Upon Us

by Blakely Chorpenning

He half-smiled, but it was void of any true joy. Sadness sunk the edges of his lips.

  "My father would like to live somewhere like this. His easels are filled with fields kissed by gods and trees so tall they could poke an angel's ass."

  "He stays for safety, or possibly from fear?"

  He shook his head. "Sometimes, we don't get to choose."

  "Says the man who just told me a few miles ago that all things are possible."

  "Maybe all but one."

  The air was heavy with emotion. Something weighted Ren's heart. Something he didn't want released into the world. I understood. My heart had grown tired long ago from the many weights it carries day after day.

  After grabbing the last vines, I tied them all together with an old ribbon and hung them from the outside of my bag. The bundle bounced around as we walked onward. The fresh smell permeated the air around us and I almost smiled. Smelling the earth's flora never ceased to bring joy, no matter the state of my world. The comfort of Gaia's charms strengthened my resolve to face another day. And another.

  "We're not far."

  We were more tired than either of us cared to admit.

  The abandoned outpost was no more than a gray, glorified eight-by-eight shed. But it had a locking door, a solid roof, and a small wood stove. It was among my favorite stops.

  "Another home sweet home?" he asked as we entered the small space.

  Weary yet pleased, I repeated, "Another."

  Dropping my bag, I pulled some dusty blankets free from a barrel in the corner. Handing them to Ren, along with a short broom, I said, "Beat the dust out of these. I'll be back with firewood."

  I didn't wait for an answer before sprinting outside with a handsaw to a cluster of young trees. They were already dead, they just didn't have the weight to pull them down. The taller surrounding trees had siphoned the light, leaving the fair cluster to die rather than thrive.

  The sun hung lethargically as I walked back. With a handful of cut wood in one hand, I pulled a few of the thin trees with my other, dropping them outside the door.

  "We can cut the rest as we need it," I said, stacking the thin logs close to the stove. The old ashes smelled as if we'd climbed into a giant pipe someone's grandpa would smoke on an old front porch. The smell would cling to our clothes long after the shed was nothing but a memory.

  Ren had the matches in his hand. "Do you mind?"

  "Sure."

  I closed the door, surprised, as he started a decent fire in less time than it took to rifle through the bin for a pair of shoes.

  "No shoes." The discovery sat harder than I anticipated. "I left some not long ago."

  "You know what prevents stuff from disappearing? A real house with a real lock with a real yard with a gate."

  "The village dream."

  Ignoring my comment, he said, "You owe me an answer."

  I nodded. "I do. First, sit. Let me change your bandage."

  He sat down, legs splayed, facing me. I crossed my legs, sitting between his. The outside of my knees rested on the tops of his. It was intimate, but excusable as a necessity. We met such a short time ago, under dire circumstances, with a world of opposition in our sights, yet I found it hard to believe how comfortable I was in his presence. This close to a Privileged with outlandish thoughts in my head left me wondering how well I knew myself. All this time, I was happy to be alone.

  Or so I lied.

  After Ren removed his shirt, exposing his broad chest, I unwound the bandage and held my breath, hoping not to see swelling or seeping fluid.

  "It looks okay." The shock was thick in my voice.

  "You're a better doctor than you think."

  I ran my hands along the sides of his neck, just under his ears and jaw. As before, Ren sat patiently, his nervous energy settling under my touch. His skin was smooth until I reached the new growth of stubble around his jawline. The short hairs were a few shades darker than the hair framing his face. My hands played along the spikey border as I commented, "You're still warm."

  "Because you're so close," he ventured. I started to back away when he grabbed my wrist and smiled. "To the fire. We're too close to the fire."

  We were, though it had nothing to do with the blush on my cheeks.

  "Still," I retracted my arm, "Let's keep an eye on it."

  "Let's," he repeated with a fervor that made me uncomfortable.

  "Stop."

  "Being agreeable?"

  "You know what you're doing. Stop."

