by E. R. Arroyo
“No, it’s not permanent,” I finally say to Max as I steel myself and my resolutions. From now on, I make my own choices. I choose what’s best for me, even if Dylan doesn’t care. Maybe he never did. I guess it’s better for us to be apart after all. I hold my chin up. “I want to find out what happened there, who Antius took from them and why. When Tyce returns, I’ll know more.”
“He probably won’t come back, Corinne. You should know that. The odds…” Max sighs and then starts to finish his sentence, but I cut him off.
“It’s where I need to be right now. You can check on me in a few weeks if you want.”
He sighs again and we fall into silence. We ditch the car at the same place we did when Aaron was driving and we go the rest of the way on foot. We don’t talk much and I know it’s because Max doesn’t understand why I’m being so stubborn. He even offers to stay in The City with me to look out for me, but I refuse. He has a command to get back to and I don’t want him to lose his job because of me. Plus, I think I can weasel my way into good graces with the savages, but I doubt I can do the same for Max. He’s a colony soldier, a title written in all his features, illustrated in his posture, his gestures. Maybe mine too, but it’s worth a shot.
“I can’t send you in there alone,” he protests one last time while we stand on the edge of The City, just having crossed the river.
Water drips from both our legs and I’m glad the weather is finally warming up. “I have to go in alone. With two of us, we look like emissaries. As only one, I’m just a stray. They won’t hurt me.”
Max throws his arm around my shoulder, giving a light squeeze before stepping back and straightening his shirt. “What should I tell him?” he asks, peering at nothing in particular on his shirt.
“I think I’ve said enough already.”
He squeezes his lips together in a tight line before nodding reluctantly. “Gun?”
“Check,” I smile, patting my weapon in the back of my pants.
“Loaded?” His hands fall to his hips and he looks like a father sending his kid off into the world for the first time.
“Of course,” I laugh. “I have a knife too.” It’s in the sheath in my boot.
He inhales and takes forever releasing it. “All right then.”
We give the awkward nod that only soldiers do, and then I back away into The City. After a few backward steps of his own, he finally turns his back to me. And suddenly I am alone.
Turning to face the expanse of concrete giants, I formulate my plan. The City’s different somehow as I approach it by myself. My first task will be locating someone, hopefully a group that isn’t hostile. I don’t want to call them out the way Max did on our last trip because it would put them on edge. I want them to take me in, not send me back as an unwelcome visitor.
I walk the streets for hours looking for movement or signs of human life—working doors, boarded up windows. If I don’t find anything before nightfall, I’ll have to find somewhere safe to sleep until morning. The animals come out at night and I’m not itching to have another encounter. It isn’t lost on me that somehow I don’t feel afraid here, or even out of place. I mean, there are plenty of things in The City to be afraid of—including the people I’m trying to find—yet here I stand, head high, shoulders back, un-intimidated.
Though I can’t see life of any kind, when I walk past sewer grates, odors of dirt, sweat, and maybe even blood waft up. I detect soiled water and the occasional burst of fresh air with a gust of wind. The smells inside Antius were never as alive as these. Good and bad, I love them. Antius can keep its sterile everything.
I don’t know how many buildings are included in the list of residences here, but there are tons of options. I begin to wonder if I’ll ever find them or if they’ll continue to elude me. As the sun begins to set, I give up my search and decide to find shelter for the night.
On a long continuous wall of buildings, all connected side-by-side, I find a door that seems separate from the two rooms on either side of it. They were probably storefronts of some kind, but the glass is all broken out and the insides are torn up. The bricks surrounding the blue door are a different color than the other brick façades, redder, and speckled like it had been painted but the paint has worn thin over time.
I do the obvious thing and try the doorknob. It’s locked of course, but there are a dozen small panes of glass with black paint on the inside. With the butt of my gun, I smash through the pane closest the knob. Reaching in, I let myself into a tiny landing that leads directly to a narrow staircase and nothing else. Closing the door behind me, I try to think of something to cover the hole I made in the glass, but first I have to figure out where I am and if it’s safe to stay here.
I take the stairs as light-footed as I can. Given the probable size of what I’m walking into, I doubt Tyce’s people would be here, but there could be other threats.
At the top of the stairs there’s an unlocked door, this one with no glass panes. I ease my Glock out and hike my backpack higher up on my shoulders. With both hands on my weapon, I toe the door farther open and step inside. To my left is simply an open closet with empty hangers and a few clothing items on the floor. To my right, I walk into a small living space: a tiny kitchen with one small countertop and sink, a mattress on the floor with rumpled sheets and pillows. Boarded up windows face the street with slivers of sunlight coming in through the cracks between the boards.
Three suitcases and two bags are open on the kitchen counter stuffed full with someone’s belongings. From what I can tell, they belonged to a man. Clothes, books, photos, and toiletries are among the things spilling over the brims. Someone had either just arrived or was trying to leave—probably the latter. Either way, they are all abandoned now.
I push through the only other door to the bathroom, and there’s nothing and no one inside. This seems like a safe place to settle in for the night. Putting away my gun, and dropping my bag on the floor, I head into the tiny kitchen where I rifle through drawers until I find silver tape and something black to cover the hole in the glass downstairs.
