by Poss, Bryant
“What’s with the golf ball?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to watch her. She started to freshen up the ink then offered it to him first. He smiled and took it in his hand.
“This is Luck.” She said and watched him.
He held the ball and some of his fear subsided. There was a great deal of fear of this world, but his feelings were conflicted. He was becoming who he was going to be, reaching that age of self-exploration and identification, that time when innocence dies, when belief begins its cessation, when blind allegiance begins to wane without constant reinforcement. Turning the ball over, he came upon the eye. His heart was about to explode with emotion on so many levels. This woman he was with was an exotic existence. Personified allure. She evoked something he had never felt. He felt humiliated to think it, but it roamed free in his thoughts, like an aphrodisiac. He maintained some of his innocence, and it conflicted with these feelings, but it didn’t quell them, only made them that much more exciting. His heart was strong, bursting with feeling. She reached over, holding her hand out for the ball and he placed it in her hand, making sure to make his own contact with the skin. The emotion changed in her hand to that of no innocence, to that of the id, the Dionysian. This one’s perspective was crystal clear. There was nothing obscure about any aspect of the world.
“I found this at the hospital on the first day,” she said, tracing the lines of the eye. “There was a poky that had Ben trapped in a closet. At the time we had no idea what was going on so rather than confront it, I looked down for something to throw at it, to distract it. This was at my feet. I hadn’t seen it before, but there it was. I picked it up, but I didn’t want to throw it. I wanted to hold it, to keep it. I have no idea why. But, I ended up throwing it because there was nothing else. It hit the poky in the back then bounced wildly on the tile floor. It fascinated the poky, and it followed the ball down the hall, back toward me. Ben came out of the closet behind it and hit the poky across the head with a mop handle. The wood broke over its skull, and he shoved the point through the back of its head, the point popping out its eye in front of me. It fell dead, and I remember the look, the terrified expression on Ben’s face as he looked around until he saw me. He stood there for a moment, as if I may not be something to trust then he held his hand out to me, and that’s how we came together. It wasn’t long after that, we found you.”
“Do you think he’s dead?” Cillian asked, pursing his lips.
“I don’t know,” she said, a clicking sound in her throat. “I can’t imagine how he made it, what circumstance would’ve made it possible for there to be no body in that room, neither his nor spazzo. I don’t know.”
“Did you love him?” he asked, looking down at the light. He looked back up at her stifled laughter.
“Love him?” she held her hand over her mouth. “Love is a concept. A very strong word that must be felt sincerely, so yes, I loved him. No, I didn’t love him. Neither answer changes anything. I did enjoy his company though.”
“I thought, you know, maybe you had to love him—”
“Because I had sex with him?” she asked and watched him blush. “No, sex does not equate to love, but let’s not worry about that now. It’s going to get pretty cool in here tonight. Let’s just get to morning so we can find out what there is to eat in this place. What do you say?” He nodded his head, and she turned on her back, putting Luck back into her pack. She extended her arm toward him and turned her head.
“Come here,” she whispered. “It’s going to get cold.”
He hesitated, and she motioned at him with her hand. Sliding over, he laid the back of his head into her armpit, and she rolled him over onto his side, facing her, his face against the side of the breast. She was so warm. She was soft and warm, the very definition of comfort. He breathed her scent in deeply, no artificial smell this. It was the smell of her, and he couldn’t’ get enough of it. He moved around and settled like a cat until he was comfortable and she did the same, pulling another jumpsuit over both of them. The smell of her made him feel awkward, not like he had ever felt. It made him feel ashamed like when he’d found his father’s magazines. Rapturous was the word he could not find, but still shameful. Turning into her and smelling, breathing her in deeply, he didn’t want to feel ashamed. The skin felt like something alien to him, the same substance as everyone else he’d ever touched but not the same, not the same. Her heart beat in his ear. After a few minutes he tried to turn away, embarrassed by his own reaction against her, but she held him where he was and squeezed him.
“Sorry,” he said, closing his eyes tight.
“Don’t be, it’s okay.” she said and after a while they finally found sleep, the most pleasant sleep Lotus had since this world came to be.
6
Lo’s internal clock woke her with the sun. Cillian was face down in her breast, and there was nothing else but to smile at how peaceful he looked, how calm. The boy’s family had died right in front of him, violently for his mother, and helping him cope was her priority. Painfully slowly, she eased her body from underneath his and took the opportunity to enjoy such a secure room. Placing one of the aprons on the concrete, she sat down straightening her legs and leaning over to grab her toes. After half a minute she was able to get her chin between her knees, reaching her fingers underneath her feet and lacing her fingers. She pulled gently at her feet for minutes, breathing slowly and deeply into the present moment then sat up and pulled her legs apart until each foot was opposite the other a hundred and eighty degrees on the floor, and she lay her body forward placing her head on the apron that was her mat. The same amount of time passed here, full split, arms outstretched like little versions of the legs. After allowing her body to wake, she stood up and dressed quietly then unblocked the door and stepped out, leaving Cillian to rest.
