Upon Us

by Blakely Chorpenning

  A short time later, my head began drooping to my shoulder before I would jerk it forward again. The wind scratched at my eyes like tiny talons, causing them to water. My feet throbbed as I wriggled my toes, trying to soothe the stings of the tiny cuts made more severe by the unforgiving vines. And the pain in my knee had traveled up my throat, sitting between my shoulder blades, at the base of my neck, in the form of the worst headache I had ever suffered.

  When the old truck pulled up to a concrete wall covered in dormant grapevines, I felt nauseous. The bare vines resembled gigantic skeletal arms strangling the pale wall under the partial light of the moon.

  Someone from the other side of the metal gate swung it open, offering a hardy, "Good evening!" before the truck sputtered through and the heavy latch clicked behind us. I watched the man in dark clothes grow smaller as the truck wound around a corner, into the heart of the village.

  "Now you get to see what's behind the walls," Graham whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  "Where's Ren?" I asked.

  "The hospital. We'll be there in a few minutes," Graham assured me.

  The modest homes were less elaborate than I'd imagined. I always thought they would be grotesque in size, decorated in colorful paint and expensive ornaments. But these were brick squares with potted planters resting on underwhelming porches. Some of the pots had cabbage, lettuce, and cucumbers winding down the stairs, while others were nothing more than exposed dirt. Candles and lanterns spotted steps and hung from hooks in doorways. None flickered, as the occupants were probably sleeping at this late hour.

  I turned my attention to Graham. "Why am I here?"

  His forehead crinkled. "I don't know."

  "I want to see Ren."

  "You will. First, we need to fix your knee. I think it's dislocated, at least partially, but I've never reset one before. The doc has to do it."

  The engine cut, leaving us in silence outside of a white building. Blood red roses vied for space under the wide windows, tracing the exterior of the building like a vein.

  "This is our hospital."

  The redhead unlatched the tailgate and hopped out, his weight bouncing the truck bed. The slight movement awoke the pain in my leg. I braced my body as best I could until the bed stilled.

  Graham had noticed. "Do you need help?"

  "I can do it myself."

  I gingerly scooted across the bed of the truck, remembering to grab the makeshift crutches. As my legs dropped off the back, I tensed, holding my breath, before landing on my healthy leg. The crutches did their part, cushioning my weight as I stood.

  "Ta-da!" I squeaked. After a moment of recovery, I shuffled towards the smooth wooden door of the white building.

  Graham looked dismayed. "Ren is the most stubborn human being I know. I didn't think there was room in the world for one more, but you're proving me wrong."

  "When they turned off the world, four billion people died in the first two years. There's always room for one more."

  "You are…intense."

  "Okay," I said nonchalantly, "Let's look in on asshole number one before two gets her checkup."

  "That's not what I meant," he stammered. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

  I hobbled up the front steps. "I was joking." The wear from the trip was apparent in my voice, even as my tone was light.

  "You are quite different." He looked at the ground, trying to hide his smile. "Ren must be infatuated with you."

  "Not in the least," I protested. "That's not a thing."

  It was his turn to say, "Okay," like he didn't believe me in the least.

  As we reached the door, he opened it, ushering me inside. The interior walls were just as white as the exterior. The entire building was so clean, it called to the surrounding homes like a beacon. Maybe that was the point.

  "Down this hall," Graham motioned.

  I followed him to the left, down a long stretch of more white emptiness flickering under the thumb of lantern flames lining the walls. Was this what it was like to die and slough off the dirt and reality of life? When you walked out of your squishy, bloody casing and cut the tether confining you to the ground? When the pieces scattered could no longer be picked up?

  I made up my mind not to like this building. It was a death box.

  "In here." He pointed to a solid door on our right.

  "How do you know he's in here?"

  "It's one of the only rooms with a fireplace. We use it to heat pots of water. The moisture settles his lungs." He said it in a way that implied it was Ren's "usual" room when he suffered an asthma attack. How often was he here that he had an entire room?

