Remnant

by Michael Clements

  “I don't intend to stay,” said Ethan, his eyes looking past Isaac.

  “Disappointing. Well, I won't force you to stay, whether as a prisoner or guest. I couldn't-”

  “He killed two people just for standing in his way!” Daniel nearly screamed. “Boss, with all due respect, please think this through.”

  “I would never have put my best men at the bridge. Whoever those men belonged to, they were obviously the grunts. Ethan's in a … different class. Aren't you?” Isaac walked toward his desk. “What about your friend here, Ethan? Is she going with you?”

  Ethan finally looked at him properly. About time, Seth thought.

  “She could use a home,” said Ethan. “For now.”

  Isaac smirked amusingly. “Dumping off some baggage you picked up in the streets?”

  “I'll be back for her,” Ethan added.

  “All right, then. Consider it a token of friendship, Ethan. I'll let your friend stay until you return. She must contribute, though. You understand that, girl?” Mercy, who looked so helpless to speak for herself, reluctantly nodded. Seth pitied her, desiring to free her from that room. “Seth, see to it. I'm sure you'll like that.” Isaac smiled knowingly. “The way you're looking at her... well, it's obvious, really.” He squinted, looking at Seth's face. “Find the medic and have him look at that nose.”

  Seth felt embarrassed, attempting not to show it. The last thing he wanted was to give himself away, let alone give Isaac the satisfaction. His condition was humiliating enough. Mercy turned and approached Seth as Isaac instructed. Ethan said nothing to anyone, flying around Mercy as he rushed out of the room. Seth hoped that was the last he would see of Mercy's boyfriend. “I'll find you a room,” he said to her, but she said nothing back; not even to express gratitude.

  MERCY

  A home, finally.

  Mercy could breathe easier. The penthouse in the glass high rise provided nearly all she needed – a bed with sheets and a blanket, some dishes, privacy, and even extra clothes – but it did not include food or company. Ethan intended to leave her there, virtually having a foot out the door by the time Seth and Daniel arrived. But he was gone now, and whether he would return was unclear. Part of her didn't want him to return. He clearly cared nothing for her. In the glass high-rise building, the most he provided her was the date – December 20th – and not so much as an estimation on when he'd return. Whatever the favor, whatever she had promised to fulfill for him, it was trifles compared to how gravely she desired normality.

  “I have something to collect,” he had told her. Then he had repeated those words to Isaac. Collect what? The pieces did not all fit together. It was a debt, no doubt. He was the son of a powerful woman; a powerful woman murdered by another clan. He has to be seeking revenge for her death. Maybe he has been for a while. But why wait until I showed up to act on it? What do I have to do with this? Part of her was convinced that her gender related to Ethan's intentions. Somehow Ethan intended for her to play an important role in whatever business he had with gangs run by women. Why, though? She couldn't begin to solve it. She never had power, she did not come from money, and she had no living family left.

  Then it came to her. That's exactly what he's doing, she thought. Collecting. He needed more women. Perhaps for the purpose of establishing his own clan to rival his sister's. He would have been among his sister's ranks if he was on good terms with her. He wants what he couldn't inherit. Mercy was convinced. She couldn't be an enforcer or adviser, so he was most likely starting from scratch, attempting whatever he could to make a profit. He wants to use me as a whore. Easy way to make a living, even in these times. I can hardly defend myself. I can't fight like he can. I don't have a family... I don't have anyone at all. He thinks I'll be easy to control.

  She found herself seated on a couch, having barely paid attention to where she was or what she was doing. The apartment was exceptionally clean. A guest room, not meant for anyone Isaac wants to keep long-term. Standing from the couch, she wrapped her arms tight around herself while approaching the sink. She had water in the previous building, but had to be certain this building had running water as well. She turned the knob for 'cold' and water flowed out. Clean water, too. How is this possible? she began to ponder.