I traipse down, tape it up, and lock the door. After checking it a few times to make sure it’s secure, I head back up to settle in. I take off the bedding and wad it up in the corner, trying not to kick up the layers of dust. Then I flip the mattress over.
Pulling my bag onto the bed with me, I lean against the wall and cross my legs. I hug it against my chest. I exhale, the weight of everything sinking in all at once. I can’t believe I really left Dylan in Mercy. For years, Dylan was my closest friend. Sometimes my only friend. And recently he’d become so much more.
And now? Gone. Nothing.
Pain. Sorrow. Betrayal.
Loneliness.
Regret.
I lean slowly until I’ve fallen onto my side, the backpack falling onto the mattress in front of me. I slip my hand inside until I feel the plastic sack. Without looking too closely, I pull it out and lay it on the mattress. Stare at it. I drag my fingertip lightly back and forth across the seal.
One picture. I’ll just look at one. I crack the seal on the bag and grab the first photo, slipping it out from the others. There’s faded ink on the back of it, but it’s too smeared and weathered for me to read. Looks like a name and date though. I take a deep breath and flip the paper over.
“Mom,” I breathe.
Blue eyes, beautiful, beautiful blue eyes peer back at me. Strawberry blonde hair just like mine. High cheekbones, pallid skin much lighter than Dad’s and mine. Honestly, she reminds me a lot of Ginny, but far more beautiful. I can’t get past that word—it’s the only one that fits. In the dark crevices of my mind, I try to find a memory to put with this face, but I can’t.
Captured by her piercing gaze I try to imagine the sound of her tender voice soothing me, but I only hear Dad. I seal the bag up, but keep this photo out. It’s small enough to fit in my pocket and I like the idea of keeping it close. It comforts me to see her face and know she’s part of who I
am. She’s where I came from. Dad too. Maybe there’s even a picture of him in this bag, but for now, this is enough. Any more and I’d run the risk of losing myself to emotion. The last thing I need is more crying. I reach over and prop the picture against the other pillow so she’s facing me.
It bothers me that I don’t know her name. I wish the ink on the back of it were legible.
* * *
“Did you really live … out there?” a boy asks me.
My seven-year-old voice fails me, so I nod. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it feels like a while. It’s my first time eating with the other kids. I don’t like the food, but I’m so hungry I don’t mind. And I’m happy to be away from the place with all the doctors. I don’t feel sick.
“Did you have a mommy?” he whispers. He’s sitting right next to me, and he’s the only one because I think the other kids are scared of me. They don’t ever meet new kids. Usually I don’t either. I’ve never seen this many people in my whole life, and it’s hard to be here because they all keep looking at me.
I shrug in reply, keeping my head down over my bowl. I know that I had a mommy, but I’ve been having trouble remembering her, and when I try really hard I just get sad and cry. And I cry when I think about Daddy too. I miss him.
“What’s wrong?” The boy touches my shoulder and I jerk away from his hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.” He puts his hands in his lap and looks at me, worried.
“I’m scared,” I mumble, glancing around at all the wide eyes in the room.
“Don’t be scared. I’ll be your friend.” He smiles and I think he’s nice. And I’ve never had a friend before.
“My name is Cori…” I know that’s not my whole name, but my voice falls off at the end because I’m afraid to talk too loud.
“I’m Dylan.” He smiles before popping a spoonful into his mouth.
Dylan is my friend. My very first friend.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I’m smiling. And as soon as I realize I was dreaming of Dylan the smile disappears, replaced by feeling sad and unsure. Early morning light is barely seeping in, and my mother’s picture still watches over me. Her almost-smile comforts me and I slip the photo into my back pocket. I bet Dylan would know his mother’s face without needing a picture. I’m reminded how very different his childhood was from mine. In some ways his was worse because though I had two loving parents and lost them both, he lost the loving one and was left with a cruel and heartless father who couldn’t have cared less about him. But we both lost love, and because of that we are the same. The cold in Dylan’s heart thawed a lot quicker than mine, if he ever had it at all. I push him out of my thoughts as I roll across the mattress and sit up.
I re-pack my bag and leave it downstairs by the blue door on my way out, just in case I need to make a hasty retreat. I head back the way I came and try to find something that looks familiar from the time I was here with Dylan. After about a block I decide to split off in a different direction, farther into The City’s heart. But something catches my eye. Something that certainly was not there when I passed yesterday.
Blood.
I kneel by the stain on the concrete sidewalk, and most of it has dried, but the place where it puddles in the middle is still wet. I have no way to tell who or what it belongs to, and there’s no trail. Perplexing.
Intrigued, I keep walking and find another puddle of blood, this one even larger. Again, no trail or signs of anyone. I find several more, the bloody sidewalk drawing me toward the river. I kneel beside a smaller stain, glancing around in all directions. Hand on my chin, I recall the day before, certain that I came this way yesterday and this wasn’t here. All this had to have happened last night after the sun went down. I never heard shouts or gunshots or anything that would resemble a fight with Antius or anyone else for that matter.
