Simple

by Dena Nicotra

“No.” His hand jerked away from me.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.” He exhaled a sigh.

  “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  “Why did she have to paint that?” Even in the dark I could see that he’d folded his arms. “Are you going to blame everything you feel on something else?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know what you mean by that.” My eyes swept the dark room, and I tried to remind myself that it was just a bad dream.

  “So how long have you been having night terrors?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of bad shit, you know?”

  “I can relate to that. Can I get you anything?”

  “Yeah, my life back.”

  “C’mon, Lee, give me a break on that will you?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to look at you and not feel like blaming you for every bit of this nightmare I have to live with when I’m awake.”

  “Could you just try and recognize that I didn’t write the code that brought this down?”

  “You say that, but if you hadn’t ever designed these pieces of shit, we wouldn’t have had this mess in the first place.”

  “Are you incapable of acknowledging the good that they brought about? What about the elderly that didn’t have to go into nursing homes? What about the increased level of education in our society? I could go on and on…”

  “So what, Mic? Are you trying to paint yourself as a fucking victim here?”

  “No, of course not. I told you that I have to live with this every day of my life, but if I refused to focus on the good, I wouldn’t survive.”

  “I guess I get that.”

  “Great, thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

  “Why would you say that? Seriously, why would you care what I think at all?”

  “I don’t know, Lee. I guess I’m not used to people being so blunt to my face. It’s like a challenge.”

  “I’m a challenge to you huh? We’ll, don’t get any ideas, I’m not interested.” Shit! Why did I say that? I bit my lip.

  “Don’t confuse my intentions, Lee. I’m not trying to get in your pants. I just want you to know I’m not the monster you think I am.”

  “You can go now, Mic.” I pushed the pillow down and forced myself to put my head on it. This conversation wasn’t going well, and I needed it to stop before I made a bigger ass of myself than I already had.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sweet dreams.” I heard the door close behind him and, as soon as it did, I regretted it. If there was ever a more annoying man on the planet, I hadn’t met him. He drove me nuts every single time he opened his mouth, and yet I was finding it more and more difficult to be out of his presence, anyway. He represented everything I’d fought so hard to avoid: feelings, relationships, and God help me…sex. I sucked at playing devil’s advocate with myself. The truth was, he was starting to get to me. Not that I had any intentions of letting him know that. I made up my mind that as soon as my ribs were healed, I would hit the road again…solo. If he and Mic solved the simp problem, it wouldn’t matter where I was. I’d benefit from it, and life would find some way to go on. So what was the point of sticking around?

  Chapter 5

  By morning I was exhausted, and had managed a mere three hours of sleep. I pushed back the covers and sat up slowly, wincing as the now familiar pain in my body set in to claim my mood. There was nothing worse than feeling helpless, and I resented my body for being so feeble. I’d have to bide my time and stay away from the group as much as I could. No more emotional fuzziness for me – I had to look out for myself, and that meant reassessing my beliefs. One at a time, I recounted them in my mind. I cannot depend on anyone but myself. People are ultimately selfish, and they will hurt me if I give them the opportunity. Sex is overrated. I went to the bathroom and then got myself together for the day. I avoided the group as much as possible and by four o’clock, I was sick of the feminine room I was staying in, and irritated that no one had bothered to check on me. Hypocritical, yes. Narcissistic? Maybe, but I would have done it for any one of them. At least, that’s what I told myself, and that just further strengthened my convictions.

  On impulse, I decided that I needed to get out of the house and scout the neighborhood. Granted, it was something I would do without hesitation if I wasn’t in a physically weakened state, but I knew my ribs would slow me down. Still, sitting in the pink floral chintz lounge was so not me. I pulled my khaki pants out of my backpack and a white tank, and then I laced up my boots very slowly, allowing my hand the time it needed to tug the laces. Once I was ready, I moved silently down the hall and out the front door. The rest of the group was out back around the pool, so I knew no one would hear me.