  Mercy's thoughts were abruptly cut off when she heard three knocks on her door. She turned. “Yes? Uh, come in.” As the door opened, she saw a friendly, familiar face and the black, wavy hair that slightly hid it. Seth.

  “How is it?” he asked with a nervous smile.

  “How is what?”

  He chuckled. “Oh, just the apartment an' all.”

  “It's...” She attempted to formulate an opinion. “It's a home. Can't ask for much else.”

  Seth nodded, keeping that smile a minute longer. “Trying out the water, I see.”

  “Yeah, I'm amazed you have it here.”

  Seth approached the counter perpendicular to the stoves, seating himself on top of it. “Yeah, it's incredible. Isaac thinks the troops took back all the essential plants and factories connected with the city first. That way, the people in unclaimed zones don't start dying off.”

  “Yet, we don't have electricity?”

  “Yeah, it doesn't make much sense to me, either. Isaac thinks the troops have the power to the city cut off … or, at least downtown... so that the people can't put up as much of a fight. Water, but no electricity or food. Keeps us alive, but weak, I guess.”

  “'Keep them alive, but don't let them get comfortable,'” said Mercy almost sarcastically.

  Seth added. “The fighting stopped once both sides established their boundaries. The troops don't interfere unless they have a reason to, or they see an opportunity to gain further ground. Leaders like Isaac aren't looking to expand, they're just looking to have control of their own lives again. The military acts like a blockade though. We can't have things the way we want until the troops take our side. Instead, their commanders and their Generals insist that reclaiming the country is the best option. This stalemate should have ended a long time ago.”

  “The problem,” began Mercy, “is that most of us aren't even sure which side to trust. Or, maybe I'm just speaking for myself. Everyone has their own theory; what went wrong, who's to blame...”

  “Did you grow up poor?”

  “No. My dad was a corporate financial accountant. We weren't rich, but we were never short on money.”

  “Most of us weren't so lucky,” said Seth. “Most of us were stuck with jobs that paid us nothing. You don't know what it's like to have to keep the heater off during winter because you'll be stuck with debt if you turn it on. The only food we could afford was cheap food, which made us sick, which put us in hospitals, and then we got stuck with huge medical bills. Too many of us lived like that every – single – day. We got tired of it.”

  Mercy had nothing to say in response. Her mind was not fit to have long conversations, but she was glad to have made it at least that far in talking to Seth.

  “Well,” he sighed. “You're free to do as you like here. Isaac's in charge, but you'll hardly ever see him. He's really just head of security here.”

  “What about the residents?” asked Mercy as she started walking back to the couch.

  “The residents keep to themselves. They rarely leave their apartments unless there's-”

  “I meant: 'what do the people think of Isaac?'”

  “Well... I don't talk to them, but I don't hear complaints very often.”

  “Maybe they don't complain because he keeps them in fear.”

  Seth shot an expression of shock. “The boss gave you a home, Mercy. When you came in, was he busy torturing a resident because they … I don't know, looked at him funny?”

  Mercy lowered her head for a moment. “Sorry if I offended you. I think I just need some sleep.”

  Seth slowly, silently walked to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You look like you haven't eaten in a long time. I have some food saved up if you...”

/>   Mercy shook her head. “Thank you, Seth, but I'd just rather-”

  More knocks on the door caught their attention. Though nervous, Mercy was ready to permit them in, but before she uttered a sound, the entrant invited himself in. It was Isaac, standing straight with a bodyguard by his side. “Seth,” he said, making eye contact with Mercy. “Have you told her about the meeting?”

  “No! Sorry, sir.”

  “Everyone works,” the boss added. “I don't want to hear that she was absent for tonight's mission.” With that, Isaac closed the door behind him as he walked out.

  Seth looked at her as if disappointed about something. “Well...” he reluctantly began. “I have to take you there.” She said nothing. She could hardly look at him, or at anything. “Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?”

