by E. L. Giles
The stench of blood instantly fills my nose and makes me want to vomit. The shadow moves in front of me, and I must grit my teeth to suppress a scream at the sight of these pale eyes—gray and familiar but strangely empty, like all life has left them. Josh slowly releases his hand from my mouth, and the first thing I do is rush to feel for any wounds on his body. Anything to tell me what this means. Blood covers his hands and the knife, but as I keep feeling for the deadly wound, I conclude it’s not his own blood that soils him.
I sigh with relief and stare at Josh, taking his shaky hands in mine. I don’t care about the blood. I want him to come back to me, because right now, he’s far away. I don’t recognize these wide and glossy eyes that stare back at me. I search for the sparkle in them, the one I see every time he looks at me. He had it seconds before we hid here. It can’t have disappeared that fast…I fear that whoever Josh has killed also killed something in Josh. But there must be a way for him to come back.
I release Josh’s hands and cup his face between my palms. He’s so cold—he’s never cold. I feel for his heartbeat, and it pounds under my hand at a crazy-fast pace. I pull my face closer to him and kiss him. Maybe my lips will send him enough warmth and he will wake from this manic state. I draw my lips over his and make him breathe the same air as me. His lips remain locked closed, and I must force them open. A slight gap is all I manage, but it’s enough for my tongue to meets his. And that’s what he needed to finally return my kiss. His mouth is still tense but loosens on mine. I feel a rush of warmth emanating from his cheeks, and I know Josh is slowly coming back to me.
I pull him back a little and lock my eyes onto his shaky and puzzled ones.
“I love you,” I say. “Never do that again. Never leave me behind like that.”
The color begins to creep back into his skin. The sparkle I desperately searched for and needed starts to return to his eyes. It shines faintly, but it’s there. Josh is there—my Josh is there—and I won’t let him bear this burden alone. I won’t let him go away from me again. Never.
I will be strong and hold the knife if I need to. I need to.
“We’ll do it together,” I say, brushing my fingers along his fist that still holds the knife.
He forces a nod—I know the idea repulses him—as he cranes his neck over my shoulder.
“It’s time,” he says in a dull voice.
He gets up, helps me to my feet, and we start moving. We turn the corner of the wooden box where we’re hiding, and I see the unificator lying right there at my feet. His throat is slit open, bathing in his own blood.
Too many dead already…but we had no other choice.
I try to shake this vision from my head and concentrate on Josh, who carefully picks the rifle out of the unificator’s hands. I twist my head and catch a glimpse of the other unificator, who stands at the other end of the building, pacing back and forth on the stage. The nightmare isn’t over yet. I don’t know what it’s time to do, but we surely won’t be able to fly away from the main door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We walk into the darkness, the rifle in Josh’s hands and the knife in mine. Only three steps separate us from the rows of benches. Only three steps until we will be exposed, easy targets for the specially trained soldier. Compared to facing him, climbing down the stairs noiselessly and in such a short time was an easy game.
Our time here is limited, if not already gone. In a moment the unificator will try to communicate with his pal who lies dead upstairs. He will know something’s wrong when he gets no answer.
It’s Josh who leads, and I try to follow as best I can. When Josh crouches, I do too, and when he starts to move toward the first row of benches, I move also. Instead of three steps, it takes ten little steps on all fours, crawling like babies so as not to be seen.
Once we get to the first row, we prepare to cross it and make it to the second row—and then the third one. The next four rows won’t provide the necessary shelter though since the benches lie on their backs on the floor. My sweating is uncontrollable. My back is covered in perspiration, and my body feels icy in the cool morning air. The dirt on the floor sticks to my sweaty palms. My entire body feels cold and numb.
The unificator finally—unfortunately—leaves the wreckage at the end of the building where he disappeared when we left the mezzanine. We still haven’t made it across the rows of fallen benches. Josh lies on the floor and pulls me down with him. I barely hear him breathe, and I do the same—hold my breath as much as I can before I feel lightheaded.
