by R. D. Hale
Out of the females here, Sirah unquestionably looks like the toughest. She has a large, round face which is mostly yellow-brown, but pink at the cheeks, and she has bristles on her chin. She could easily be mistaken for a man, given she stands almost six foot tall, but I would not dare say that aloud.
'And I take it Owen isn't allowed to go with you, anymore?' Bex says.
'Hey, what's that supposed to mean?' Owen frowns from several tables away. He is a skinny older guy with no front teeth and a long nose that bends at the bottom.
'Well, no offence but you sound about as useful as Scoop and Oscar.' Bex smirks and the boys say: 'Hey!'
'If you're referring to the fact I didn't help, it's because I couldn't see what was going on. I was at the front,' Owen says.
'And your ears weren't wor–'
'Well, the important thing is everyone safely escaped,' I interrupt to stop Bex walking into an argument, then I turn to Kezan and say: 'You'll need that bite treated. It could be at risk of infection. I've been told the plague usually enters through flesh wounds.'
'Well, it's not like I'll be getting medical treatment any time soon, but I'm not too concerned. The wound's healing quite nicely,' Kezan says.
Next Step
My bones hurt as I wake in the morning and climb from the filthy sleeping bag. I too smell like stray dogs now. Adding coals to the fire drums, I stand over the flames, undeterred by the smoke, and within minutes, the other three have joined me, shivering. I barely notice the fire warmth, and the temperature is probably not that low, but when you spend a night in the open, your body heat vanishes. It will take a long time to warm up.
'I cannot spend another night like this. That was horrific,' Bex says, rubbing the sleeves of her coat which is not quite padded enough.
'Yeah, if we're gonna stay any longer, we'll need to figure out a way to keep warm,' I say.
'W-we need supplies. We're gonna have to go down there,' Oscar says.
'It's too risky.' I glance over my shoulder, hearing a distant noise which could be an explosion, then I spot a wisp of smoke in the cityscape. The next explosion could be anywhere, including our current position, and yet the missile lottery is one of our lesser problems. 'Soldiers or crazies could be lying around any corner and we have no way of knowing…'
The four of us shuffle awkwardly, knowing we must take action we would rather avoid, because inaction is not optional. We have been forced into this position quite deliberately by those who pretend to care, whether they be the Elites who made us outcasts, or the coalition who started the war, or whoever manufactured the plague, or the villagers who are reluctant to share.
Sure, some have a degree of conscience – most people do – but that is missing the point. We could strive to eliminate risks for one another, but we usually choose the opposite, or something between, under the belief things will become easier for ourselves if someone else struggles. This approach always backfires, but we lack the empathy to change, and follow the same pattern until eventually the destruction catches up.
And here we are.
A door creaks open, then Kezan emerges from his nearby hut and approaches the gang, saying: 'If I could get my damn CUS working, we could check for reports, see if the area has low military presence today. When the power went down, our gadgets were fried for some reason. I don't even kn–'
'EMPs,' I say, shifting my gaze in response to Kezan's 'something between' which involves us returning to the danger he originally lured us away from. While he clearly desires our safe return, at least part of the reason will be the resources we gather.
'What are they?' Kezan says and I hesitate, realising I am just regurgitating jargon.
'How should I know? I'm just tel–'
'Electro-magnetic pulses – they disrupt electrical equipment, cause power surges which can fry circuitry, make invasion that much easier,' Oscar says without stuttering. It seems he only struggles with small words. Go figure.
'Well, that would make sense, but our perpetuator seems to be in working order, strangely enough. It still has a functioning power bar,' Kezan says.
'So we'd be able to power a CUS if we had one?' Oscar says.
'You could charge your phaser too. Like you said, the battery won't last forever,' Kezan says. 'And if it does charge, then we'd know the perpetuator really is functioning.'
Kezan leads us from the fire drums to a tiny hut, unbolting the door to reveal piles of gadgetry and equipment. He pulls out a perpetuator and charging cable, replaces a few spilled items, and closes the door. Sure enough, the perpetuator's power bar is lit up, confirming the large, yellow brick is at 54% capacity.
