Remnant

by Michael Clements

  “Yes, but not from the outside. Probably to avoid drawing attention to themselves.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Isaac signaled, leading them forward, wondering all the while how Marcus keeps his outside perimeter defended without keeping watchers outside the doors or on the roof. “Lower your guns,” he told them. The closer they drew to it, the more their pace decelerated. When they were about twenty feet from the building, Isaac stopped them. There was nothing; no sound, no movement, no sign of life.

  Isaac had a feeling come over him. How could I be so stupid? He raised his hands up, slowly turned around, and just as he expected, over ten men were behind them, aiming their weapons at them. The others saw and were alarmed, but were wise to not move.

  “Cameron?” asked the apparent captain, who had stepped ahead of the others. “Who are they?”

  “My comrades,” Cameron replied. “And my boss, Isaac.”

  Isaac was eventually permitted to enter while his men were required to remain outside. They opened the large entrance doors and he stepped inside. The sanctuary was just beyond the doors, and as expected, over two dozen children, seemingly between about seven and thirteen, were gathered there. Guards surrounded them, standing beyond the pews, likely there for the sole purpose of keeping the children in place.

  He was led to another room opposite the entrance. Just to his right, there was a kitchen and a serving counter that had as many weapons stored as food. A rather small but confident-looking man approached him from the hallway beyond. Noticing he was darker-skinned than all the others in the building, Isaac easily knew who it was.

  “Who are you?” the man said.

  “The name's Isaac.”

  “Does Isaac have a last name?” asked Marcus.

  “Stover. I'm sorry, I didn't think that was important. Quite an impressive setup you have here. Smaller than what I had, but more secure.”

  “I hear you're looking for an ally?”

  “Whoever told you that was only half-correct. I'm looking for more of a merge, if you will.”

  “My men belong to me and only me. The kids too.”

  “I didn't mean sharing authority. Trust me, I don't want to lose my men, either. I want only to share your land; help you keep it. In exchange for a building of my own to run my business, I would answer to you, heed your commands and fight by your side.”

  Marcus never smiled. His bodyguards were behind him, one of whom was a glaring teenaged boy - the only one Isaac had seen there. “I don't need you or your men. We've managed fine since the beginning.”

  “How exactly, if I may ask?”

  “The troops are reluctant to shoot their fellow Americans. Even more reluctant to shoot a child. When I obtain one, I train them to be effective shields. I've kept the city free of the government for over six months now.”

  “By 'city,' you mean this side of the river?” Marcus looked at him with expression that read confusion and threat. “We're losing the city, Marcus. I lost my building and all my territory with it.”

  “How much territory did you claim?”

  Should have watched my words more closely... “Two buildings,” he said, knowing he was embarrassing himself.

  “Cute,” smiled Marcus. “What was this business you had?”

  “I maintained a shelter for civilians who were … unfit to survive in the city. That's how I lured women, then I sold them to either Lance Smith or other, smaller, clans and families. Whoever was willing to pay the most. The world's oldest profession is always profitable. Never thought to use children, though.”

  “Most never would. Most people are too soft. Lance Smith, huh? I've rented from him before. I was never a disappointed customer.”

  “Most likely you've enjoyed one of my residents. I arranged scouting missions every night where residents scavenged for their own food. I had my right-hand-man, Daniel, stage abductions that appeared random, so that I could get away with it. Daniel's dead now, unfortunately.”

  “A businessman,” said Marcus.

  “That's what I've heard said of me.”

  “I like you.” Marcus looked to his bodyguards. “Zoey,” he told them.

  Isaac did not know what that name meant, but he waited as the men departed down the hall, then eventually returned with a young woman who was gleaming with as much confidence as Marcus himself. She was beautiful, with elegant brown hair and a seductive grin. With her was a younger girl with blonde hair.

  “Zoey's proved herself a good tool. I'll send her with you as a token of good faith. She'll help you recover what you've lost.”

  Isaac looked at Zoey with skepticism. “How exactly will she help?”

  “She'll find women for you. Everyone trusts a young pretty woman, and all men will do anything for a nice piece of ass.”

  “And the girl? What use is a ten-year-old?”

  Marcus looked at the girl standing beside Zoey as if expecting something. “She stays with me. For now.”

  Whoever she was, Isaac pitied her, for she appeared strong and resilient but emotionally wounded. A tortured soul. It stirred a feeling, close to grief, far beyond anything Isaac had felt in months. Bodies filling the streets beside all the debris and rubble, families torn before his eyes, and witnessing the collapse of a once-prosperous society had never affected him as deeply as what his eyes bore at that moment. Isaac chose to ignore it, and forget it. Perhaps he couldn't have if the girl left with him.

  “Any terms and conditions?” the businessman asked.

  “You can keep whatever women she brings to you. What I require in exchange is friendship. That is all.”

  Isaac scoffed. “By friendship, you mean fealty?” Marcus grinned back. “Deal.”

  MERCY

  Mercy was developing an immunity to the sight of death.

