by Jane
“What the fuck?”
Back by the arch I notice more bones. A lot more. They are piled all around the gateway, making my little bit of sculpture back at the island look like an aperitif. Light flickers on the walls and I notice for the first time that they are painted with something. There are no clever drawings of buffalo and men with spears. No wooly mammoth with blood running down its hide. The walls are simply covered with red. A dark, glossy, tacky red that has patterns and shapes woven into its deep layers. As if somebody had run their fingers through it, up and down, around in circles. Bits of grass and dirt are mixed into it, long white wisps of hair stuck in the mess. As I investigate further I find tools and weapons. A small ledge is littered with handmade knives of stone and wood. Larger bits of metal have been whittled into a scythe, and spear tips. Several necklaces adorn another wall, strands of wire running through tiny bits of white and yellow. I wander over to see them up close. They are beautiful in their design and simplicity. In the center of one necklace is what looks like a tiny skull, a bird or mouse maybe. Surrounding the head are these tiny chicklets of teeth. Molars and bicuspids, ranging in size from a quarter inch square for the largest wisdom teeth, down to the tiny kernels of what must have been somebody’s baby teeth.
With a startle and a jump I look around. This is wrong. Something has happened here. Glancing down into a huge wooden bowl, I see a dark pile of wallets. Black, brown, and the odd velcro with lime green or sky blue. Next to this collection is a smaller stone bowl filled with rings. All kinds of rings. Diamonds in white and yellow gold. Solid bands of platinum. Claddagh rings with their little outstretched hands holding a heart. Bits of obsidian and other semi precious stones.
A great bellowing rises up to greet me from the valley floor. I run to the edge of the cave and glance down. A furious rush of white, barely visible in the snow, is pounding its way up the hill as a subtle trail of crimson leaks behind it, leading down and down to the flatlands below. It is coming for me. One flash of its sick yellow eyes is all I need to get moving and with a rush of adrenaline I fly towards the gateway, diving through the archway with no thought or worry as to what waits for me beyond it. The devil you know versus the devil you don’t. A flash and I’m through, blinding white as I’m torn asunder again.
• • • • •
Landing in the dirt of the cave I’d left only minutes before I glance back at the arch. It will be coming. A shadow passes over me as one of the men walks to the frame, flicks a lever, and twists a knob. He turns to me, pointing the shotgun directly at my head.
“It’s okay Marcy. Don’t worry about that. I see you’ve been playing with the help again,” he says, gesturing to the fresh kill lying on the pile of bones. “You never cease to amaze me. Get up, he wants to see you. Let’s go.”
He grabs my arm, yanking me up, his partner on the other side. And I’m relieved.
3. JIMMY
As I run across the street, thoughts keep bouncing around the inside of my skull. I’m going to be a father. What kind of horrible existence will there be for my son. Or worse, my fragile daughter. Madison is three months along and hadn’t said anything until she had passed that mark. Superstitious, she said. Looking left and right there is nobody in sight. I fight the urge to become a pack rat. It’s a little early to start lugging back cases of diapers. So much to do.
I slide in the front door of the grocery store. The crime scene tape is still intact so nobody has entered from this side. I’m running a stupid errand, but like a chicken with its head cut off, I wasn’t any good in that small space. So I am out to get pickles, sweet and dill. Canned peaches. Anything chocolate that I can find. I’m not sure what will be safe, but the canned goods are probably okay.
I had attributed the vomiting to the conditions - the leftover essence of radioactive fallout and a lousy diet. She hid it very well, waiting on most days until I’d left, easing her way down the tunnel to the very edge of the subway tracks to vomit in private. The emotions I feel run hot and cold. I’m angry that she took those risks. I’m worried about the baby’s health. But I’m also excited that we were able to get pregnant and have a child in the middle of this insanity. I’m protective of her now, and our unborn child, even more than I was before.