The layout of the building was nothing revolutionary given what it was built for. Cinder block walls stretched out in both directions, turning sharply at precise intervals to form different hallways in the building, each narrowing in perspective with one classroom after another. She looked at the end of the hallway on which she stood to see the locked doors at the end. Nothing but sunlight on the other side thankfully, an empty window always welcome now. The silence settled over her for some minutes, a silence her brain was still trying to cope with, before she made her way in the opposite direction, getting as far as the double doors that led to yet another hallway then she went back, not wanting to get so far away from Cillian. Jogging down to the double doors that led outside, she checked their security. This place was great. Depending on what the kitchen had to offer, this place just may be perfect.
He was sitting up when she got back to the room, hair sticking out everywhere. He looked over at her with one eye shut running his tongue over his teeth and smacking.
“I absolutely have to brush my teeth today.” He said stretching.
“We’re about to start looking for anything and everything in this place, bud, but the first order of business is the cafeteria.”
“I’m for that.”
The open area of the cafeteria gave off the creepiest vibe so far. With all the tables and chairs in such an open area designed for hundreds of people, the silence and isolation just seemed to remind them of the world outside. That and the huge windows that looked onto the highway outside, this room literally seemed like the world now. The school itself had little smell other than the dust of disuse, but there was a different smell here. The faint smell of food. There was none in the room now, but the remnants of the thousands of trays that had been served over the years didn’t disappear entirely.
“Even now I hate this place,” Cillian’s voice echoed across the concrete and tile room.
“This is a high school, right?” Lo said softly. She was nearly positive the building was clear, but the silence was still unnerving. After eating, she wanted to sweep the entire building. “You’re not old enough to go to high school.”
“I skipped a grade,” he said
in a defensive tone then seemed somewhat embarrassed. “Yeah, it really makes you popular.”
“Hey, I was in a similar boat,” she said making her way to the kitchen. “School bored me to death. They tried skipping me up grades, but I ended up just enrolling myself in home school. I learned far better on my own anyway.”
“Man, wish I could’ve done that,” he stopped and looked around at the tables. “I guess it doesn’t matter now though, does it?”
“It may yet. It’s too early to tell anything for sure. If the life of a society is a journey, education is the road on which it travels.”
They got to the back of the kitchen, the room filled with stainless steel counters, cabinets, and sinks. After pulling on a few of the cabinets and cages that led to store rooms, she cursed under her breath. Lo went all the way around the room then went into the office in the rear, tearing through the desk drawers. She came back huffing, a look of irritation on her face. Her hair looked terrible, two uneven strands on the sides with a clump missing from the back. She stood looking at him for some minutes, and he just threw up his hands.
“You know what one of the biggest differences between a school and a prison is?” she asked looking at him with a fake smile.
“The occupants?” he asked questioningly.
“I’m going to let you marinate on that before I answer it,” she walked past him, and he took up at her heels. “All keys are left at a prison, never leaving the premises, but everyone who works at a school takes their keys home.”
“Are we going to find the principal’s house?” he asked, struggling to keep up, but she didn’t answer. For several minutes, she just walked up the hallway, her .38 in hand, making her way toward the end of the building they’d not yet visited. After several minutes of walking and looking around, they came to the main entrance of the school, a row of glass doors lining the entire front, and her attention went to the one on the far left. Cillian just stood back and watched Lo, her face pressed against the glass to look at the wall outside the door and to the left. After a minute, she went to the other side and did the same thing. Cillian opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but she didn’t give him the chance.
“And Bingo was his name—"she turned and looked at him. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Come take a look at this,” he walked over and she pressed his face against the glass, pointing to the wall on the right. “You see that little black box?” He nodded in affirmation.
“Well, that’s a security box for the fire department, or police department, or whoever needs it. It’s usually the fire department that would need it in the event they had to get into the building in an emergency and no one was here.”
“Okay,” he said, his face still pressed against the glass. She let him go and wiped his cheek with her fingers.
“Sorry,” she said. “Every door, every cage, every cabinet in this school can be opened with the keys in that lock box.”
“Excellent, let’s go get them.”
“Yeah,” she said looking up and down the street as best she could. “We have to go out there, but we can’t unlock these doors, so we’ll have to go out on the other side of the building where we came in and go get them. Not only that, but that is a security box, which means only someone at the fire department or police department has the key to open it.”
“So what’s the point?” he asked throwing his hands up. “We need a key one way or another.”
“Oh come on, have some faith, man,” she turned and started walking back the way they’d come. “I’m guessing you never made it to shop class.”
“No, I took philosophy and economics as electives. That’s more my speed.”
“Not a problem, bud, because your substitute, Ms. Lo’s about to give you an introductory lesson into the art of the cutting torch.”
Back in the shop class she was glad to see that the teacher kept things in strict order in his work area (or her work area). After taking a few minutes to pry a padlock off one of the metal cabinets, she pulled out a portable acetylene torch and set it on the ground. Cutting a length of rope from the spool in the corner, she made a makeshift sling by which to carry the tanks. Gloves were found in the same cabinet and goggles. Lotus moved around like she owned the place.