  Mercy smiled artificially. “I'm fine,” she lied. “We'll find food tonight. I'll have plenty by then.” Seth opened the door for her, allowing her to leave first. To their right, at the end of the hall they walked down the stairs that led to the first floor, then into the courtyard. The gatekeeper permitted them through, and Mercy found herself inexplicably outside the confines of the building. “The scouts don't meet in the courtyard? Or in someone's suite?”

  “None of the apartments have the space for all the scouts to meet. And they can't keep all their supplies lying around in the courtyard. You guys have to meet somewhere else. It's not as safe, but it's the only option you have. It's not like the missions are safe anyway.”

  Seth led her to the adjacent building; a bank. He opened the door for her, allowing her to enter first. Mercy could see everyone seated within an encompassing number of partitions, which had obscured them from view from the outside. “Daniel's leading the party today,” said Seth. “Follow his lead, and you'll be fine. Stay close to the group, no matter what happens.”

  Mercy nodded. “Thank you, Seth. I appreciate your help.” She extended a hand. Seth shook it, but not before his eyes displayed what appeared as disappointment. Then, he walked away without another word. I guess he wanted a hug, she thought.

  It was only a few steps to the partitions. One man stood guard beside it, nodding to her as she walked in. Then, as if on cue, the congregation stood up and began preparing their belongings for the mission. Mercy wanted to speak, but who was there to speak to? No one noticed her. Everyone had at least one other person to interact with, and they conversed with each other more socially than relevantly. An older man on the other side of the room, putting on a coat, seemed to have no one else speaking with him, so she approached him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Hello,” said the elder. “You're new,” he said as if about to add something.

  “I, uh... Yes. I don't know my way around.”

  “Don't worry. We're not trained professionals or anything. We're just a bunch of kids looking for food.”

  “Except you,” Mercy said half-jokingly.

  “Ha! Yes, except me. What's your name?”

  “Mercedes. I prefer 'Mercy', though.”

  “I'm Glen,” he said, offering a handshake. Mercy accepted gladly. “I once knew someone with your name. She was a little older than you, but shorter. She had a peculiar obsession with birds.”

  Mercy chuckled. “Maybe she envied their freedom.”

  Glen smiled, but cocked his head slightly. “Freedom?” It took him a moment. “Oh, you mean how they can fly. Yes, that might have been what she admired. When I knew her, she was always accompanied by birds. You know what I think it was? Peace. She found peace in watching them and studying them.”

  Glen prepared a small revolver and stuffed it in the back of his jeans. She had just met the man, but she found it strange to see him arming himself; he had such a gentle spirit. She found peace just being next to him.

  “You ready to head out, Mercy?”

  Yet another thing she failed to notice. Everyone was filing up at the door. Daniel was by the front of the line, counting all the heads. “I don't know,” she replied to Glen. “I don't feel ready.”

  “You have a gun, I see.”

  How does he know that I- And then she saw that her gun was sloppily hanging from her coat pocket. She corrected it. “What else do I need?” She saw that Glen carried a backpack, as did most of the others in the room.

  “You're dressed warm and you're armed. But...” He walked over to where he kept his miscellaneous supplies. He picked up one of the extra two backpacks there and brought it to her. “Nothing is more important than this. Now you're ready. Believe it or not, a pack is more important than a gun when you're out there.”

  “More important than staying alive?”

  “Unless you can digest bullets, I'd say you'll live longer with food than you will with a gun.”

  Mercy's mind wondered. Is he right? What does keep me alive longer? I can't go on if I'm shot, but I can't go on without food either. Having a-

  Daniel blared, “All right. Moving out!”

  The door opened. The darkness of the night was all that was out there, according to her eyes. She feared, and almost expected, a group of the same size waiting out there for them, prepared to shoot them all down as soon as they exited the building. She and Glen were at the back of the line, among those who did not opt for running out. A good thing, too, she thought. Her stomach was empty, her spirit scarcely alive, and her only security and guidance was an old man who could not run, either. Before long, the company slowed their pace to a walk and the misfits caught up.