Grabbing two baskets off the floor by the door I make my way down the canned food aisle. This is going to be heavy. I’ve gotten used to the stench. And it isn’t too bad in certain parts, since many of the refrigerators are still closed. Thank God the seafood and butcher shop are in the back. I never go back there. Not after the first time I came in here. I had been hopeful that maybe there was some meat that hadn’t gone bad. There was no electricity in the subway of course, but a wood fire still worked the last time I checked. I’d been very naive in the beginning. Some kind of romantic existence fluttered at the edges of my imagination. It had been one big bloody mess. Maybe it had been ransacked in the first couple of days. It for sure had been torn apart much later by animals. Puddles of blood were invisible in the dark. My favorite pair of Vans had been lost that day, and it’d taken weeks to break in new ones.
Stopping in front of the canned fruit section I pile cans of peaches, pineapples, and Mandarin orange segments into the basket. It’s heavy already. The only sounds in the store are the ones that I make, the heavy clunking of the cans on top of each other and the occasional squeak of my shoes on the dirty linoleum. Hefting the basket I move on to the pickles. Why they are all housed in glass I don’t know. Is there some sort of visual stimulation by the color green?
Eons ago I’d worked in advertising and had once tried to sell a client on black packaging for bread. Hip, cool, sleek bread. It seems that people like to see the bread. Something about the tactile sensation of picking it up, giving it a gentle squeeze, maybe a quick sniff when nobody is looking and an eagle eye to check for mold. The idea didn’t sell to Wonder Bread. Too edgy. Later that year when I noticed the new line of bread in black and silver packaging down by the bagels, I shook my head. The BrEadZ4u line of exotic WineberryWheat, 21GrainSalute, and WhiterThanWhite was a top seller now, taking up a nice chunk of shelf space. Oh well. You can’t win them all.
I load up the second basket with whole and sliced pickles, Vlassic and Claussen, butter and dill. As I turn to head back out, my right arm swings a little wide and knocks a 22 ounce jar of Mt. Olive pickle relish to the ground with a sticky crash.
“Goddamnit,” I mutter.
From the back of the store I hear a low feral growl. Whipping my head towards the source of the sound a pair of red eyes blinks on and off by the meat counter. I haven’t been alone. I have two choices - fight or run. My gun is tucked into the back of my jeans. It has 12 shots. If I’m a bad shot, or if he isn’t alone, it may not be enough. If I run, what about the food? I don’t want to make another trip out here and we really don’t have much to eat in the tunnels. A picture flashes in my head of Homer Simpson with his hand stuck in a vending machine. The authorities are trying to get his hand out, and decide they’ll have to cut his arm off, that there is no other option. As they lower the chainsaw, Homer squeals and pulls his hand out. He finally lets go of the candy bar. That was all that had been keeping his fist stuck. But I wasn’t going to give up my pickles and peaches just yet.
I ease my way back up the aisle, keeping my gaze on the darkness, the twin red dots that waver in the gloom. The low growl continues, followed by a quick snapping of teeth, and the wet slurp of a long pink tongue over its snout.
No movement, no escalation, or rapid fire clicking of toenails on the floor. No mad barking and yapping as it bounds up the dark towards me. Maybe it’s hungry and has a mouthful of rotting steak. A full belly that will slow it down. I have to hope the beast is pacified.
My back to the glass storefront door, I bend down and shush the baskets through the gap, sliding them out onto the sidewalk. I ease it open wider, a tiny bit more at a time, wider and wider until I can squeeze my frame through. When it’s just wide
enough I slide my body through, pushing it open just a little bit more, until it clips the bells that hang over the door. As if a starter’s gun has gone off, the clanging of the bells ignites the rabid animal. Wolf, dog, panther, whatever it is, it doesn’t really matter, except it’s coming. Fast. I can see the dark matted fur flying towards me. Maybe the rotten steak wasn’t enough. Maybe it’s pissed off now. Backing fast through the door, I go to pull it shut, but it sticks on the dirty floor. Grime and repeated scrapings have caused residue to build up, and now it is firmly stuck. Jangling the door back and forth only makes the bells ringer louder and faster. The beast barks and yaps as it gets closer and closer. The sweat on my brow tells me that there isn’t much time left. One more violent tug and it’s free. I slam it shut, praying the glass will hold. A rapid procession of snarls and growls meets the three inch thick glass with a heavy thud followed by a whine and a hacking cough. I can see it on the other side of the glass, eyeing me. It snaps at the door and wanders back into the store. There are other exits, so I have to hurry.