  I walked as briskly as my body would allow, and kept to the side of the road so that I could dart into a house or bushes if need be. It felt good to be outside. The sky was awash with thin blankets of milky clouds that looked like they’d been stretched to capacity. The breeze was cooler than I had expected, and I set out to the east, using the fence to lean on as I needed. As the house moved further behind me, I began to feel like I could breathe again. I really had no idea where I was going, but I was used to that. I knew that crazy Ed’s store was to the west, so I went in the opposite direction. If there were no resources ahead, I’d break into a house and stay there for the night. So much for biding my time and letting myself heal. What the fuck, it wasn’t like I owed any of them an explanation. I cursed myself for my momentary lapse of judgment, and for putting myself in such a bad position. After all, had I not gotten myself mixed up with them, I wouldn’t be walking with broken ribs, a crushed hand, and an unbelievably messed up face.

  After walking for close to an hour, my ribs felt like they were made of barbed wire. Every breath was a ragged effort, and my stomach was howling for food. I’d turned out of the small residential area a half a mile back, and now the streets were empty. Small businesses dotted the landscape, but none I’d passed offered food. There was an auto parts store with the windows busted out, so I made my way there in hopes of a water source. I’d been hungry plenty of times, but I knew I couldn’t survive without water. Stepping carefully through the broken front doors, I heard nothing but the sounds of broken glass beneath my boots. I stepped around fallen bottles of oil and transmission fluid until I reached the front counter. To the right, I spied a cooler, but it was empty – the door still hanging open. To my relief, I spotted a full bottle of water beneath the baseboard and bent carefully to pick it up. Sitting on the floor with my back to the counter, I tipped the bottle up and drained half of the content before pausing to catch my breath. The breeze had picked up and was now a howling wind that came straight at me through the broken glass of the storefront, but at least I could see well from here. I allowed myself to rest until my breathing regulated, and then I forced myself to my feet. Night would be falling soon. I needed to push on and find a more suitable place to rest. Hopefully, I’d find something to eat as well. I stepped through the broken front doors cautiously, taking care not to cut myself on the jagged shards that hung from the metal door frame. With no other plan, I headed left and continued down the street. I stayed close to the store fronts for protection, but not too close, in case the danger came from the direction of the stores themselves.

  Just up ahead of me, I spotted a hanging diner sign. If I had any luck at all, I hoped to find some food. The door was locked and the windows in the front were boarded, so I searched for something to break the glass door with. I saw a metal trash can next to a bench near the curb, but there was no way I could lift it. What I needed was a brick, or a rock, that I could throw through the glass. I walked over to the trashcan and rummaged through the contents in the hope of finding something sturdy. I tossed paper cups out and other debris but there was nothing usable. Then I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me. I jerked back and turned around to come face to face with a homeless man
. His scruffy face was pinched in a scowl. “That’s mine.” he said matter-of-factly.

  “What’s yours?” I said, instinctively reaching for my knife.

  “That trash can and all of its contents are mine.” he said, nodding his head in the affirmative.

  “Oh, I see. I was just looking for something to break that window with,” I gestured toward the diner doors.

  “Well there’s nothing in my trashcan that you can use. Besides, everything in there is mine, as I’ve already told you.”

  “Yes, you did. Can I see your hands, please?” The homeless man smiled, revealing repugnant brown teeth. He then pulled his hands from his pockets and held them palms out.

  “Do you need a hand?” He said with a grunt.

  “Face them the other way, please.” His palms turned and I observed his odd fingernails.

  “Step back!” I said as he continued forward.

  “Do you need a HAND?” He shouted this last word as he continued forward. I glanced over my shoulder and maneuvered around the bench.

  “No, I don’t need anything from you, you fucking bag of wires!”

  “You have no idea how much my hands can do. Remarkable work, really. For example, I could pull your hands right off. I mean literally separate them from your wrists. Here, give them to me and I will show you.”

