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Pierre is caught outside when it happens; the green rain.
It’s a bit of a shock, if he’s honest.
Wouldn’t be if the rain was all that it was- radioactive though it looks, it is still just rain. But the plants seem to grow wild from it, stretching out and up and spreading. Something like trees grow from the earth, trying to reach up.
He is outside, and it is dark. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so had rolled away from his wife, grabbed his clothes, and decided to go for a smoke. Just one cigarette, to calm his nerves. He’d felt restless. And a little tired. Sales are going better, ever since the new farmer had popped into town, but things are still rough. He wants his business to survive this, for himself, yes, but also his family.
If he can just keep the place afloat a little longer, then he’ll find time again to make his wife smile, to indulge his daughter in her interests, to come to the city for an outing with the two of them- instead, he needs to work. If he doesn’t work, then they’ll do even worse than they already do. He says it over and over again, and Caroline just sighs.
So he’s restless, yes. And he’s outside. And he’s smoking and taking a walk because he can’t stand still without imagining JoJa taking over and wrecking his family apart, and then the green rain comes down and the plants start acting like they don’t belong to this world anymore.
He happens to be near the bridge, standing frozen and unsure. The rain is thick and heavy and comes down in giant, green drops. His cigarette, only half-gone, dies out under the savage assault.
A figure is coming towards him. It is hard to make out at first, in the dark of very early morning and heavy unnatural rain, but then he sees that it is Morris.
He feels too confused to feel the usual rush of annoyed exasperation the sight of him usually causes. Morris is panting, having walked fast, and continues past him with little more than a nod.
He is not invited to follow, and there is no reason to do it either. Pierre should walk through the rapidly growing greenery, the bushes and leaves pushing through concrete that makes the path nearly unwalkable, and hide at home. His wife and daughter will wake up soon, confused, and see him gone. They might get worried.
But the path has become an obstacle, and when he looks at the bridge leading after a rapidly disappearing Morris, he sees that the ground has not been marred quite as much yet. If he is fast, he might make it to JoJa.
He goes after Morris, and pretends that it is a rational choice.
The front door is unlocked, and Pierre pushes into relative safety. The lights flicker above, having just been turned on. It is a garish, white light that gives the store a clinical atmosphere. It makes him shudder, but he ventures further into it.
Before this, he has only been at JoJa once, and just to take stock of his new competitor. It looks almost exactly the same now as it had then. Rows of brand-name products across the entire floor, a lonely bucket and mop in a corner. The only difference is that there is no one here, other than himself and Morris somewhere. No Shane looking grumpy and hungover, no Sam sweeping the floors with a whistle between his teeth, no Pam buying frozen dinner…
In a very odd way, the emptiness makes it intimate.
“Pierre?”
It is Morris, peeking out from a door that must lead to his office. Pierre has never been, but he can see the nameplate on top of the door that reads manager.
He doesn’t know what to say. Neither, it seems, does Morris. At a standstill, they look at one another.
“Sorry.” Pierre clears his throat. “The rain and everything.”
It is explanation enough. He sees logic click inside Morris; dangerous road home, JoJa being closer, the general confusion of what’s happening.
He nods, wary still, but accepting of the reasoning.
“Does this happen often?” His voice is awkward and posh. His accent doesn’t fit in the valley. It is distinct and foreign. They’re from the same country, but he might as well be from across the world. He must have been born and raised in some big city somewhere, far enough away to have him sound it.
“No. First time.” Pierre says ruefully. “I have no idea what it is. Must pass, though.”
He doesn’t say out loud what he’s starting to wonder. Could it be an attack? The war has never reached the valley, not directly at least, but most of them have the sense to fear it ever happening.
“I’m sure it will.” Morris says, and manages to say it haughtily. Pierre is strongly reminded of why he hates the man, other than the business he works for. He pushes it down and away, though, because there’s no way he’s getting himself kicked back out into rain that for all he knows could be some kind of bio-weapon.
Another stretch of silence, then Morris steps aside and gestures awkwardly at his office. “We might be stuck here all day,” he says stiffly, “but I have a couch, and wine. And-” he sweeps his arm across the large open floor and all its wares, “-So we should be able to wait it out.”
Pierre agrees. They sit in his office, drink wine, and eat JoJa-Branded fast-food. The day goes on, and he gets to use Morris’s phone to call his wife and make sure they’re fine.
It’s weird and tense but it works. United under this shared stress. It’s nearly companionable- nearly nice.
Tomorrow, if things go well and fine, they won’t become friends, far from. Though perhaps they will have taken a slight step away from being enemies.