Atlas (Apocalyptic Cries Book 1)

by Adalie Jordin

  I tell him more about Jeremy, how he’s sick, and how I managed to find the medicine he needs — for now anyway. I don’t talk about Dad, or Mom. Or my feelings about her and Commander Nyler.

  It’s nice to just kick back and chill for a while, reminiscing on the past. Of people long gone, and activities that don’t exist anymore but we wish did.

  I feel my attraction to Luca growing with every minute he spends here with me, and I know it’s developing beyond simple lust.

  I need to be careful.

  But for this moment, I allow myself to just enjoy being here, right now, with him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Luca stayed well into the morning, but eventually he had to get to his job assignment. It didn’t occur to me until after he’d left that I still don’t know where that is. I’m curious, but I’m no cat. Should be pretty easy to find out if I really want to know. The Compound isn’t that big.

  Which reminds me… How did I not notice Gladys’ absence? She was an integral part to keeping this place running! Her records of everyone here house the only resident information Atlas keeps. And she was always about, waving to me on her way to deliver some paperwork or other to Commander Nyler.

  It’s strange, then, that I hadn’t thought of her lack of presence until after the fact.

  Once again, guilt runs through me, but I shove it down. Resolving to start my day on a good note.

  Gearing up to go visit Jer, the movements of my body cause an awful odor to waft through the air, reminding me I still stink like fuck underneath my pj's. I can’t imagine what Luca must have thought last night!

  A blush heats my cheeks as images of how close we’d been dance before me. There’s no possible way he didn’t smell the smoke — the death — in my hair, but he hadn’t said a word.

  Chivalrous? I have no clue.

  I at least need to shower before visiting Jeremy. No way am I subjecting a seven-year-old to this gag-worthy odor.

  Picking out another set of clean clothes, or as clean as they can be when we’re only allowed one laundry trip every two weeks - once a week if we’re lucky - I quickly make my way to the campus showers. I scrub enough to wash away the grime and most of the stench, but it’ll take another wash or two before it dissipates fully.

  Dipping my head down for a sniff at my armpit, I cringe. It’ll have to do, but boy it’s not pretty. I’d love to have some frilly flower-scented deodorant right about now — fucking apocalypse.

  Satisfied no one will be the wiser, I cut the shower short by five minutes. No knock needed this time, guard bros! Twirling my dripping mop of curls up into a bun, I hurry to fasten it with a holder I religiously keep on my wrist, trying to keep from getting soaked by the water pouring out. Why must long hair be such a hassle?

  Drying off, I get dressed in the outfit I’d brought with me. Tank top and skinny jeans for the win, once again. Tossing the filthy pj’s into a locker to come back for at a later time, I head out in the direction of the infirmary.

  Technically, Jeremy doesn’t need to stay within there any longer, since the medicine I’d brought back had regulated his sugars and made his diabetes manageable. But, much like me, he’s feeling The Incubator’s lack of care lately.

  The last time I’d come by, I’d taken a peek at the visitor’s log to see if she’d chosen to stop being a cunt and show her face to her only son… She hadn’t. Not for two weeks, at least.

  Bitch.

  I’ll just have to be what she clearly can’t — a responsible adult.

  Stopping at Nurse Nance’s station inside the infirmary door, I offer her a cheeky wave as I jot my name down on the list, having to tap the stupid pen on the counter a few times to make it work. The older woman gives me a long-suffering look, but I just shrug and walk away off in Jer’s direction.

  He’s in his usual corner that houses all the video games Atlas has acquired, curled up into a fluffy bean bag chair. He’s so engrossed in his playing, he doesn’t even notice me walk up. I love that the world ending hasn’t made him lose his youthfulness. I step up close, tapping him on his bony shoulder and smiling when he nearly jumps out of his skin. “Hey, Jer, how’re you feeling today? Have you had lunch yet?”

  “Yes, mom, I have. Breakfast too.” I tense at his offhanded jest, trying my best not to outwardly react. I know he doesn’t intend harm with his words. He’s touching a little too close to my recent thoughts for comfort, though.