  We moved back from the fire, and I scooted over, moving away from Ren.

  Unpacking the vines from my bag, I began forming two piles. Ren observed the long strips as I first measured then looped a cord around my large toes. Once I held the end of the two loops, I wove them together with more cord.

  "What are you making?"

  "Shoes." Hunching over as I worked, I reminded him, "I didn't have time to do this after I burned my other ones. Having decent protection underfoot, no matter what it's comprised of, makes all the difference."

  The bark groaned and occasionally popped in the fire, sizzling and hot. The smell was relaxing. A good fire smelled of home. I made fast work of the sandals by firelight, wrapping twine through the right placements to tie them to my feet in the morning.

  Finally, I sat them to the side and laid down, heaping a thick blanket over my legs, drawing it up to cover my torso. My jacket made the perfect pillow. The healing heat licked at my feet, unwinding some of the stress. The intense pain in my wrist was no more than a shadow. I almost relaxed completely, until Ren laid down right next to me, resting his good arm behind his head.

  "You owe me an answer."

  "To any question. I haven't forgotten."

  "I think I'd like to know…if you're human."

  "What does that mean?"

  Unapologetically, he continued. "Has there ever been a human whose company you actually enjoyed? Because that's what humans do. They find comfort in being human."

  "And you think you're human enough to gauge if I'm not?"

  He kind of shrugged. "Not most days."

  Not knowing how to respond to that, I focused on the question. It was hazardous to care about people. This world could offer them up and eat them in the same day. The first generations to face the New Beginning died so much faster than anyone anticipated. So many were lost due to their pure reliance on technology and medicine. Later, more died from complications unassociated with the old world, and everything to do with being ill-equipped for the new. I was born during this time. Shortly after, there was a population boom, followed by good fortune. Followed by blood.

  "When I was twenty-I-think, that was the first time I started noticing the decline. The clans I visited weren't thriving, even during seasons of plenty."

  "The clans were trading with you, even then?"

  "I'm a loophole. I'm clanless. Are they really breaking the law?"

  He grunted his indifference.

  "Anyway, that's when I remember the waves of sickness beginning. It was everywhere. The stench of rotting bodies under the heat of the sun traveled for miles."

  I could see Ren's concentration in the wrinkles of his forehead as he listened.

  "It's an unforgivable smell, skin decomposing under the fingertips of the living. The psychoses might seem cruel, at first, but then you realize it's a gift. Their minds aren't tethered in their rotting sticks of flesh. They don't know that their bodies have died right under their noses. And then, one day, they're not there anymore. The sickness has stolen them away."

  Closing my eyes, I willed myself not to cry.

  Almost whispering, he said, "Some people call them zombies."

  "No, they're just broken bodies. I've helped bury more than anyone should. I've held them." Nodding to myself, I continued. "I've held them in my arms. They don't feel any different. A soul is supposed to weigh twenty-one grams. Did you know that? That's one and a half spoonfuls." I cupped my hand, swirling my finger around in my palm. "So little for some
thing so important. But I couldn't tell when I held them." I dropped my hands.

  "How can you be that close to the sick and still be alive?"

  "You only get one question. Should I finish answering?"

  He nodded.

  "The very next Frost, after my birthday, I was spending a moon cycle with my boyfriend, Deacon, and his clan. We would all eat dinner together by firelight. Sometimes people would laugh, if the children played to their humor, or someone told an anecdote. Or if they were just too happy to keep it trapped inside, I guess. One person would laugh, and then another, like a virus.

  "And then the sickness came. On the wind, maybe. There was at least a hand of snow on the ground." I held up my hand, pointing to the tip of my finger and sliding it to the base of my wrist. "Some of the clan sought help from the nearest village. Fear was ravaging everyone just as much as the sickness. Nothing helped. Nothing stopped it from taking and taking."

  I draped my forearm over my eyes and took a deep breath.