  Before he opened the door, I paused. "Will he be okay?"

  "Sure. It only acts up in cold weather. Or if his body's under an incredible amount of strain."

  I nodded, thinking how every second with me had been an incredible strain.

  He lit a candle from a side cart in the hallway and swung the door open. When we stepped inside, Ren was in a deep sleep under a thick blanket, though the top of his chest was visible. The bed was narrow, garish, and overstuffed. I limped to his bedside, searching for any signs that Graham had been lying. In fact, he had told the truth. Ren was clean. The ruined clothes were gone and his shoulder had been looked after and freshly bandaged.

  The room wasn't white, as expected. It was warm and creamy, with a multicolored rag rug covering the majority of the floor. An inviting element to worn, cold feet. Thick drapes blocked the rosy sky, signaling the looming sunrise.

  "Has his father been to see him?" Surely the man from Ren's account would have dropped his canvas the moment he heard of his son's return.

  Hesitantly, Graham explained, "He isn't here. A group of men went out on a hunt days ago, before you- Before Ren left."

  But his dad wasn't a hunter. He only pretended to be to gain the freedom of the wilderness.

  I ran my hand down the side of Ren's neck lightly. He was warm, but not feverish. His breathing came in quiet, easy waves.

  Graham awkwardly busied himself by refreshing the wood in the fireplace and adding water to the pots. I waited, quietly realizing the weight of my worry. Realizing how scared I hadn't allowed myself to be when I saw them stealing Ren away into the sky, out of my hands.

  Ren's lips were slightly parted, calling to memory our one kiss. When he was awake and mobile, I knew I wanted to kiss those lips again after a swift slap.

  Why did he tug at something deep within me?

  "Let's take care of this knee," I suggested, sloughing away my extreme need to protect Ren from the worldly dangers surrounding us. Most of all, from himself.

  Tossing his hands in the air in mock excitement, Graham replied sarcastically, "That's a great idea. I wish I'd thought of that."

  "There's obviously room for three in your 'one asshole' world."

  "I'll take that as a compliment," he snickered, holding the door open for me.

  Glancing back at Ren once more, confident he was mending, I allowed Graham to lead me to the other side of the hospital. We found each other to be quite taxing when I refused to sit in a wheelchair halfway there. I had seen one before, contrary to what he believed.

  "It's for people who need it," I stated flatly.

  Nodding vigorously, he quipped, "Like people having problems walking."

  "Don't patronize me."

  "Look, the longer it's like this," he motioned to my knee, "the higher the chance of hurting it permanently. What if that happens?"

  I shrugged. "Then I'll use a wheelchair."

  Flustered, he fell mute, resigned to walk behind me, which he discovered unnerved me.

  Soon, I was introduced to a doctor who gave me an overstuffed bed of my own. It looked much different from Ren's. There were rails along two sides and the sheets were considerably thinner. I could practically see through them.

  Lying on top of the scratchy sheets, the woman, introducing herself as Dr. Lowel, approached me. Someone had asked me to remove my sho
es, but that didn't happen. I didn't plan on staying long.

  "You're going to point your toes upward for me," Dr. Lowel directed in a crisp voice, grabbing my left leg. Her chestnut hair bobbed, curling just under her chin. Her lips were shapeless, harsh against her rounder features.

  I obliged. A second later, my leg was extended straight in the air.

  "Bend," she ordered.

  I bent my leg, though it hurt worse than when I originally injured it.

  She mused, "Good, good." After readjusting her hold, she added, "This may be uncomfortable," and shoved my leg to the side, over my body. A sickening pop resonated between the solid walls of the room.

  Against my will, I screamed.

  "It's done," Dr. Lowel announced, pleased with herself. "Graham will inform you of your aftercare and exercises to strengthen your knee again."

  "Aftercare?"

  "It will take a few weeks to recover. In the meantime, you need to wear a brace."