  Locking my smile in place so he can’t read the dark places my mind has gone, I crouch down beside him, getting onto his level. “Good. I was wondering if you’d like to help me with handing out prescriptions today? You’d get to leave the infirmary for a bit while we made rounds.”

  “Really?? You’d let me come? But I thought Nurse Nance said I needed to avoid overexertion, and stay close by, with my new doses still settling and all?” I fight back a frown, wondering why she’d give him that particular order. In my pre-med days, nothing was mentioned about diabetics needing to be less active when they were on the mend. Another thing to file away, affectionately earmarked ‘later’ in my mental storage cabinet.

  “Yes, really.” I give his small arm a squeeze. “Go get out of those pajamas and put some shoes on while I gather everything up.”

  He doesn’t waste any time. Leaping up from his comfy chair and racing across the room to the small set of drawers by his hospital bed, he closes the hanging curtain to block himself from view.

  Shaking my head in amusement, I grab a worn-out medical bag from a cabinet along the wall and begin collecting the bottles and syringes we’ll need for today. My duty at The Compound, and my way of ‘giving back’ as someone with medical training, is to oversee what little supplies we have. Delivering meds to Compound members on the days Nurse Nance isn’t able to, or just doesn’t feel like walking about that long, is also a part of the deal.

  Performing the latter task has fallen to me more and more in the last few weeks, I’ve noticed. Don’t get me wrong, I admire Nance for her ability to know what people need when they’re ill, but damn is she lazy. If she didn’t like the notoriety her position offers, I don’t think she’d do anything at all around here.

  Thanks to her loafing, I’ve actually been getting to know people I usually wouldn’t socialize with. Win-win? The jury’s still out.

  I’ve always preferred to stick to the background of our new society, not getting too close to people. It’s simpler that way. When you aren’t sure if the next day will be your last, attachments aren’t ideal. But that doesn’t mean I want to be completely isolated twenty-four seven. I actually enjoy the menial task of going door to door with meds. It makes me feel good to know I still have a way to help people, even when my dream of becoming a doctor has fallen flat due to the outbreak.

  I have more medical knowledge now than what I gained in nearly two years of schooling. But I’ve always been a more hands-on learner than anything else, so I guess it makes sense that the end of the world would have me stepping up where I can.

  “Ready, sis?” Jer chirps happily, coming to stand beside me at the medicine cabinet.

  “Yep, just have to get Old Man Wilson’s heart medication and we’ll be set to go.” Plunking the last item into the bag, I hang it across my lower forearm like a purse, then reach down to grab Jeremy’s hand. It’s so small in mine that for a moment I worry I’ll hurt him. I hate how malnourished he’s become.

  Proper medicine will fix that soon.

  “Who do you want to see first, kiddo?” He’s only been able to come with me twice before, but Jeremy has an astounding memory and he’s managed to retain the names of each person we’d aided those days.

  I wonder if he can teach me how to do that?

  “How about Miss Jessie? She always has treats ready when we go.”

  I laugh. Always thinking with his stomach, just like any typical male. “Sure. Come on.”

  ◆◆◆

  Jeremy was right, Jessie does have a few smuggled rice-cakes on hand when w
e show up at her door. They’re rare to come by nowadays, but I don’t bother asking her where she managed to scrounge them up. Since they only have a small amount of sugar in them, I give Jeremy the go ahead to accept one as I get to work.

  Jessie’s an old pro with taking injections, so she doesn’t even glance my way as she chats it up with Jer, proffering her arm for me to administer the meds. Her skin is aged and marked with tiny circular scars, showing proof of a life spent catering to her illness.

  Tying off an elastic band around her upper arm, I have her make a fist to get things going while I work off to the side, collecting a glass vial half-full of clear liquid and a clean syringe. Dipping the tip of the needle into the hole at the top of the bottle, I methodically pull back the plunger and fill the hollow chamber with the correct dosage.

  “This’ll sting a bit.” I murmur, and she nods to let me know she heard.