“What’s in the tanks?” Cillian finally asked.
“Acetylene in one and oxygen in the other,” she said without stopping her preparation. “It’s used to raise metal to its kindling temperature or melting point. This is how we open the lock box. All I hope is that the keys don’t hang on the door, since this will melt them too.”
“Why don’t we just cut the locks we need in the building with that?” he asked, and she stopped and looked at him.
“I’m gonna let you marinate on that.” She stood there looking at him, his face scrunched in thought. After about half a minute, he frowned.
“Because we need to keep the building secure and the locks do that. It’s better to control them than destroy them,” he said looking down.
“Don’t look down, it was a reasonable question. Don’t you find it more fulfilling to answer it yourself?” She continued getting everything together then stood up looking at everything she’d put on the floor. The boy nodded to give her as much affirmation as possible.
Wind came through the book room window, their primary entrance and exit for the building, but thankfully there was nothing else. It made the room quite cool, but it was an exhilarating sensation. Being safe inside made the outdoors more appealing. It made it easier to appreciate knowing you could come back inside for safety. Like being home.
“Stay on me,” she said looking at him. “You think you need a dose of Tylenol or anything before we do this?”
“I think I’m past that,” he held up his three-fingered hand. “It’s been itching pretty badly today. I think it’s healing well.”
After pushing the trash bin only enough, they made their way out the window continuing around the left side of the building. Lo had the tanks and torch slung over her shoulder, a work rag stuffed between the metal canisters to keep them from clanging as she walked. Cillian carried the goggles and gloves. Every few steps, Lo would stop and listen, the wind cupping her ears now and then.
They made it around to the front of the building without incident, and Lo set up the torch at the lock box, suiting up with the gloves and goggles before turning to Cillian. The boy’s face was pale from the long infection of his hand, but there was light in his green eyes again.
“Take the pistol,” extending the .38 to him, but he hesitated. “You’re the eyes and ears while I do this. Not to mention, I don’t really need a loaded gun at my hip while I’m burning metal. Don’t worry, if you see anything, just tap me. We’ll work on teaching you how to handle a gun later. Here, hold Luck for me too.”
He took them it in his hand and let them hang by his sides. Watching the road while she turned her attention to the box, he felt like the security of the situation for the first time, like she could depend on him. Lo lit the torch and pulled the goggles over her eyes, the pungent fumes cutting through the air. With the big work gloves, she carefully began touching the end of the flame to the hinges on the side of the box. The work actually took only a couple of minutes, and once she was done, she set down the torch and slid the glasses up on her forehead.
“Didn’t think about bringing a hammer,” leaning down and picking up the oxygen tank, using it to tap the door away from the seal. Reaching a gloved hand into the small box, she smiled broadly pulling out the key ring with surprisingly few keys on it.
“We’re in business,” she said, turning to meet his stare, but her smile dropped when she looked past him. “Look at that.”
At the intersection down the street sat a large church on the opposite side of the road, the parking lot filled with cars. One of the green double doors to the building stood open and from it poured a stream of pokies, gathering into a pool in the parking lot no more than three hundred yards a
way. Lo and Cillian stood watching for a full minute.
“Who opened the door?” he asked keeping his eyes on the spectacle.
“I don’t know, but that’s the most I’ve ever seen in one spot. Together they could probably pick up that building. Let’s go.”
The words hung in the air like a puff of smoke but neither of them moved. The crowd of pokies spilled out of the brick building into the parking lot, onto the grass, and eventually the street like some demented Hawthorne tale. Formal dresses and suits, children in collared shirts and skirts moaning around, blood stained and tattered. They all looked like the dead come back to life, but Lo knew better. They were infected. As simple as that, yet so complicated. She snapped out of her gaze when she saw the crowd part like the Red Sea, one of the bodies moving far faster than the others.
“Shit.” Barely more than a whisper, she said it with wide eyes. It was too risky to use the keys now. What if she couldn’t get one to work? A scream came from somewhere in the crowd.
Quickly gathering the materials, taking the .38 in her hand and shoving Luck in her pocket, they headed back around the opposite side of the building, and that’s when they heard the scream that was now closer.
“Don’t even look back!” Lo said, the tanks now clanging together despite the padding. “We have to get to the window!”
She couldn’t help glancing back as they turned the corner. From the yard of the church stood the spazzo looking around frantically, turning its head left and right with its nose up as if smelling for anything on the air. When it walked down the steps, the pokies parted to avoid it. The thing that used to be a man let out another scream, smelling the air. It hadn’t seen them, but it seemed to know they were there. It was smelling the air trying to get the direction it needed to run.
“Move,” she hissed to Cillian who waited in front of her. “Let’s go before it catches our scent. It’s smelling around for us. That’s obvious now.”
Leather slapping asphalt, such an unmistakable sound like a dodgeball on flesh, bottle rockets in summer, chambering a round in a pump shotgun. The sound now denoted fear. It dictated flight. The spazzo’s feet tapped louder, ever so subtly each tap grew louder than the last, and there was that instant that Lotus didn’t know what they were going to do.