The last puddle of blood I come to is pooled around a small, furry creature cut open down its center. The putrid smell forces me back a few steps. Covering my mouth and nose, I rack my brain trying to figure out what might have happened. Then I realize…
The people here are hunters, and the animals come out at night. When we were here before they waited till dusk to relocate to a new building, and I suppose they prefer to move about under the cover of night. My chances of finding them during the day are probably slim.
I don’t suppose they would hunt close to where they stay, so I head back where I was planning on going this morning and resume my search toward the center of The City. I walk close to the buildings looking for cracks in windows, but so many of them are dark.
I get bold and begin to tap on the windows and knock on the doors just in case someone might come to see. But I get no response. I’m only comfortable doing so because I know they don’t have guns. I can dodge a knife a lot easier than a bullet.
My stomach growls and if I don’t find someone soon, I’ll probably starve to death. I only brought a little food with me from Mercy and I left it back at the blue door. Even if I could build a fire to cook the animal they left behind, judging by the smell and the fact that they left it behind, I doubt I should eat it.
I search all afternoon and I even call out “hello” from time to time, but I find no one. It’s a big city, but knowing they were on my side of town just last night makes me think some of them could be close.
Back at my new home, I eat what’s left of the bread and dried meat in my pack, and then sit out on the sidewalk till dusk. Maybe they’ll come this way again and I can talk to them. I doze off leaning against the old brick wall with my hand on my knife and my legs crossed in front of me. I don’t have much sense of how long I’ve been sleeping before I’m startled awake by some sort of screeching wail.
My knife is out before I’m even to my feet. The sound had to be an animal. I move forward as my eyes adjust to the darkness. In the distance the sounds of even more creatures fill the air as The City comes to life. I wonder, briefly, why they all seem to prefer the night.
I walk more or less aimlessly for what feels like a mile, soaking in the sounds. At night it’s a different place. There’s a subtle chill in the air and the wind whistles through alleys and broken windows. Birds caw, wolves howl, and there’s a host of other animal noises I can’t identify. It’s … alive … and beautiful and dangerous in equal measures.
I stop cold, the hair all over my body standing on end.
Ahead, two growling figures lurk in the street, large but low to the ground, standing on all fours. I hold still, regarding them with reverence and genuine trepidation. I’ve never faced animals like this, and I obviously know nothing about hunting.
Just as one creature lurches toward me, two new shadows emerge, tackling the beasts. Before I can see what’s going on, a savage steps into view a few feet ahead of me blocking my view. I gasp and step backward, gripping the hilt of my knife even harder. His posture is hunched, his arms up and ready to attack. He’s everything I remember savages to be—deathly, sallow, slightly inhuman, sunken eyes. Most notably, his muzzle is gone.
Adrenaline coursing, I lift my blade prepared to defend myself. Before the savage makes a move someone’s hand wraps around my wrist, wrenching it behind my back and forcing the blade from my hand. As it clatters to the ground, a warm breath hits my ear.
“Well, you’re a long way from home. Where’s your body guard?”
I recognize the voice instantly. Black Eyes.
“I’m alone,” I tell him, silently cursing myself for my horrible luck.
“I see that.” He releases me and steps back, waving off the savage staring at me like I’m food. The savage turns away and helps the other two who are standing over their kills—the two animals I saw before they showed up.
Black Eyes retrieves my knife and holds it just out of my reach.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I say, asserting myself as unafraid.
“Since yesterday, I know,” he says. “You’re staying on Penn.”
I shoot him a p
uzzled look, wondering how he knows.
He tilts his head toward the rooftops and I deduce they have lookouts and someone spotted me. So, they’ve known I was here but haven’t made a point to approach me. They must have hunted nearby last night to taunt me.
“Tyce?”
“Still hasn’t shown. Why ya so bothered about it?”
I shift my weight, more than once glancing down at my knife in his hand. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not. I’m just here to check on a friend. I’d like to stay until he gets back so I’ll know he’s okay. I can keep my distance if you want, or maybe I can help out…” And I need food….
“Help with what?” he laughs.
I realize all too suddenly that I don’t have any useful skills and I almost laugh at myself too. “Anything.”
“You cook?”
I shake my head.
“Make clothes? Feed babies? You a doctor?”
“No,” I answer, propping my hands on my hips.
He turns his attention to the savages behind him who are in the process of tying the legs of the animals they killed and hoisting them onto their backs. I can’t be sure, but I think one of them licks the back of his hand before the three head off down the street.
“Any good with this?” Black Eyes flips my knife in the air and catches it by the blade between his index finger and thumb.
“Yes.”
He extends the knife toward me and I take the handle, but he doesn’t let go.
“Name’s Flex. Let’s see what you can do.” He releases the blade and pulls his own, before turning and pacing away.
“I’m Cori.”
“I know, shut up,” he hisses. “We’re hunting.”
I follow him, mimicking his posture—crouching and keeping my knees bent. He leads me forward a few blocks before we turn and then go a few more. He comes to a slow stop, then turns to me. In a whisper, he gives instructions, “Wait here. I’m going to flush them out and drive them your way. If you can, get your arms ‘round one and make sure to pierce the underside, not the back. Don’t let ‘em bite you.”