From what we hear, the unificator moves down from the stage and is now heading…I don’t know where. I hear nothing. I don’t think Josh can hear him moving anymore either because he has moved to the corner of the bench and is craning his head into the aisle. He stretches one arm behind him and waves his fingers back and forth. He’s telling me to come to him.
From our new position, we distinctly see the unificator turning the corner and walking along the wall up to the side door where he stops. He paces back and forth around the wreckage piled up in front of the door until he finally decides to remove one tall wooden plank and drop it on the floor, right where the leading unificator had piled his own. He then picks up another one, drops it, and takes another. I can’t believe he’s clearing the way out. Above all, I can’t believe he is that careless.
The sound of shattering rubble and planks of wood hitting the floor pierces my eardrums. We could jump and cry out, and the unificator wouldn’t notice. Josh twists his head over his shoulder and gestures for me to give him the knife. I can’t believe it’s going to happen again, and I can’t let Josh do it. I shake my head and mouth the word “me.”
He hurriedly refuses, horror in his eyes, as I expected he would. “We don’t have time,” he murmurs. “Give it to me.”
I won’t.
The unificator breathes more heavily. He must be running out of strength.
“Now!” insists Josh. I unwillingly hand him the knife. What else could I have done?
He silently drops the rifle on the floor and disappears behind the rows of benches in front of me. I don’t see him; I don’t hear him. I don’t know where he is, but I do see the unificator still messing around with the door. Moments later, a tall, winged shape jumps out from the dark and grips the unificator from behind, one hand clapping over his mouth while the one with the knife slides across the unificator’s throat.
Blood drips along Josh’s hand as he carefully lays the body on the floor. I feel bile rise in my mouth as my stomach squeezes. Knowing Josh has killed someone was already barely tolerable. Seeing it happen is unimaginable.
I get up, a bit lightheaded, and go to Josh as fast as I can.
“Are you all right?” I ask under my breath.
His mouth is a straight line that betrays the fact that he is not all right. He takes me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. I feel the heat emanating from him like a fire. He’s still somewhat there with me thankfully. The stench of sweat and blood fills my nose, but I don’t care. I can manage it as long as I feel Josh, feel his breath, and feel that he’s alive.
Josh pulls out of our embrace and leans over the dead unificator. He unties the strap of the rifle from around the unificator’s shoulder, slides it off, and hands it to me.
“We’ll fly out that door,” says Josh as he points to the spot the soldier has cleared, “and we’ll disappear into the woods.”
As he speaks, I notice how faint and undetermined his voice is. But before I can assess what’s wrong, he unfolds his wings, flaps them fiercely over his head, and flies over the mezzanine where we stood a few minutes ago. He soon comes back with the bag in his hands and lands beside me.
I take his hand as he strides past me. “You sure you’re all right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says dryly and stops. “I killed two men, and there’s a whole lot more outside. I don’t see how things could be better.”
“I told you to let me do it,” I say. “You thin
k I’m too weak to help you out?”
“What?” he says, frowning. “It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then why?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, his voice turning cold and harsh. “What if he had killed you?”
“What if he had killed YOU?” I reply in the same tone, pointing a finger and pressing it into his chest.
We remain silent for several seconds, both staring at our feet. “I’m sorry,” Josh finally says as he turns to me, hand outstretched. “I—I don’t want to lose you. That’s all.”
“Neither do I.” I take his hand in mine and pull him closer to me.
“Zone one cleared. Zone two cleared,” say voices coming from the communication device the dead unificator held. We both jump at the sound, startled. They’re at zone four, and I wonder what zone we are in. How much time do we have left before they rush in here, rifles up and ready to kill?
“We must hurry,” says Josh.
Josh steps over the unificator’s body toward the door, turns the doorknob frantically from left to right and starts to lose his patience. He pushes and pulls on the doorknob, but all it does is loosen the broken mechanism. His hands shake violently. He can’t manage this by himself. I push him aside and grip the doorknob carefully. I must say I have plenty of experience with loose and broken doorknobs. My apartment only had broken knobs, from the main door to the water closet and I learned how to manage them fast and efficiently.