  “You’re out of your metallic mind.” I said, still backing up.

  “I am handy. Did you know that? I have hands that can do all sorts of things. I am also equally clever. I chose to disguise myself as an ordinary human homeless person. A bum, if you will! You would be amazed at how well that has worked to my advantage.”

  “I’m sure it has, but not today.” I lunged forward with my knife but the simp darted effortlessly out of my reach and I stumbled forward. He pushed me with significant force and I went flying over the bench, my head slamming hard into the pavement.

  The large framed simp moved to stand over me. His dark grizzly face wore a human mask of indifference, and his eyes were glassy with synthetic hatred. “You don't understand! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could've been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am,” his words were flat and I could tell from the lack of emotion that he’d just spat out his kill quote. Not all simps did it, and often times their quotes were so obscure that most people wouldn’t recognize them. I, on the other hand, grew up with an Italian father who thought Marlon Brando was amazing in everything. We watched his vintage DVDs regularly…and I recognized the quote from On The Waterfront just in time to sweep the simp bum’s legs and knock him sideways. He lay there on the sidewalk, laughing. He might have found my actions amusing, but I had no intentions of dying today.

  I pushed to my knees and grabbed my knife. Before he could get up I jammed it into the side of his head. The laughing continued, and so I jerked my blade out and stabbed again and again. Synthetic blood gurgled from his grimy lips and I stood there panting, my eyes fixed on those lips as the laughter slowed in an eerie wind down. When the bum fell silent, I slumped to the bench. My heart was pounding with adrenaline, and it was hard to catch my breath. I sat there, unable to move as the wind howled around me. Bits of trash danced down the empty street. In the distance, an electronic sign flashed on the side of a building. In marching digital words it read: You have not been given a spirit of fear. As it churned out several other scriptures, I realized it was a digital billboard for a church. Though I was alone and quite sure that the messages were repeating on auto play, I took it as a good sign.

  I found a rock and proceeded to smash the window of the diner, so that I could search for food. Inside, I found a can of fruit cocktail, a can of corned beef hash, and several freeze dried pouches of instant meals in a back closet. The dates on the back were still valid, and I noticed a military symbol under the directions. I stuffed all seven pouches and the two cans into my backpack, and then tried the sink for water. It sputtered so hard that the faucet rattled, and then it splattered chocolate brown water all over the basin. I stood there watching the stream in the hope it would turn clear, but it didn’t. I cursed and pushed the handle back to shut it off. Exhausted, I gave up and crawled into one of the booths. With some maneuvering, I was able to lie on my side without too much discomfort. The blue vinyl felt cool against my cheek, and I drifted off.

  Three weeks passed while I nursed my wounds. Since there were simps wandering around, the diner wasn’t safe. The glass windows in front made me vulnerable to attacks so I made my home on the second floor of the church, inside the nursery. There was something comforting about being there, and as I limped around the facility, I spent time reading and resting in the shadowy recesses. When the light was just right in the afternoon, I would wander into the chapel, and curl up on a pew. The stained glass windows were high enough that they hadn’t been broken, and the beautiful blues, reds, and greens created striking patterns on the floor. I could imagine this place filled with small-town people, all gathering together to worship. My mother had been a very religious woman, and my memories would flood with images of her. Sometimes I could almost hear her voice whispering encouragements.

  As for supplies, I managed to collect enough to keep myself comfortable. There was a plum tree in an adjacent garden area, and the kitchen in the facility had a few canned goods and some dried beans. I soaked the beans in water until they were soft and then made a fire pit in the garden area so that I could cook them. It was sheltered by brick walls but I was taller than they were high so I had to be careful. I felt a twinge of guilt using the hymnals as kindling, but I didn’t have a choice. I ate the beans, and gave thanks for my meal for the first time in years.