  Is there a right answer? she questioned, as she stared at the body they had stumbled upon. It was that of a man who was about her age. She repeated the moral question in her mind: Take the food, or not? He was lying in a dried pool of his own blood, had been shot multiple times in the back, and had fallen on his face. He wore a backpack that was open, and had likely been robbed of the other food it carried, save for that one can Mercy was staring at. It was clear that the can was not taken because it was soaking in his blood. She had spent days without eating, and the blood did not even disgust her. There is no right answer, she thought. He died for this food. Regardless, she took it from his bloody corpse.

  “You should clean that first,” said Seth, as he and the other two watched her.

  “Frankly, I just want it opened,” said Mercy. She continued to stare at the body.

  Seth cautiously took the can from her hands. “It's just pears, Mercy. You need more calories.”

  Mercy turned her head toward him, her eyes lagging behind. Her hair was filthy, and it covered most of her face, but she cared too little to notice. “What do you have instead?” Mercy could not speak above a whisper, though her throat was in robust condition compared to the rest of her body. She felt no more alive than the body at her feet.

  Seth hesitated. He said “sorry” as he pulled his serrated clip point knife from its sheath and stabbed at the top of the can. The first attempt failed to open it. He tried again, then a third time.

  “Need help, Seth?” asked James. “It might be the cold.”

  “I'm fine. I've done this a thousand times.” Seth stabbed at it three more times, each with more force than the last, before he finally punctured it; but his blade tore through the other side and slit his middle finger.

  Mercy dove for it as the can fell from Seth's hands. With all her strength she tried to rip the rest of it open. Candace went to Seth and took his blade, then while the can was still in Mercy's hands, she sawed a wider opening in the top. Mercy could finally pull the rest of it off, and she drank the pears and the juice like water. In three gulps she consumed the entire container. Seth angrily took back his knife.

  “Mercy...” said James, concerned, “your lip's bleeding.”


  She put a finger on her mouth and indeed discovered blood on it. Don't even feel it, she thought.

  “I wish I had something on me that could help. Seth, if you'll let me borrow your blade, I can tear off part of my shirt and bandage your cut with it.”

  “I'm not letting you tear up your clothes,” said Seth as he continued to apply pressure to his finger. “God, this fucking cold makes it so much worse. We need to find somewhere to go. Now.”

  While Seth winced in pain, Mercy simply bent her lip back and covered the wound with her tongue.

  “How will we know what's safe?” asked James.

  “Safe,” Mercy breathed faintly. “Safe... What's safe?” First find somewhere, wait for things to go wrong, she thought. Then when that falls apart... Lather, rinse, repeat. It's only biding time. Life is nothing but biding time before death.

  Mercy stared at the concrete. She didn't know anyone paid attention to her until Seth asked, “Are you okay?”

  She looked up at him, stared back blankly, then lowered her head again.

  “Do you have any ideas, James?” he asked.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “We should settle somewhere high. A top floor,” said Candace.

  “That's safer than being at ground level, but the higher up you are, the more difficult it is to come back down. Unless we find a building that already has all the food we need to last, we need to stay low. I know of a place that should.... but if we.....”

  Mercy could no longer hear them. She was lost in her thoughts, and her senses grew numb. She forgot where she was; when she was. Mom, Dad, her thoughts went to... Celia, Haley... Her niece's screams, Jayden's screams. She never forgot either of them. They were voices in her head, and were all louder than gunfire. She forgot anyone was with her until she saw Seth to her side, standing and preparing himself. Stay here, she thought. All of us... Let's stay here, and let ourselves fade slowly away. Slowly, slowly, in the cold. Die like the rest...

  Mercy woke in a dark room, finding herself laying on a desk, in a place she had never been. Her legs were exhausted, her head was throbbing. “Guys, where-”

  “Shh,” said Seth, gently helping her sit up. “You passed out.”

  “Where'm I?” she breathed with her head swaying.

  “Far from Isaac. We're setting up shop, just puttin' up barriers with whatever we can find.”

  Mercy barely caught most of that. She was well enough to keep her eyes open, seeing that they were at least on a second floor, judging from not being able to see street out the window. The building seemed small since the room was just large enough for the four of them to reside in comfortably. She slumped over the desk onto the floor. The others appeared concerned. “She's fine,” Seth said to James and Candace.

  Her memories came flooding back. However long she'd been unconscious, it had done nothing to lift the weight. Swaying turned to sobbing, then sobbing turned to weeping. Seth passionately embraced her as she let her soul leak from her eyes. Only for so long could someone stay strong before losing hold of themselves. Seth kept her head close as her crying briefly turned to screaming, muffled by his chest. She embraced him back. “Why?” she cried. “Why?”

  –––––––

  Sometime later, after they were established, Mercy sat alone in a corner while Seth stood before them to speak.

  “Well,” he reluctantly began, “I say: search the building for whatever we can find. Food, warm clothes and blankets are the most important.”

  She gradually lifted her eyes to pay attention.

  “What if there are others in the building?” asked Candace.

  “There probably will be,” said Seth. He turned around. “Can you stand, Mercy?”

  She nodded, but after a moment said, “I'll need a moment, though.”

  “Should we all just rest for a little while?”

  “No,” Mercy snapped. “Just wait a minute. I can come too.” It took her a minute, but she gathered her strength and focus, standing as tall as she could. “Let's go.”