After a few seconds of jiggling the locking mechanism, I finally manage to assemble both pieces together and turn the latch back. Josh then helps me push the door open several inches so he can peer outside. When he confirms that it’s clear, we widen the gap and wriggle our bodies through the opening. Less than five steps later, we find ourselves jumping into the underbrush that surrounds the opening.
The earth beneath our feet feels spongy, saturated with water, as we run. Everything is wet from the foliage over our head that drips to the lower branches and foliage that soaks me from chest to toe as if I were in the shower. A gray overhang of clouds covers the sky above our head, and it feels like we’re slowly entering the autumn season with its fresh, cold air and rainy days.
We stop at the top of a slope and crouch behind the bushes, staring down at the troop of unificators gathering at the center of the field, near the building with the tee we just left. There are twelve. One of them moves to the center of the circle they’ve formed and calls over his communication device. After several seconds, he begins to yell at it, and I’m sure he’s trying to communicate with the two dead unificators. The leader gestures a hand toward the door of the building we left, and instantly, two unificators detach from the gathering and run to the side of the building, taking the stairs two at a time and slamming the door open with a single kick of their heels.
“He’s here,” the unificator says into his communication device. Seconds later the leader scowls with the radio to his ear. “Find him and bring him back, dead or alive.”
Dead or alive. The blood drains from my face. Josh takes my hands and pulls me forward into a restless run. Sweat wets our palms, and our hands glide against each other, rendering our hold a challenge. The woods here are uninviting, and wild. The trees grow tightly against each other, and as we cross through them, branches snap on my face like the lashes of a whip. My right cheek feels numb, and we’ve only been running for a couple of minutes. What will it be like in an hour?
“Where are we going?” I ask, out of breath as we enter a place I’d like to have never seen. “Do you know this…place?”
“This place” is merely desolation, the remains of cement foundations and rotten debris, and sections of pavement that lay cracked, covered by foliage and the greenery that has grown through it. The stench of rot saturates the air. I notice that the street signs still stand straight, unaltered by the ages, beside their rusted stands, which only adds to the horror they inspire. Mist crawls on the ground at knee height, rendering the place even drearier than it is.
“I…” Josh starts, “I’ve never come here before today. Alastair always warned me not to come too close to places with these signs.” He points at a rusted sign across from us, which is loosely bolted onto a section of metal fence that hasn't fallen. The lettering is covered with dirt, but as I squint, I successfully decipher what it is says: Stay Out! Infected Area.
A chill makes its way up my spine as I remember Alastair’s stories about these specific areas that were contaminated by the bombs and the chemicals used during the ancient wars. “Only death lives there,” he’d said. I think even death wouldn’t stay here for too long.
At first sight, it seems there’s not a single building or house still standing. Everything is in ruins. But then as I scan the surrounding landscape for the third time, I notice a tall and dark red shape past the thick rows of firs and bushes. I release Josh’s hand, move closer to the dark shape, and find that it’s the remains of a two-story, red-brick house. Its roof has partly collapsed, as has an entire section of a wall, but it still stands straight on its foundation.
“There,” I point at the house, “we could hide there and think of a plan.”
Josh remains quiet, contemplating the house as he walks toward me. He turns his head a few times, looking thoughtful—probably evaluating our limited options—but ultimately looks unconvinced. Why is that? It looks perfect to me.
“Do you have a better plan?” I ask sharply, immediately regretting the harshness in my voice.
Before I can apologize for it, he says, “Should do fine. Let’s go.”
We sprint to the house, and as I tighten the strap of the rifle across my chest—preventing it from bouncing and knocking into the small of my back as we run—we disappear into the brush that separates us from the house. The plants here have thorns that rip at my bare skin and catch on the fabric of my dress. As if I wasn’t already bruised and scratched enough.