  By the fourth week, I felt like it was time to get moving. Staying in one place for too long was always risky, but it wasn’t just that. I was beginning to feel a deep sadness. It crept into my bones and left me melancholy. What had once provided me with a sense of nostalgic comfort now served as a reminder of what I missed most – my family. My stash now included a .38 caliber and a box of shells I’d found in the desk of what I assumed was the pastor’s office. Thank God for small favors because that, coupled with my improved health, gave me the strength to collect my belongings and move on. I decided it was best to leave in the early hours of the morning while it was still cool. Before I closed the door behind me, I mouthed a silent thank you to the ceiling in the chapel, and took a moment to look around one last time.

  The road felt good beneath my feet, but the air was surprisingly cool — a reminder that summer was ending. I paused to yank a baggy gray sweatshirt from my pack, and tied a bandanna over my hair. It helped some, but the thought of another winter out on the road led me to think about the group I’d left behind. More truthfully, the warm house and the shelter it offered. This gave me good reason to pause there in the middle of the road, but in the end my bullheaded nature won. I needed to move on. Besides, it wasn’t like they couldn’t have found me if they’d come looking. That was an indication in my mind that I should forget about them and forge ahead. As the first rays of the morning sun began to come up over the hills, I stopped and sat on a large boulder. I allowed myself to take a few small sips of water and rest for a minute. I shielded my eyes and looked around. I could see up ahead that the road curved to a ramp, which led to a freeway, and I made up my mind in that moment to head that way. I hoped to find a car, I was lucky. I pulled the bandanna from my head, which was now damp with my own perspiration, and wiped my face before returning it to my pack. Just as I attempted to pull the zipper closed, I heard the faint sounds of an engine. Two seconds later I saw headlights in the distance, and I instinctively ducked behind the rocks. The white van drove past me and disappeared around the curve of the on-ramp. It was the same floral van that I’d driven out of the city.

  So much for that route. I had no way of knowing if the van included the whole group, or if it was even still in the possession of the group I’d been with, but if it was Micah behind the wheel I didn’t want to know. That pompou
s ass could just keep on driving as far as I was concerned. Once I was sure the van was well down the road, I got up and headed toward the ramp. “I’m going to save the world…I’m not the bad guy here, why won’t you see how perfectly wonderful I am? Blah, blah, fucking blah,” I concluded, to absolutely no one.

  To my dismay, there were no cars suitable for the taking in the immediate vicinity. They were all either out of gas or had some other problem. I found an air powered hybrid and truly did the happy dance in the middle of the road, but that joy died a slow death when I noticed the flat tire. Unfortunately, hybrids have special tires that are much smaller than those used on regular vehicles, so unless I found another one close by, that wasn’t going to be my new ride. I continued walking until I came up on a Premrail station. The Premrail was the primary means of public transportation back before the war, but most of the tube lines had been destroyed. The days of going from San Francisco to Los Angeles in twenty minutes were long gone. Still, the Premrail represented all that was once ‘normal’ to me. I sat down on a bench beneath the shade of a green metal awning and assessed my gear. I had a mere third of a water bottle, and no food. My stomach rumbled in protest. To add to my dismal condition, the billboard across from me sported an image of a juicy steak with a side of fresh shrimp, dripping with butter. I averted my eyes and looked out at the tracks. My head was beginning to pound, and my energy was fading. I knew if I didn’t get something to eat soon I’d never make it through the day.

  With no other choice, I collected my pack and continued down the freeway. My progress was slow, but I inspected each vehicle, diligently checking for one I could drive, or anything that I could use. When I spied the white van in the distance, my heart froze in my chest. It had flipped on the driver’s side. My feet pounded the road with new determination, and I pulled my pistol from my waistband as I ran. When I reached the vehicle, I called out firmly for Mic, Giz, and the others. There was no reply, so I inched my way around to the front. The windshield was smashed and there were dark, speckles of blood dotting the dashboard. It was difficult to see from my vantage point, so I climbed up using the windshield wiper to pull myself closer. “Jake?” I called. I could see his hand sticking out from behind the passenger seat. He wasn’t moving.