Picking up the baskets I run back across the street and unlock the gate. As I pull it shut again, and lock it, I glance up. The area in front of the store is dark with fur as a pack of animals gathers out of thin air. Noses in the air, they sniff for me but I must be downwind. One wolf at the front of the pack turns my way. Its head freezes and utters a howl.
4. X
I’ve become domesticized. Sitting at the kitchen table staring out the bay window at the back gate, I wait for my son, Roland, to show up. Whatever was taking him so long, I’ve gotten hungry waiting. Interesting how these human frailties define and restrict us. There was a time when I’d stopped eating entirely. For how long, I don’t know. Sitting under the Bodhi tree, I attained many levels of enlightenment. The gentle rains bathed and watered me, as I sat in lotus, searching my mind for answers, evolutions, and the universe around me. I was told later that many came to worship at my feet. They came to clean my waste. The urine simply ran down my leg into the earth below. The grasses and exotic flowers that grew were left to run wild. But the feces, while good fertilizer, was an insult to my stature, and could not be allowed to fester.
Chewing on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread with potato chips smashed inside, memories flirt with me. Making entire cities in the dirt piles behind my house, an epic battle between G.I. Joe, Tonka Trucks, Matchbox, Hot Wheels, and the never ending battalions of tiny green army men. My childhood, this meal shrieked. The beginning of my metamorphosis.
A throat cleared behind me, interrupting my thoughts.
“You startled me Roland. Very good.”
I turn to stare at the young man, his jaw clenched, fists trembling at his sides. His usual posture.
“Okay, I want some answers. Who the fuck are you and what are you doing with my mother?”
“Good questions, Roland. Why don’t you sit down. Sandwich? Iced-tea?”
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
“Relax, Roland. I’m on your side. Sit down. I won’t bite.”
His eyes are ablaze with youthful chaos, and yet, he wants an ally. Needs an ally. His chest raises and lowers as he stares into me as far as his limited mind can go.
“How do you know my name? I’ve never even seen you before, you psychic vampire. You ghost of a bully. Aside from the other night. You were just “him” and “he,” this magnet that drew my mother away from me, like all the other fucking drunk hick rapists my mom seduced.”
“Roland. It’s okay. Sit down. This talk has been a long time coming.”
Roland curses under his breath, eyes darting around the suburban decor. With an abrupt shrug, he drops his pack on the floor and pulls up a chair. There is a stack of six sandwiches in front of me, and a large pitcher in the middle of the table. Reaching out to the plate in front of him, I place two sandwiches on it, and fill his glass with tea.
“You knew I was coming,” he sighs, his anger released.
“Yes. I know a lot of things. I’ve become a lot of things, but probably not what you may think. Eat, and I’ll try to explain if I can.”
Roland looks down at the sandwiches and raises one to his mouth. Eying the grape jelly and chips that tumble out, there is a moment of lips trembling and a shake of his head before he begrudgingly swallows the lump in his throat.
“I loved them as a kid too,” I say. “Something Marcy picked up from me, no doubt.”
As he devours the sandwich, and gulps down the tea, I fill him in on some of the details. As much as he needs for now, anyway.
“Roland, your mother and I have known each other for a very long time. Before you were born. We had a relationship. First like brother and sister, then later, even between the other men, like husband and wife. Neither of us stayed around for long. You never saw me growing up.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Over time, my work took me all over the planet. Thailand, China, Russia, Norway, England. I became someone else entirely. Because of my talents, my pursuits, and open challenges of the systems around me, I ended up here. I am more free than you know, and yet, a prisoner of my own design.”