  Somehow, I had been lying to myself. I had imagined waltzing out of the village after magically having my knee popped back into place, conveniently forgetting that they came for me. They surely wouldn't allow me to just walk out, to blend into the backdrop of the world.

  "Why am I here?"

  The doctor cleared her throat, not making eye contact.

  "I will leave when I'm ready," I warned her. "If I understand why I'm here, there's a chance I might stay longer if I can help in some way."

  Searching my eyes, she said, "Time will tell," before plastering a clinical smile on her face. "Rest first. Shower. Wash your clothes." Her icy demeanor faltered. Maybe she wasn't as hard as she let on.

  "Mm," I responsed, along with a slightly raised eyebrow.

  I did take advantage of the shower, which was an indoor hose connected to a massive metal rain barrel outside the window. A slow fire burned beneath it, heating the water inside to just this side of warm. It was glorious.

  A bar of soap was available to wash my body and hair. Standing under the drizzle, I watched the soap roll between my hands, building a thick lather. Before I was able to relax completely, Graham's words bore their way into the forefront of my mind.

  Our walls hide their own horrors.

  Sobered, I turned the showerhead off and got out. A cobalt sweatshirt and black pants waited for me. I opted to put my bra on. It wasn't that dirty. After dressing and wrapping my hair in a white towel, I filled a basin and washed my own shirt, jeans, and underwear. There were pins and a rope strung up to drip dry them over the shower. It was a nice setup.

  I took a moment to examine my reflection in the mirror. I was still me. Still my mother's daughter. We shared our sable hair and my grandparents' Korean features. That was enough at the end of an unforgiving day, when everything else about her had been obliterated. It had to be enough, especially when I yearned for more.

  The sweatshirt fell at the perfect length to cover the festering bite on my wrist that pulsed to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I half expected Ren to barge in at any moment, demanding that I chop off my arm to save my teetering life. But he didn't. And he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, or there would have definitely been a commotion. I had asked him to trust me. Was this him trusting me?

  After finagling with the straps on the odd brace, I finally wrapped it correctly around my knee.

  Graham was waiting for me in the room where I would be staying. "How does it fit?"

  Looking down at the contraption, I nodded. "It was harder to put on than I expected. Third try gets the worm, though." His expression made me question, "That's the saying, right?"

  "Sort of. I've never heard it quite like that, but it works." He handed me a real crutch. "Try this."

  I placed it under my armpit, which was still raw from the wooden walking stick. It was too tall. After a bit of readjusting, Graham stood up. "How about now?"

  "Perfect."

  He said, "Good," warmly, sounding especially genuine. "Well," he motioned out the window, "it's past breakfast, but maybe you should eat something before you rest. Someone is waiting for you, so there won't be that embarrassing moment where you wonder if you have to sit alone. The new kid."

  "I wasn't worried," I corrected him.

  "Why would you be?"

  "Exactly. I'm…not."

  We stood in silence.

  "I wish we could keep having this awkward conversation, but there really is someone waiting for you."

  "Ren?"

  "Yeah."

  Part of me was excited to see him. Most of me was still pissed.

  Graham showed me to the cafeteria, which was a room with a few tables and chairs instead of beds. After an apocalypse, I guess you really do have the flexibility to re-label anything you want.

  Ren was sitting at the farthest table with a plate in front of him. He stood when he saw me.

  "What do you want for breakfast? We have fruit, bread, eggs," Graham offered.

  "Four eggs."

  "Four?"

  I nodded.

  "Are you sure?" he asked as we approached Ren.

  "Get the woman four eggs," Ren stressed, though his tone inferred little more than a suggestion.

  I added, "Scrambled, please," though it was weird that a stranger was cooking my eggs. I was capable of cooking them myself.

  "Done." Graham bounded out the door, leaving us alone.

  I propped the crutches against the wall and, as gracefully as possible, slid into the seat adjacent to Ren. We sat at the round table, words escaping us, until he cleared his throat.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because you look like shit and I'm the reason." Rethinking his answer, he amended, "You actually look really great, other than the brace. That's my fault."