  I press the tip of the needle into her skin and push just far enough into the flesh to enter a vein, reaching up to loosen the tourniquet a bit before slowly emptying the syringe’s contents into her bloodstream.

  Cleaning up, I tape a cotton ball over the injection point and grin. “All done.”

  So much better at that than during phlebotomy rounds in school. I almost wince for my old classmates. We used to practice on each other.… It wasn’t always pretty.

  Jessie gives me her full attention then. She’s in her late thirties, with short blond hair and pretty brown eyes. It’s depressing to know she’ll be gone in just a few years due to her illness — if ODR doesn’t take her first — but that’s life, I guess. Harsh, but true.

  You’re a bitch, life. Just saying.

  “Thank you, Saedie. I didn’t feel a thing.” I return her warm smile with one of my own, accepting that for the compliment it is. Steady hands for the win.

  I give her lower arm a gentle squeeze as I stand up from the floor, brushing off my knees. Quickly tidying up the small mess I’ve made, I put everything back into the medical bag while gesturing for Jeremy to go wait by the door.

  “You’re welcome. We ought to get going, though, you’re only our first stop of the day.”

  “You betcha! Tell Old Man Wilson Jessie says he needs to quit banging around all night. I haven’t been able to sleep well in days.” So the old fart’s at it again. I swear he makes himself louder just to garner her attention.

  Chuckling, I make my way out the door, offering up a cheery ‘will do’ before closing it softly behind me. The smile falls from my face as soon as I’m out of her line of sight, but I plaster it back in place before Jeremy has a chance to see.

  I’m not going to lie, sometimes it’s difficult to keep up the appearance of being put together -- happy — all the time. But I’d rather be emotionally exhausted at the end of the day then go back to people constantly asking me how I’m dealing with Dad’s passing at the start of every conversation. Not only did their inquiries force me to relive the incident, but they also brought back the guilt that increased nearly every time someone brought up his death.

  Public face back in place, Jer and I stop by a several more rooms, dolling out medications when needed. Some destinations are simply to allow for basic welfare checks of those who are older, or unable to fully care for themselves. People who don’t necessarily have anyone here at The Compound to look in on them.

  I take full responsibility for the additional time these particular patients need, because I was the one who convinced Nurse Nance to work them into her rotations a while back. Sadly, it took a lot of fucking convincing for her to agree. She’s a cunt that way.

  Her belief is that if they can’t do it on their own, they shouldn’t be here.

  Perfect nurse material, right there.

  Playing devil’s advocate though, I do sometimes wonder why Atlas allows them to stay. For all the health checks, screenings and the like upon entry, it’s odd they have individuals here who aren’t capable of contributing to the growth of The Compound. I’d been led to believe fitness was the only entry pass around, but I guess that was a fable — at least in some cases.

  We’ve saved Mr. Wilson for last, and I can tell Jeremy’s energy is waning by the time we stroll up to the old man’s dorm. Trying to think of a way to keep him from acting out in a fit of boredom - it rarely happens, but he is a kid - I glance off down the hall to the open space at the end, grinning when I spot what I’m searching for.

  “Want to go wait in the commons area for this one, Jer?” I point down the hall to the recreation area spread out in a stylized fashion. “You can see if they’ve found any new books since the last time.”

  Each floor of every dorm building has little hang-out rooms on one end, filled with bookcases, small side tables and different types of seating. My favourite are the giant beanbags a handful of levels have. And I admit, I’ve dive-bombed a few like a little kid because they’re so comfy.

  Jeremy likes the commons on Mr. Wilson’s floor in particular, because this is where they bring all the kids books Compound scouts dig up on excursions past the gates. There aren’t many children here, but that just means more books for Jer to consume.

  “Yeah, okay. Maybe they finally found one of the spooky ones!” He’s a huge fan of horror stories — go figure. It’s not like he’s actually living one at the moment or anything.

  Jer skips off, and I knock lightly on Mr. Wilson’s door. The old gent had taken the time to paint it a color best described as ‘snot’ when he first moved in, but he loves it, so who am I to judge? Definitely makes finding his unit easier in the sea of sameness that is former University living.

