadays."

The summer was almost over, but the sun was hot that day, and Finn had a sweat going by the time he got the stuff back to the boat. He was moored by the harbour inn, and caught a welcoming waft of ale through the door, the clinking of glasses. He decided on a quick pint before returning.

He took it outside, where a couple of old men from the town - ones he usually saw - sat whittling away their retirement. They nodded to him.

"Settled out there now, boy?" one said from beneath his cap.

"Getting there," Finn replied.

They sat staring at the water.

"Storm didn't bother ee too much, then?"

"No."

That reminded him of his visitor, so he mentioned him. He described the man, the things he'd said, the skiff. Augury. The men exchanged puzzled looks.

“Don’t bear resemblance to any I know,” said the first one.

The second one was a bit more thoughtful. “Sounds a bit like Ned Camber. Wouldn’t be him, though. He’s been gone donkey’s years. Drowned at sea.”

Finn was even more intrigued about the man now. Strange that these men were puzzled, too. Perhaps he came from further along the mainland, the other way. Maybe he’d make the trip one day - see what was along there. He vowed to keep an eye out, too, after the next storm. He put it to the back of his mind for now. Finishing his pint, he bid the men a good day.

"And yourself. See thee anon, I 'spect."

"I hope so," Finn said.

That evening, he sat in the lamplight by the fire with a whisky, simply staring at the flames. He thought back over the years - the events that had led him to this, the people lost along the way. The sense of hope that drove him now. At this stage in life, he knew he'd found what would last him until the end of it. The one thing, perhaps, that would make it complete would be if he could find someone to share it eventually. But he was in no hurry for it yet.

He was dozing when the lightning flash lit the room - so sudden and close that he jumped from the chair. He waited for the crack of thunder - the light slowly fading again. But nothing. He checked the phone for the time, but it was dead. The lamp was still alight, but the fire had burned low. He got up and went to the window, but could only see stars over the sea - no storm clouds. And where was that thunder? It made no sense. He slipped into his coat and boots and went outside.

To his surprise, the sky was clear and starlit. He looked across to the mainland, but it was steeped in an almost preternatural darkness, like a void in the night - not even the distant lights from the town. As his eyes adjusted, though, he discerned a glow appearing above it from some far-distant source - like the rising sun blooming against a cloud layer. He scrambled up to the head to see if he could get a better view from there.

Which is when the thunder finally came - so powerful that he stumbled with the shock. For a moment he wondered if the island might be yielding another chunk of land to the ocean. The thunder continued in a long, deafening roll as the glow over the land grew. With it now came a breeze - keen against his skin and ruffling his hair.

The glow continued to rise above the land - as, now, did a cloud. A huge thunderhead of fire.

Finn sat there then, aghast. His cries went unheard as he watched the cloud expand and climb.

Climb upwards into the vast, star-filled canopy of that endless final night.