  Portland was all around her, yet nowhere. The group's tiny flashlights were all the sight anyone had, and it only illuminated the area their next step would land. Another thing I should have brought, if I had one. She found comfort in the sound of her company's footsteps. As they walked, the clicking of their shoes made them more visible than what her eyes could see.

  How long have we walked? There was no way to know. The group had stopped, somewhere. Everyone was talking comfortably, some exchanging sips from each other's water bottles, which she found to be a deep solace. Wish I had that, too, she thought. She looked up, making out faint shapes. What the hell am I seeing? Trees... Buildings... What? Without more light, how do they know where they're going? She was tempted to ask.

  “How'd you get stuck with us?” Glen asked, faint in tone like the others.

  “Some guy dumped me off at the shelter.” Without sight, she could only assume she was speaking to her new friend.

  “Sorry to hear that. Did he treat you well?”

  “He wasn't my boyfriend or anything. It's kind of a long story. Well, not really... It's just complicated, I guess. I don't want to talk about it.” Her words were not followed by any response from Glen. I hope I didn't offend him... she thought. “I lost my family. I've been wandering ever since.”

  “Sorry to hear that, too.” She thought she could see Glen reach out a hand toward her, but assumed it was just her imagination. “Family keeps us going. I admire your courage, not giving up when you've lost the most important thing you ever had.”

  “Hope keeps me going.”

  “What kind of hope?”

  “Hope that I'll have a family again.”

  “Hmm,” agreed Glen. “But nothing could ever replace the family you had...”

  Mercy pondered a moment. “Did you lose your family, too?”

  A loud shriek sounded approximately a mile away from them. Mercy turned toward the source, forgetting her eyes would do her no good. She looked toward Glen again.

  “How could you tell? I guess being alone in the meeting room must have given me away,” Glen half-joked.

  “A little. But I could tell from your voice. You talk like you've lost someone.”

  “Everyone has.” He sighed. “I had a daughter. Beautiful, beautiful daughter. Rachel... She could have been your mother; shows you how young I am... I lost her on a scout mission. I wasn't there when it happened. She was … She was just taken, they said. We don't know who, we don't know why.”

 
; “What brought you here?”

  “Rachel was the only daughter of mine that lived in the Portland area. She lived in Sherwood. When the riots started, and people started … cutting each other up in the streets, Rachel was here in downtown at work. And see, I lost my wife just two years ago. I wasn't going to leave Rachel alone to get robbed, or killed. Not while I could save her. So, I drove up here to find her. There were all these people... So many people, I had to get out of my car and find her on foot. Luckily, she was still at work, hiding in her car in the parking garage.”

  “How did you find these people?”

  “Oh, I don't remember. My memory's a little blurred with that part. Rachel and I waited in that car for over a day. And we didn't leave that parking garage for almost a week. By the time we left... I don't know. We must have just found the building and asked to come in.”

  “Do you think you'll see her again?”

  Glen paused. “I can hope, but I can't know for sure. I wish I knew one way or another if she was dead or alive. I don't know what's worse: if I had seen her die, or being here, in this state of uncertainty.”

  Mercy could sense Glen losing composure, judging from his voice alone. “I watched my family die,” she said. “All of them. My niece was the last. She and I survived in my father's basement for almost three months. We were lucky that he was so prepared for what was coming. But the night that we had to leave to find more food, and maybe safe friends to stay with, we were attacked by these … rapists. My niece shot one, and they … shot her back.”

  “How've you been keeping?”

  “I have nightmares about it all the time. It's still fresh in my mind, like I'm still watching her die. It's hard not to think it's my fault she's dead... Until things get better for me, I have to keep her out of my mind. A time to mourn will come someday.”

  Mercy heard Glen scoot closer to her as she spoke. His hand found her shoulder. It was comforting and helped her not to cry. “Despite everything you've seen,” Glen began, “you still haven't given up? You still have hope you'll have a family someday?”