Kezan plugs the charging cable into the perpetuator, and I unclip my phaser, then check for a charging port, finding one on the bottom of the handle. I attach the cable and three small lights shine in a repeated sequence, beside the port. I assume these mean the phaser is charging.
I sit beside the junk shed for an hour or so, tightly gripping the phaser so it cannot be stolen. The villagers may seem friendly, but such a weapon is invaluable, right now, and bottom-levellers cannot be fully trusted at the best of times. Plus, I need to keep my brother's wallet safe.
'So if we get into the building, we can find some extra blankets, food and water,' I say to the others at the table; my legs growing restless and my belly rumbling.
'You should only be limited by what you can carry up the ladder, or the shard. We can lend you our rucksacks,' Kezan says.
'Let's do it. This phaser should fend off the crazies. We can scan the area from the rooftop, ensure there are no soldiers coming, then we'll hurry. Straight down the fire escape and into the front door. Nice and simple, right?' I say.
Kezan retrieves a rucksack from his hut, two others from the small junk shed, then borrows a fourth from Sirah. He hands them over to the gang and we strap them to our shoulders. I disconnect the phaser from the charging cable, feeling nervous at the prospect of leaving our sanctuary.
'They contain empty filtration flasks. Make sure you fill 'em up at a tap,' Kezan says. 'It won't be much, but our rainwater drums are half-empty so anything is better than nothing.'
We each approach a different roof-ledge to scan the area, and I see no-one from my position, not even the crazies I stunned on the intersecting road. However, my range of vision is limited by the neighbouring buildings, and I have no way of knowing if someone is just around the corner. The view reveals two rooftops without huts, and many concrete walls. And I know life is lingering beyond the window glare, but there are no signs. It feels as though death has already arrived, but our enemies do not need to kill to stop the process of living.
Veterans of the Great War say genocide comes in many forms, and is not so much about body count, but the destruction of a culture. You achieve that, you write the history books, and gloss over the atrocities. You officially become heroes, but many of our veterans do not consider their participation to be heroic. Still, the leaders who screwed them over insist otherwise.
I head to the fire escape, and the others meet me at the top of the stairs which are screwed onto the wall. They hardly inspire confidence, even though I am overcoming vertigo, but the villagers climb them regularly, right?
'All I saw was the dead body the soldiers shot. Horrible to think she's just left in the road. What about you guys?' Kezan says.
'Not even a crazy,' I say.
'Me neither… Me neither… Nor me…'
We hurry down the fire escape which rattles, making more noise than I would like, and at the bottom level, Kezan lowers the ladder into the graffiti-filled alley. 'I'll pull the ladder up once you're down, and I'll wait for as long as it's safe to do so. If I'm not here, you'll have to climb the shard. Good luck, and be careful. Those crazies are unpredictable.'
I am first to climb down the ladder, readying my phaser as the others join me on the ground. We scurry from the alley, checking left and right, then rushing across the pavement to the entrance of the apartment building.
The door is reinforced with metal like all social housing doors and would be impenetrable if it was locked. I nervously push the ajar door, stepping back as it swings open, then I point my phaser inside, and scan a huge lobby which leads into many passages.
We enter the building, partly closing the door, and memories of the house in the dene come flooding back. This mission could well turn out the same way, only this time, I will not be shooting dummies. The light comes mostly from blurred glass in the distant stairwell, and barely reaches the rubble-filled corridors. We stay together, checking dozens of doors on the bottom floor, but ignoring the ones closest to the rubble produced by the shard. All are locked tight and reinforced so there will be no breaking in.
'Let's head up to the next floor,' I whisper and we return to the lobby. We pass two elevators, then climb concrete stairs beside windows crisscrossed with wire. On the first floor, we find an open door and sneak inside, carefully checking the tiny rooms: a bedroom, another bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room/kitchen. The place has clearly been abandoned and not much has been left behind.