  Mr. Wilson, Wil to his friends, and Old Man Wilson to those who acknowledge his quirks fondly, boasts a personality that takes time to get used to. Those with a minuscule sense of humor do best to steer clear. I’d learned that nearly immediately upon introducing myself. Now it’s more of a game to see which side of him he’ll present on any given day.

  “Coming, coming!” I wait patiently as sounds of him shuffling through his room slowly reach my ears. It takes a while for someone his age to reach their destination. If I thought no one would mess with him, I’d ask that he leave his door unlocked on the days he knows I’ll be coming by.

  Better to be safe than sorry though.

  Without preamble, the pastel door bangs open with a crash, revealing a semi-naked, wrinkled old man. His shoulders are hunched like the weight of the world rests upon them, but he still stands taller than my five-two frame.

  The ornery smile spread wide across his wizened features tells me he doesn’t give a shit who sees the craggy dangly-bits hanging out the bottom of his ill-fitting boxers.

  So freaking glad I sent Jer to the end of the hall!

  I have to stare up at the ceiling to avoid seeing anything that might scar me for life.

  “Mr. Wilson, we’ve talked about this! You can’t walk around half dressed with your jingle bells flopping all around like it’s damn Mardi Gras.” I roll my eyes and hold in my laugh. He’s childlike in that, if I show him how legitimately funny I find this situation, he’ll make it a habit. “Where’s your robe, Old Man?”

  Slapping his thigh, he belts out a loud guffaw. “Look at that blush lighting up your cheeks, little girl. So worth it.”

  I feel my face grow even hotter.

  “Yeah, yeah… Robe. Now.”

  He shuffles off behind the door, leaving it open for me to step through. Snatching up an old tattered robe and slipping it on, he ties it tightly in the front.

  “There. You can stop your fussing now. I’m all covered.”

  “Mr. Wilson….”

  “Oh, you’re no fun at all today,” he exclaims. Huffing, he pulls the back portion of the robe out of where he’s oh-so-slyly — or so he thought — tucked it into the back of his underpants. With him finally covered, I lower my gaze to his, offering him a genuine smile.

  Mr. Wilson is what you’d consider a class clown. Only, his personality is big enough that he provides com
ic relief to the entire Compound when he feels like it.

  “How you feeling today, Wil? Any more shortness of breath?”

  Recognizing when it’s time to get serious, he settles into his favourite armchair. Legs crossed at the ankle, he peers up at me with rheumy eyes. “Well, you know how it is. They’ve got me up here on the fourth floor, and these old lungs just can’t take the strain all those flights of stairs dish out.”

  The last few times I’ve been by to check on him, it’s been much the same. I’m frustrated on his behalf, that the person who assigns dorms to newcomers thought it wise to place a nearly ninety-year-old anywhere but the first floor of the building. How they expect him to go down to meals every day safely is a mystery to me. He can barely make it across his tiny living room without needing to take a break.

  Of course, there are no elevators to speak of in the building either. The former University board members had been all for taking the long way round to promote daily exercise in their student’s lives.

  Stupid, if you ask me. Not everyone can be Xena after all — all muscled legs and a core that can crush boulders.

  “I know… I hear you.” I commiserate. “I’ve tried to ask them to switch your unit with someone on a lower floor, but they keep brushing me off.”

  “Ach, they don’t care about the likes of me.” He makes an all-encompassing gesture with one arthritic hand, “All they want is for you young-ins to keep pouring in so they don’t lose their workforce.”

  True that.

  “I’m just thankful they let me take up the space I have.”

  “I hear you, Wil. Hey,” looking over the room I note a neat pile of food on his small kitchen counter, “are those boys I bribed to bring you your meals still stopping by every day?”

  “Damn straight!” Pointing to a chess set laid out on the coffee table he grins, gap teeth fully visible. “Been teaching ‘em some logic skills for their trouble.”

  Bribery at its best. “Do they enjoy playing, or do you?”