  "Okay."

  "No." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with the slightest discomfort.

  "No, what?"

  "Don't say 'okay.' I know what that means." His hair fell to the sides of his face, framing light bruises and highlighting flecks of gold in his flustered eyes.

  I challenged him with my own crossed arms.

  "When you say 'okay', something's wrong."

  Staring at the edge of his plate, I fought for words to describe the deceit I felt. The pure agony of breaking every rule I've ever lived by in the course of a few days. Mostly, for being an idiot and believing his ruse when I prided myself on being the opposite of this person sitting across from him.

  He lived by his own rules, ignored precautions, and worshipped pain. We had very little in common.

  Unable to stand his scrutiny, I charged, "You spend your life flipping chairs."

  "I don't know what that means." Closing his eyes, he rubbed his cheeks with his hands. "And I'm not sure there's a man alive who does."

  "To flip a chair on someone. To purposely make them see something differently until they lose the upper hand."

  When his eyes sprung open, he stared for a handful of breaths before guessing, "To turn the tables on someone?"

  Growing restless, I spat, "I don't know what that means." I moved my leg too quickly as I sat up, wincing.

  "I'm guessing by your accusation that it damn well means the same thing as 'flipping chairs.'" His forehead crinkled, drawing a heaviness to his eyelids. "And maybe I'm guilty. But chairs and tables come in all forms, like a rock to the brow bone." He pointed to the small row of stitches buried in his right eyebrow where I had smashed the stone into his face.

  "That's not the same thing."

  "It gave you the upper hand."

  I huffed, "You tried to grab me."

  "I tried to save you!" His voice carried through the room. We both waited to make sure no one was going to charge in before he continued. "I'm trying to save you."

  Resting my elbows on the table, hands clasped, I stared up at the ceiling, searching for words. I thought Ren had trusted me when I told him not to worry about the bite on my wrist. It never occurred that he was still working on a plan to save me
from the world I fought so hard to return to.

  "I don't…" Flustered, I persisted. "I don't need to be saved. I need someone to help me save my world. Can you see the difference? If not, you need to let me go right now." I was afraid of what I might see if I looked at him, so I didn't. I couldn't.

  Without a sound, he reached across the table. Ren slowly rolled the sleeve of my sweatshirt up with one hand, revealing the mark, while his other hand loomed over mine, playing across the tops of my knuckles. Unable to take his eyes off the wicked damage the sick had done, we sat in this frozen standoff.

  "It isn't what you think," I whispered.

  "I think you should be dead. This is a death sentence to everyone but you. Why?"

  "I don't know."

  "Like you don't know your age? Like you don't know your name?"

  I started to pull my hands away, but he swept them into his and gently held them there. Staring into his eyes, I saw what I was scared to see: desire.

  I needed to lead him away from wherever this was going.

  "They don't know that I took the seeds. Someone kindly pointed out that my mission was a failure." Raising an eyebrow, I reminded him, "We both know that's only partially true."

  He shrugged. "I reported hitting the alarm right after we got inside. You didn't find one seed. It was a real sad sight."

  "Why are you helping me now?"

  Ren released my hands, opting to wrap his arms against his chest again. This time, it was in a protective gesture. I slid my sleeve back into place, hiding the bite wound.

  We turned to watch Graham bring my pile of eggs to the table. Without saying a word, he observed our expressions, held his hands up, and exited the room.

  The eggs smelled delicious. They were fluffy, too. It was a gut reaction to eat while they were hot. Ren watched as I forced my mouth to chew rather than inhale every bite. I was hungrier than I had realized.

  The plate was soon empty, and I guzzled a glass of water.

  "I'm waiting for an answer," I finally voiced, pushing the plate away.

  "Me, too."

  "I'll tell you what I know about this," I said, holding my arm up, "if I can trust you. That begins with you trusting me."