Those Who Lived

by Poss, Bryant

  The tanks clanged together now with each of her own steps like an alarm. Rounding the corner, Lo lost her footing on the pine straw at the edge of the building, and she went down on one knee. The tanks hit each other hard, and for a brief second she was afraid they’d explode at her side, but nothing happened. What did happen however was the cessation of the leather on asphalt. There was no way it had stopped the chase. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Cillian. It was on the grass.

  “Run!” She yelled, gaining her feet, a hole now in the knee of her pants, blood running down her leg. Lo planted both feet, turned around, and pulled the .38 from the holster. She held it in both hands along with her breath as she waited, her heart beating in her ears. There weren’t more than a few thumps to listen to, the muscle beating hard in her chest, before the spazzo rounded the corner. What used to be a man wearing a three-piece suit, iron gray with matching vest and yellow tie came around the corner like a cat giving his last pounce for the mouse, and Lo froze. The skin was gashed in places, the clothes torn, but the eyes looked almost pleading. All it sought was her. That much was clear, but it wanted to get to her for more than just savagery. It strained to get to her as if it's very existence depended on it. The pain in the eyes said it all, sky blue and bloodshot.

  Lotus squeezed the trigger, trying to keep a steady hand, and the pistol barked in her grip, the bullet tearing into the spazzo’s throat. It shuddered a step and went to a knee, but it never lost momentum, getting back up and tearing ground beneath its feet as it continued toward her. She squeezed again but missed entirely. Taking a deep breath, the smell of the world suddenly foreign to her, Lo exhaled and squeezed again, the roar of the gun not even registering in her ears as she realized there was no time for another shot. The left eye of the spazzo disappeared, and it fell forward with its insane momentum, sliding the last few feet into Lo’s boots. She looked down at it with shaking hand then looked back at Cillian who was now running toward her.

  “Let’s go,” he urged, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the building. “Let’s go right now. There’s no telling what will respond to those shots.”

  They made their way around the building to the trash bin and climbed through the window, quickly pulling the bin in front of the hole. Lotus’ breathing was so sporadic, it seemed as if she may pass out.

  Her gaze vacant in the direction of the window, Lo looked to be in complete shock, and Cillian appeared to be worried on the same level. Putting himself in front of the window, hoping to catch her eyes, he stood with as little fear as he could manage. A minute went by, but her breathing wasn’t slowing, and Cillian leaned forward, stepping into her until his nose nearly touched hers. The smell of their breath mingled together only to be blown into the room by the air coming in through the window behind him.

  “Lo,” he hissed, grabbing one shoulder and then the other. Were there footsteps beneath the window outside? He couldn’t tell. “Lotus, can you hear me?” Still she looked past him, panting through open mouth, and it was then that panic began to seize him. Grabbing both shoulders now and squeezing, Cillian leaned into her, his forehead pressing against hers and yelled despite the open window.

  “Lo, what the hell! Can you hear me?” His voice cracked, a shrill piercing sound, and her eyes shot to his, no longer looking past him but into him, pulling at him. Looking past her eyes, into the void of her pupil, the reflection of the window the only thing giving the blackness substance. He was drawn into that place now, the reflection growing bigger as he fell in, past seeing her as a guardian, peeling back the layers to see the woman there. She let him in, lured him even. Will you walk into my parlor? No flattering words needed or baited hook, he sank into that void willingly, oxygen be damned.

  Luck rubbed against his thigh from her pocket. She hesitated now, but nothing was clear. Everything keeps happening so fast. Everyone’s dead. Ben is dead. Parents are dead. The world is dead. She pulled back but only for an instant. His mind bounced around like a spring released on a screen door. She came back, cupping his cheek and slowing him down.

  Sight gone again, taste of flesh, smell of sweat and breath, metallic salt, dust and grass. His thoughts swam in a sea of chaos, a bliss so uncertain no coherent thought could penetrate it. There was only what created a knowing existence for the brain: smell flesh, sound separation, taste breath. Touch was as unknowable as sight with closed eyes. Perhaps the thudding heart left no room for more.

  Hers were the opposite, thoughts consisting of a chain, a singular sequence of synapses marching along to exactly what was desired. There was no consequence, no repercussion. There was only the moments, the one that would follow the other and then the other until the last one flitted across the space of existence. Said the Spider to the Fly.

  Another gust of wind from the window, this time with the smell of rot on it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps beneath it accompanied by a throaty growl, and it stole away the moment. He moved closer to her, rubbing against her, and when she didn’t pull away, he moved his hands around her clumsily, not sure what to do. She smiled and pulled away.

  “Shhhhhh,” she hushed again then looked at him. When she saw his face, Lo tried to hold the frown back, but it pulled on her lips to a wilting flower. Cillian didn’t back away, but he saw her face, and he thought he’d done something wrong, but he knew. He had seen regret before. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

  “We have to reinforce this,” Cillian said, looking out the window at the poky beneath it.