Behind the leafy and thorny barrier are the remains of the house. A pile of red bricks and wooden planks form a hill we need to climb over to get to it. With all the pointy pieces of shattered glass and nails that stick out, it won’t be an easy task.
Beside the pile is the half-buried carcass of what seems to have been a…car? I’m not sure with its weird, elongated shape and lights that run across the hood and end before the hinges of the door. At least that’s what remains visible, and from what I see, all I can say is that people of that time had peculiar taste.
Josh climbs the little hill first and helps me over the trickier parts. Once we get to the top, I look back at the path from where we’ve come. It’s barely visible, which means we won’t be easily noticeable from the road. Josh heads down the hill, and I follow him.
The main floor of the house is scattered with holes the size of my head. Some are even wider, and we could easily get stuck in one. The amount of dirt, dust, and shattered glass and wood is as plentiful as outside. We start moving, carefully avoiding the holes and other obstacles. More than ever I need to hold Josh’s hand. I need it, not only to get through this maze of ruins but to help me hold it together and not choke on the fear that waits to grip me.
We stop by a set of stairs that leads to the second story. Josh seems highly interested in going up, but I’m not sure I trust it with the many missing steps and the dangling handrails. It’s likely we would impale ourselves on the tall nails that stand out from beneath the stairwell. Josh climbs a few steps and then stops. He jumps in place once, twice, and then three times, probably feeling for its safety.
“Looks solid enough.” He stretches out a hand to me. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I take his hand, and we start climbing. My legs burn and shake, and it’s not just because of our previous run. It’s also because I don’t trust the stairs and stiffen on every step. The second story looks even worse than the main floor.
The frame of the roof is partially collapsed, revealing the gray sky. A chilly breeze crawls through the house and makes me want to
bury myself in Josh’s arm. So, I do. It only takes a few seconds for his warmth to radiate through me and for my body to stop shuddering.
As Josh moves toward the window pane on the main hall, I sit on a nearby chair. Now that the rush of our escape is evaporating and the energy that kept me alert begins to disappear, I feel I can barely stand anymore. I need a moment to get myself together, to prepare myself for what’s to come. For now, that’s impossible. I only see the dead bodies of the unificators lying on the floor. I imagine the blade sliding along their throats. I smell the acrid blood. Images of the convoy pop into my head and with them the guilt and terror that ache in my chest.
Josh stands away from me, his shoulder leaning against the wall beside the window and his head tilted, also resting on the wall. At first glance he looks calm, composed, but I know he isn’t. I know now because I know him better. He’s not like me. He keeps it all inside, he collects all of his emotions until he feels they’ll overflow.
Josh breathes out a long and heavy sigh. His hands tremble. I get to my feet and head toward him. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. I distinctly hear his heartbeat, fast and strong like mine, which now beats on my right cheek. Right now, what we both need is to feel better, to momentarily forget about it all. I pull his face closer to mine and lock my mouth on his. Kissing is the safest shelter from my torments right now. And I think it is for him as well. One of his hands slips down to the small of my back. The kissing intensifies, turning passionate, and then slows until our lips part. I sink into the pale-gray of his eyes, and reality strikes us.
“You think we’ll need it?” I ask Josh as he unties the strap and leans the rifle on the wall under the window.
Josh shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly.
+++
The plan Josh has worked up is quite simple. From what I get, we’ll fly back to the house once the sun sets, which is a couple of hours from now. No one will notice us in the air by night, and we’ll make it in less time than by foot. From there, it’s like we’d planned earlier; Alastair will guide us all to the safest spot he knows. Overall, that’s the plan, and it includes no death, no loss, but a considerable and potentially painful effort from Josh to make it back to the house with me in his arms. If only I could share this effort with him. Now the only thing left is to pray the unificators won’t come to the house—not the one in which we currently stand, but the one we call home. But Josh said, “Trust me, Alastair will see them coming way before they arrive.”