  "A few nights later, Deacon woke me in a panic. He said men were coming. There was no time to take anything, but we had to leave. I remember putting my shoes and coat on while Deacon ran to grab his sisters. They lived a few houses over. But the men had come. I can still hear the crunching of the ice under their boots and see the reflection of moonlight from the snow. I froze in the doorway, almost deaf from their gunfire. It was louder than anything I've ever heard before.

  "Their guns ripped apart everyone I had eaten dinner with by the firelight. They spilled their laughter out into the snow on blood and intestines. The last thing I heard over the gunfire was Deacon screaming, 'Run!'"

  "Did you run?" he asked quietly.

  "I looked for the children first, for anyone alive to take with me." I shook my head. "When the sun had barely risen, I came back. The heat of their blood had melted the snow around their bodies, leaving perfect halos around their heads and torsos. And anything trailing out of their bodies."

  Ren covered his face. "Oh my God," he exhaled.

  "They came to end the sickness." Swallowing hard, I continued, though my voice faltered. "Nothing ends the sickness."

  "I'm sorry."

  Rolling onto my left side, away from Ren, I shrugged before hugging myself. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't human. It might be easier."

  "It's not," Ren said before we fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  I woke up a few times during the night to saw more wood outside the door and keep the fire burning. Ren offered to help between yawns, but it was important that he rest. Our day ahead wouldn't be as long as the day before, but it would be demanding.

  Once the sun was up, I placed the makeshift sandals on my sore soles and wrapped the twine around my ankles and over the tops of my feet. They weren't perfect. A bit small, actually. Still a miracle.

  It would be a better day.

  "Moving up in the world," Ren commented on my shoes.

  "Yes."

  "What's for breakfast?"

  Before I could turn around, we both said, "Jerky."

  "Should I ask what kind it is?" He tried to look serious but failed.

  "Never ask."

  The mood was decidedly lighter than the evening before. I had overshared. I had never told anyone that story, only repeated it in my head more times than there are stars. It burned through my veins every day, disintegrating my heart, only to have it burst to life the next day and start again.

  After pulling my jacket on, I turned to Ren, though I didn't have the confidence to look him in the eyes. Instead, I focused on each jacket button as I clasped them while confessing, "I shouldn't have told you about Deacon."

  There were no jokes or rye smiles when I looked up and found him staring at me.

  "Why?"

  "It's cruel." I shrugged. "It's cruel to share something that can't be changed."

  "Some people think that sharing sadness helps lessen that sadness."

  "It only spreads the pain," I disagreed.

  The red embers in the wood stove sizzled as the water in my makeshift carafe poured over the ashes. There was a modest stack of wood left for whoever stayed next.

  Snatching up the bag and swinging it over my shoulder, I opened the door and motioned for Ren to leave. "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here."

  "Where did you hear that?"

  "I read it on a sign once. It turned out to be correct."

  Ren chuckled. As he walked out, he asked, "How do your feet feel?"

  I wriggled my toes around on top of the tight vines. They would break in.

  "Better," I lied. I walked out behind him and shut the door. "This is it. Today, you go home."

  "Yeah."

  He should have sounded excited or relieved. Instead, he was rather downcast. When he began walking, I fell behind, watching the waves of his sandy hair bounce lightly to the rhythm of his gait. The old shirt he wore pulled taught between his shoulders. As I watched every tiny detail that created this odd man, a malaise fell upon me, as well. I would miss his company.

  Then again, a lot about Ren remained a mystery. He could have talked for days, telling me his secrets, but it would have been futile. Our differences ran deeper. Mine were defined by the blood of the lost while his were encased like a shrine.

  Still, I wondered what could be if our world hadn't cracked into two halves.

  Ren looked back, interrupting my thoughts. "You should really tell me where I'm going. I'm just walking."

  Snickering under my breath, I jogged to his side. "We're going there." I pointed to a cluster of trees.

  "Not to be confused with there or there," he countered, pointing to random trees.

  "Exactly," I joked.