We check the cupboards and fridge for food, but there is nothing, apart from a loaf of bread which is now mostly green fuzz. The sink contains a layer of brownish slime and the windows have black patches in the corners. I turn the tap and water runs so we fill all seven filtration flasks, gulp the water, fill them up again, and put them in our rucksacks. Scoop sneaks past a two-seater couch, towards the doorway so I whisper: 'Where are you going?'
'I need the toilet,' Scoop says, heading to the bathroom and we follow, waiting outside the door. A trickling then the toilet flushes, and I wince at the noise as Oscar swaps places with Scoop. I stand in the dark passage, pointing my phaser at the main door in case the flushing has attracted crazies, but this block is so quiet you would hear them coming.
'You may as well go next. I didn't see any toilets on the rooftop,' I mutter to Bex, suddenly concerned about what the villagers do when they need to go. Some questions are best left unanswered.
Once all four of us have used the toilet, we check every cupboard, finding a small blanket and an old blouse, but nothing else of use. We leave the apartment, and as we approach the next door, I jump out of my skin because it opens slightly of its own accord. I approach on my tiptoes with my phaser ready, back to the wall, and when I am opposite the door, I spot an eyeball peering through the gap. The eyeball quickly vanishes and the door remains ajar but chained.
'It's okay,' I whisper. 'Who are you?'
A pause, then a female voice says: 'My name is Cali. You're not one of the crazy people, are you?'
'If we were crazies, we'd be beating your door down. We're just looking for supplies in the building.' I lower my phaser, realising my choice of words may not seem as gentle as my tone.
'Well, I don't have any supplies.'
'Don't worry, we're not here to rob you,' I say.
'You couldn't rob me. I don't have anything, not even medicine. I'll be dead soon.'
'What medicine do you need?' I say, seeing an opportunity to make a useful ally, and hoping the boys do not scare her off.
'Insulin. I'm diabetic. I need food too. I ate my last tin yesterday. I'd been saving it for two days. I'm weak and I don't think I have the strength to go out there.'
'We can get you some food. We might even be able to get you some insulin if we get lucky, or think of a plan. Let us check the rest of this building for supplies and we'll come back to you,' I say.
Cali
Cali locks her front door and we continue to explore the stabler half of the building. We raid several apartments, finding spare clothes which we eagerly put on, layering up, and still I feel cold as I waddle in extra pants. We obtain more blankets and tins of food, and my rucksack now weighs a ton. We find no indication of another person in the building, yet I sense some could be hiding like Cali was, too afraid to make a sound. Or maybe ready to pounce from behind their door.
We return to the second floor, knocking on Cali's door and receiving no answer. I go to knock again, stopping as I am interrupted. 'I think it was this door.' Bex knocks on the previous door, and a minute or so later, she receives an answer. A familiar eyeball peers through the gap, just above the chain. 'We have some food now.'
'Oh, okay,' Cali whispers.
'Is it okay if we come inside? We won't do anything, I promise. Here.' I pull a tin of baked beans from my rucksack and squeeze it through the gap. Cali collects the tin, closes the door and falls silent. The door does not reopen and the gang exchange confused glances.
'What now?' Bex whispers.
'Just give her a minute,' I say.
We give Cali several minutes and finally the door opens; this time with no chain. 'Come in,' she says, and we enter her darkened passage, then she hurriedly locks the door. Finally, I can see more of the woman than just an eyeball. She is small and withered, and swamped by layers of loose clothing. Lines are etched into her sagging face which is framed by straggled, mousey hair, and still she does not seem old. Maybe early thirties.
She leads us into a front room dimly lit by a window with drawn, cream curtains. A compuscreen is fixed to the wall, but there is nothing in the way of decoration. The kitchen area contains basic appliances – a fridge, a microwave, an unfamiliar device – and cabinets with wood-effect plastic peeling at the corners. The empty tin is sitting on a coffee table with a fork poking from the top, and a tin opener is sitting beside it. I guess Cali was really hungry. I know the feeling.