  “We can lock the door now,” she responded hoarsely then cleared her throat, holding up the keys with as much smile as she could muster. “Come on, let’s go see what there is to eat in this place. When we’re done, we’re going to sweep the building, check every room, and then we’re going to get it ready for winter.”

  7

  The school was bigger than she’d expected but the larger structure, the one they were in, was separated from another building connected by a covered walkway. All the doors leading to the outside were locked tight, but the front doors, the ones beside the lock box they’d burned open were glass from top to bottom. Very thick without doubt, but she still didn’t want to attract attention through them. After some consideration, those doors were covered with tarp from the shop class. Perhaps it would arouse suspicion from immune passersby, but it would hide their presence from pokies, which were a far more common problem.

  Sweeping the building took more than an hour. They didn’t really have a chance to go through all the cabinets and lockers yet to see if anything useful could be found, but they did at least satisfy themselves that they were the only ones in the place. There were eight drink machines, some filled with soda, but most with water, and that gave them a good feeling. No keys fit those, but a crow bar seemed to slide in nicely. The kitchen had a great deal of refrigerated food that would need to be bagged and taken somewhere the smell wouldn’t affect them, and they also found boxes of bread, peanut butter, jelly, chips, honey, and there was flour, but they would have to figure out what to do with that. The food situation didn’t leave a lot for variety, but there was food and plenty of it. That was all that mattered. Once finished sweeping the rooms, Lotus looked at Cillian, and pointed back the way that had come. He took up at her heels, their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

  “Been pretty quiet today.” She said it between steps without turning around like she was talking to no one in particular. He didn’t answer her. After a few more steps, she stopped, the sounds of their shoes in the empty hallway echoing a few more times into nothingness. Meaningless time passed while she looked forward then she turned toward him before backing up against the wall.

  “What is it?” her voice bouncing off the walls and the floor.

  “Nothing,” he said, looking down. She waited for him to look back up.

  “We’re not gonna talk?”

  “About what?” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s nothing.”

  “Oh, it’s certainly not not
hing, Cillian. I’m not saying anything. I’m not bringing it up. You talk. You say what it is that is on your mind. We’re equals now, remember? There may not be anyone else around as equal as we are. Isn’t that the argument you gave me about calling you kid?”

  He straightened up at that and looked her in the eye.

  “It’s not nothing,” she repeated.

  “I want to do it again.” He said flatly, a glaze coming to his eyes. Her lips curled.

  “I know you do.”

  “Well, that’s what’s wrong. It’s not nothing. Like you said.” He said then turned away and cleared his throat.

  “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Why not? Are we equal or not?”

  “Yes, which is why I didn’t say we’re not talking about it now. I said I don’t want to talk about it now. Is that alright?”

  He looked hard, his jaws flexing over and over. Half a minute passed.

  “Fine.” He said then put his hands in his pockets.

  “Don’t be mad. I didn’t say we can’t talk about it. I just said I don’t want to yet. Let’s move past it for now. Can we do that?”

  He nodded his head without looking up.

  “Good because I’ve got something else on my mind. The home ec class was right back there,” she said half excitedly. “I may need your help.”

  “Are you going to teach me how to cook?”

  “Little chauvinist, aren’t you?” she glanced at him with a smile. “Assuming I can cook because I’m a woman?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant, I—” he stammered.

  “Just joking, bud,” she said unlocking the door and stepping in. “But I do need you to help me do something I can’t do.”

  “What?”

  “Cut my hair,” she said, holding out her hand for him to go first.

  Inside the class were scissors, mirrors, mannequin heads sporting different wigs, the smell of disinfectant, and a CD player with fresh batteries. The disc inside was burned from a playlist and written in faded black marker on the surface was one word: Random. Lo turned it on and put the volume down before pressing play for the first track. “Song to Woody” played into the room, and she smiled.

  Cillian treated the procedure like spinal surgery, and after the first ten painful minutes, she told him he didn’t have to have her looking like she stepped out of a salon.

  “This is actually very fun,” he said, looking back into her eyes with the mirror. “It’s not like we have a whole lot to do, and I want to get this right.”

  He found a picture in one of the magazines that they both agreed on, and he was glad that she was so interested in his opinion. Although it took him nearly an hour, he finally brushed it all out and let her look using two mirrors.

  “Holy shit, Cillian,” she said, adjusting the handheld mirror to see every angle. “It looks good!”

  “Good?” he said, holding up the magazine. “It’s just like hers. Short in the back going down to longer in the front.”

  “It’s called a wedge, and it’s a damn good one.”

  “I just didn’t get the layers right in the back,” he frowned, but he started brushing her off with his hands.

  “This is awesome, bud, thanks,” she stood up, grabbing his cheeks in both hands, pulling him forward, and giving him a hard, loud kiss on the lips. She drew her head back and laughed, his face the color of a chili pepper.