“What do you mean?” Roland asks.
“I’ve evolved Roland. There are many of us that have. The inhabitants of this residence have all evolved enough to remain healthy when the virus hit. To function and survive in the face of nuclear fallout. But there is more. Astral projection, channeling, divination, E.S.P., levitation, on and on and on. Clairvoyance, clairaudiance, clairsentience, pyrokensis, telekenisis, and more. All that new age crap and hippy dippy stuff. I spent years with various students, teachers, yogis, buddhas, and religious leaders. But something happened while I was playing around with my lucid dreams and out-of-body experiences. I disturbed several beings. I drew attention to myself, from far, far away. I did this, my actions, and those of others like me. And we were smacked down.”
He stares at me, while he finishes chewing the last bite of his second sandwich.
“Sounds like a lot of crap to me.”
“How’d you get here today Roland?”
“I walked. Across the field, past the fire pit, up the hill and through the gate.”
“I never saw the gate open, Roland.”
“What?”
“What about the caves?”
Color drains from his face.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve forgotten already,” I sigh. He wasn’t as far along as I hoped. His cell regeneration was still developing, the mutant structures weren’t adhering yet.
“The archways? We call them lots of things here - arches, gateways, transporters.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, looking around, as his eyes water. “What’s going on?”
“It’s okay. It happens. Too much too fast. Do you remember the fire pit?”
“I just walked past it. Strange symbols on giant posts.”
“But that’s it?”
“There’s
more?”
“There is. We’ll work on it, Roland. You need some rest. Take a quick nap on the couch. Your mother is on her way over here and should here shortly. We’ll talk some more when she gets here.”
5. GORDON
I’m in my college dorm room and Heather is tugging gently on my cock. Her hand is moving up and down, her long black hair hanging down over her face. My hand rests on her ass and I squeeze it gently as her mouth engulfs me. It is ending too fast, I want to resist but I can’t. She is so intent and focused, I can never last long like this. I try to push her head away, but I can’t. A great rush of power surges through my body and she drains me of every ounce of my being. My eyes click open and the dark cave fills with cackles.
I look down into the gray room to see the old woman crawling away from me. Her long stringy hair is matted with twigs and leaves, filthy and lined with bits of gray. I lower my head, defeated once again, as the sorrow builds up in m
e and boils over. I haven’t felt like this since my mother overdosed in the bathroom, and the paramedics pulled me off of her cold, stiff body, my arms still pumping, my breath coming in rushes, as I tried to save her, but failed.
I can hear them slink off into the darkness and I am shocked at how quickly and deeply I have fallen back to earth. This caught me off guard, this dream of an old lover, a tender moment that I have denied myself for an eternity. It has weakened me and I am ashamed.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. It is the thin, blond girl. “It could have been worse. She could have cut it off and put it in her stew. Believe me, you don’t want that.”
“What’s going on,” I rasp. She dips a dinged ladle into a rusted bucket of water and brings it to my lips with care and patience.
“Save it. You’re weak. I’ll try to bring you some scraps of food later. I have to be careful. And keep your mouth shut about it. I could probably take any one of them but if they band together, I’m a goner. Too many of them.”
Gulping down the water I stare at her in the dim light. Like a ruby in a drawer of cut glass, she’s not like the others. She doesn’t fit and I have no idea why. She’s young and pretty. She carries herself with a dignity that makes no sense down here in the filth and depravity.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “It’s too much to get into right now. I’ll explain later. But I want out. I need your help. I won’t let them kill you or turn you into a breeder. Grandma, she’s testing your load right now. Don’t ask me how. Something about the taste, the texture. She left here with a mouthful and she’ll mix it with different things - ground roots and plant extracts. If you’re a breeder then we have to move fast. If you’re not, we have to move faster. You could just as easily be dinner.”