'So, you're all by yourself?' Bex says as we stand awkwardly, near a couple of grey two-seater sofas, and my legs are ready to collapse.
'Yes, I prefer it that way, or at least I did until all this started,' Cali says.
'You must've been terrified, being home alone when the shard fell,' I say.
'I've never heard anything like it. I can still feel the shockwaves, hear the screams. I looked out the window to see people running into the street. No-one looked injured, but of course the victims were already dead. I didn't know what had happened at this point. I assumed it was an explosion, thought I was safer inside.
'It wasn't until the next morning, I left my apartment, and saw the damage to the building. I went into the street to have a look, thought about packing and leaving, but then I was chased by crazy people and barely made it back inside. I've been stuck in my apartment since, unable to work, or visit the shops or chemists, living off the limited supplies in my cupboards which are now gone.'
'I can't say I blame you for hiding. Our time has been spent running from soldiers and crazies. We've been shot at, held at gun-point. We've seen dead bodies,' I say, and Cali takes a seat so we do the same – girls on one sofa, boys on another, rucksacks at our feet.
'At least you're far from the damaged area. This b-building's huge. I mean it's not the tallest I've seen, but it's long and wide,' Oscar says.
'Yeah, I just pretend like it's not the same building, like something happened down the street. Even if there's a collapse at that end, I think I'll be okay. I'm no expert, but I see no reason why this half of the building would collapse,' Cali says.
'I certainly hope you're right about that… Do you mind if we eat? We're famished,' I say and Cali collects forks from her kitchen drawer, handing them out to the gang. I remove macaroni and cheese from my rucksack, then grab the tin opener from the coffee table. I open the tin and wolf down my food as the others open their tins. Then I hand Cali a tin of peaches which she does not open.
'There's more food in the other apartments, but you'll have to be quick. It won't be long until it's all gone.' I place my empty tin on the coffee table, then place the lid and fork inside.
'That might be a problem. Without insulin, I'm incredibly weak. Eating can kill me as easily as not eating can. It's quite the dilemma,' Cali says.
'If you can tell me where to get insulin from, I might be able to help you,' I offer cautiously, because this woman is clearly not exaggerating. She reminds me of a shrivelling yellow p
lant in desperate need of water.
'There's a chemist on Sutherlynd Street. It's about a mile away, near the mall,' Cali says.
'Emmi, that's too far. We won't make it back,' Bex says.
'We walked all day through Medio without encountering crazies, and we managed to hide from the soldiers we encountered. We can manage a mile to save someone's life,' I say.
'But that's crazy,' Bex says.
'Look, you guys don't have to come. It'll be safer if I go alone. I just need to know exactly what I'm looking for,' I say.
Cali heads to her bin and rummages through the rubbish, removing a small white box which she brings over. It contains the word Aelixyr at the top and below is small writing, including the word insulin. Seems pretty straightforward.
'Go out the front, turn right, left, then right, and follow the road for a mile. It's easy to find,' Cali says and this was clearly her reason for opening the door. She gambled to restore her health, and this phaser offers a realistic chance so I collect the box, putting it inside my pocket. She approaches the sink and washes her hands.
'As soon as my strength returns, I'll try to get some for you, but I can't make any promises. I'm not even sure if I'll manage to get into the chemist, but I'll give it my best shot,' I say.
The Search for Insulin
'We need to return to our friends to drop off supplies, but we'll return as soon as we can,' I say, remembering Kezan should be waiting at the fire escape, probably wondering what on Eryx is taking so long. 'When we're out there, we'll assess the situation, see if we can help like we talked about.' The boys shift their gazes and squirm on the opposite couch, clearly unenthused by the idea.
'Okay, thank you for your kindness, especially the food,' Cali says.
'You're very welcome. Thank you for getting us out the cold. It's a tough time and we need to stick together, help each other out,' I say and Cali stares at her fidgety hands. 'Are you sure you'll be okay for a few hours?'