  After we ate our jerky and walked a considerable distance, I could tell Ren had something to say. His jovial spirit from the morning had wilted, becoming sullen and discontent. He was too quiet.

  Clearing his throat, he finally said, "I remember."

  "You remember what?" I asked.

  He stopped walking. Turning to him, I inhaled an uncomfortably long breath.

  "I remember the men from the clanship."

  "What do you mean? From-"

  "From your story," Ren finished for me. "It was my village they sought help from. Everyone was petrified. My father talked about abandoning our home. The one he built with his own hands. They thought the sick would keep coming."

  "Did Deacon's clan spread the sickness to your people?"

  He nodded. "Only the ones who had contact with them. They were given rifles and ushered out of town before their families could even say goodbye. They followed the men back to 'isolate' the illness."

  I squeezed my right hand in the palm of my left as my nightmare intertwined with Ren's account.

  "My best friend was among them. He never came back. I found their graves weeks later." His brow scrunched. "I was glad the men who had killed him were dead. Until last night." Opening his arms, he whispered, "I am so sorry," before drawing me to his chest.

  I was stunned. Not only by his confession but from the way his embrace caused the tightness in my muscles to surrender. When I shut my eyes, the sound of his beating heart in my ear slowed my breathing, and I felt safe from the evils of this world. If just for that heartbeat or two.

  My arms wrapped around his back, pressing him closer, silently counting those precious beats. "I'm sorry your people died," I spoke into his chest.

  "Even after they killed yours?"

  "Of course. Death upon death solves nothing."

  His hands slid to hold my face in his palms. Staring into my russet irises, Ren leaned down, as if he was about to kiss me.

  Slipping out of his grasp, I side-stepped, creating space between us.

  "I was wrong," he blurted.

  "Why?"

  "I-" He shook his head. "I don't know. Because you're over there now instead of over here."

  Thinking about his answer, I settled on a curt, "Okay," before walking again.


  "Okay," he repeated flippantly, catching up to me.

  "We're almost there. And after, you go home."

  "You keep reminding me."

  Ren pushed a grouping of thickets out of our path, holding them long enough for me to pass through safely.

  I observed, "You don't seem to care that you're going home."

  "My relationship with the village is complicated."

  I tried to joke when I asked, "Are you two exclusive?"

  "Yeah," he sighed.

  Again, I had the feeling there was more than Ren was telling me. But he would be gone soon. Knowing less about him now would mean less of him to miss later. Right?

  "Is that the seed bank?" I practically yelped, pointing through the break in the forest.

  "I think so."

  We fought through the last of the thick trees, stepping into a clearing. The building must have been a warehouse before the New Beginning. The siding of the rectangular form was dark green. Camouflaged, of course. Two rows of solar panels lined the roof. There was evidence of an old road, dirt or gravel, by the change in grass color. Nobody had driven on it in quite some time, which was very promising.

  Cautiously, I walked the perimeter, noting the overgrown grass around it. An inconspicuous door was positioned on the far end, adjacent to the wood line. And, as I had been informed days ago, there was a small box attached to the left of the entrance.

  My fingers ran down the side until a small catch unlatched the panel. It swung open, revealing the 'computerized tech pad' I was to look for.

  "I knew it," I accused under my breath.

  Ren walked up behind me and reached his hand over my shoulder. "The moment of truth." The pad came to life under his touch.

  A small swoosh signaled the door opening. I flinched.

  "I almost didn't believe it was real," I muttered, daring to touch the panel again.

  "Not many people know it exists."

  "Have you been here before?"

  "No."

  "How did your print open the door, then?"

  "The entire village's prints are in there. It's like a failsafe in case the guards die and the world ends. Again."

  The dusty room was underwhelming. There were many discarded machines and pieces of broken farm equipment lying about. Boxes lined one entire wall. One wall of hope. I approached it warily, unclenching my fists. It only took a few minutes to ravage them, opening box after box, finding nothing but dust.