  They stayed together as they located the stairs, proceeding up to the next floor. On that third level, no one was present, alive or dead, so they split up. Mercy drifted the furthest from the others but did not lose her way. They found themselves in a typical office space, which was surprisingly intact.

  Weak, dizzy, and partially asleep, Mercy scoured the desks, drawers and cabinets on the far side of the floor, eventually locating a couple of candy bars. Calories, she thought, excited. Half of them she ate, and the other half she saved, despite her lingering hunger. One of the cubicles had a hand-sized Bible in the bottom drawer. A present for James, she thought, as she stuffed it into her coat pocket. Every step of the way, she remained as attentive as she could, keeping alert for intruders, or predators already lurking inside. Mostly, apart from her physical state, she felt a sense of peace and safety being there.

  She and James stumbled into each other toward the front desk. He greeted her. “Hey,” she softly said back. “I found something for you.”

  James was delighted, and his face illuminated when she handed him the book.

  Not feeling a desire to socialize with anyone, Mercy stepped away, but before leaving, James asked, “Are you okay?”

  How does he think I am? She politely answered, “I could be better.”

  “We all could, I suppose...” If James was saying anything else, Mercy did not hear. She stared at his face, studying it, and his body language. He stood tall, even proud. His clothes were filthy but were inexplicably intact for the times. One particular feature about him she could not look away from.

  “How do you do that?” she asked. She realized James had been speaking.

  “I'm sorry. Do what?”

  “...smile,” she stated. “How do you do it?”

  James then appeared self-conscious, as if he didn't know that he often wore a smile. “I look on the bright side, I guess.”

  Mercy spotted the others continuing to scour a dozen feet behind James. “How?” she asked him.

  “Are you a believer? In Christ, I mean?”

  Mercy shook her head. “Never took that stuff seriously.”

  “Faith. That's what keeps me going. It always has, even before all this. But to a nonbeliever, I guess that would just be … optimism.”

  “You think God's good because he's kept you safe this whole time?”

  James pondered a moment. “I wouldn't say that.”

  “What would you say, then?”

  “That my understanding is limited. I trust that, in the end, God will make all things well again.”

  Mercy scowled some. “Why not make everything good now? Why wait until the end?”

  “I don't understand it any more than you. I just... trust. It's blind trust, and I know that, but I trust anyway.”

  “I wish I could do that, James. But it seems God isn't on my side. He's killed everyone I've ever loved.”

  James studied her a moment, which made her slightly uncomfortable, but she was fine with it. “We're all struggling, Mercy, but that's no reason to give up. We have each other, don't we? Maybe that won't last much longer. Maybe one of us will die tonight. Maybe we'll all die tonight. But isn't it enough to be happy, seeing what you have right now, just at this moment? You have a family. We're here for each other.”

  Mercy now resented his optimism, but only because she couldn't share in it. After a moment, she brought herself to admit, “I'm thankful for you, James.” She meant every word. “Candace is a lucky woman.”

  Her words made him smile, but it seemed he was obscuring something behind it. He started to step away. “Thank you for the Bible, Mercy.”

  Watching him return to searching with the others, Mercy felt feelings developing for the man. Though she knew Candace, and likely Seth, would controvert that, for their own reasons, she felt no shame in it. Better not let anyone know, though, she thought. I can't act on how I feel, but at least I have him in my life.

&nb
sp; JAMES

  Three days passed. Rain returned to the city, washing the chaos away with it. The cold was lethal enough. No one would dare risk being wet, too. With the rain came a few hours of peace, but if it lasted too long, the people would risk venturing out into it, anyway. The group had struggled to sleep those past couple of nights. Battles and raids kept them up. They lived in the heart of the hell, but luckily, people who were interested in their home would leave at the sight of their established defenses. By then, it was obvious that everyone in the city was too weak and lacked the motivation to break through any barricades.

  That morning, James was the first to wake up. The silence seemed to not only allow everyone to sleep, but sedated them, too. He felt fully rested when he opened his eyes that morning. He assumed it was midday at the earliest, but with the usual cloud coverage and since no one else was awake, he was merely the early bird. He recalled two days ago, scouring with the others on the floor above. Shortly after speaking with Mercy, he had stumbled upon an old mp3 player with a slim slit for a screen. It still displayed the time and date. It read: DEC 23, 2012. 7:54 AM. He never told the others of the discovery he made. Part of him wanted to feel that much more important. The other part was certain it would have helped nothing.

  James had also found basic printing paper in the office, along with standard pencils. It was the best the office had to offer, but it was enough. Over the course of the following two days, he had more than enough time to draw sketches. Drawing was a pastime he had not had a chance to return to in years. While making his sketches, Candace requested to see what he was making, but he only kept saying, “I'm not done yet.” It was to be a surprise for her, and for Mercy and Seth, for the day they could not celebrate like they once did.

  In the silence of the room while everyone peacefully dreamt, James used the opportunity to seek guidance from scripture. Never a better time to read, he thought. To grab his Bible, he had to carefully reach over his sleeping wife and extract the book from his filthy spare pair of jeans.