  “Now,” she said, trying to help him past the moment. “It’s not very cold yet, but it’s going to get that way quickly. We need to determine where we’re going to sleep. I think the shop class is the best place hands down. We may have to sleep in the teacher’s office with the door closed when it gets too cold.”

  “How do we heat it?”

  “Well, there are already exhaust tubes for some of the equipment. We could open the hole they lead to and make a chimney. God knows there’s enough bricks.”

  “That’s true,” he replied. “And it would work well for heating that entire room, but open flame runs a major risk. Those exhausts use fans that no longer work. We can use the chimney, but that leads to fuel to burn. We’ll have to figure out how to get that. Then of course, there’s the matter of smoke. Nothing says people inside like smoke from a chimney.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, pursing her lips. “None of this wood is meant to burn, anyway. It’s all treated. It would be especially bad in an enclosed area. The chimney will work, but we’ll have to make trips outside for wood. You’re right about the smoke though. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a plan, but I have a better idea to keep us comfortable in the meantime. In fact, it may solve the problem altogether.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him, and he motioned for her to follow.

  They made their way to the south side of the building with nothing but their footsteps forcing back the silence that enveloped them everywhere they went. It was odd how quiet the world was now, and it was somewhat unsettling. There was always something in the world. There was always a sound. Tires on the asphalt, planes overhead, a horn, an alarm, a mower, a television, it had been a long time since the world had been this silent. She liked to imagine that if no one else was enjoying the current situation, the Earth most certainly was. All the fossil fuels had stopped burning. No cars on the highways and no coal being constantly shoveled into power plants to produce the heat necessary to produce electricity. The Old Girl could probably take a long-deserved breath. She could find comfort in not being molested every second of Her trip around the sun. A pleasant realization, Lotus thought she should try to discover as many of those as possible.

  Pulling Luck from her front pocket, she held it out in front of her and looked at it. The eye was fading, and a mental note was made to freshen it up tonight. The memory of finding the ball came back to her, when she used it to save Ben, and this led her to thoughts of him the way the brain will do. Go off like a child in a toy store. She couldn’t help but hold on to the idea that he may be alright. The thought just wouldn’t let her alone. Lo hadn’t known him long, but they had a lot in common, and he hadn’t been concerned about expressing himself. She really liked that, liked a man who didn’t find shame outside of conformity. When Cillian’s footsteps ceased, she looked up and shook her head clear, the image of Ben fading over Cillian. She placed Luck back inside her front pocket, Cillian stood looking out of the window of a door that led to the outside. Lo walked up beside him.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked, and he pointed out the window.

  “That’s the greenhouse. I don’t know what they’ve got growing in there right now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s got a bunch of clay pots in it, all different sizes.”

  “That’s great, Cillian, but what’s that got to do with the price of rice in China?”

  “Well, we can use those pots. Just trust me. We’ve got to make a quick run out there to get them. It won’t take more than ten minutes. Look, this area is gated, so we won’t even technically be going out into the world.”

  “Yeah, but as of right now, we’ve attracted no attention,” she said, looking around. “If we’re seen out there, they’ll come to the fence and most likely never leave. They’ll probably attract others themselves. We lucked up by not having the churchgoers move this way. Do you think it’s worth it? ”

  “To sleep in a warm room?” he asked. “To make coffee with hot water without the risk of open flame, to heat food? Absolutely.”

  “Well, we do have a few propane tanks for water” she pulled the keys from her pocket and looked at them pensively.

  “Think about heating water and a room without burning through our very limited propane,” he responded with a half-smile, and she nodded.

  “There’s no time like the present. Let’s go get them.”

  He stepped past her as if about to enter the mall on a Saturday, and she grabbed his arm, gently leading him back. Pulling the .38 from her holster, she stepped out slowly, checking every part of the fence to make su
re it was intact, all red brick and wrought iron, then she motioned for him to follow. The small building was only a hundred feet away, but they took their time, not wanting to make any sudden movements or noise. Once at the door, she tried several keys until she got the unit open. The smell of plant decay and dirt hit her like a fist, but it was nice somehow. It was a familiar smell, a pleasant one, one that wasn’t rotting flesh. Cillian simply walked inside rather carelessly again and pointed at the cages at the back of the greenhouse, and she nodded, gave him a stern look, and walked to the back. The greenhouse looked every bit as it should, but it felt alien to them. So delicate was the structure, so fragile, made only to keep a certain temperature and humidity. It offered no protection for them. Living in a world where such delicate structures could remain unscathed was one of a million things that had been taken for granted. Lo reached in her pocket and patted Luck at the thought. She holstered the pistol, and they both filled their arms with red clay pots. He motioned at the separate bottoms, and they both stacked some of those, clanking them together as easily as possible. Leaving the doors unlocked, they stepped back out into the light, both turning to the sound of the rattling fence at the same time.

  There was one poky at the fence, a woman with a blue dress covered in a pattern of white flowers. It had on white leggings, one torn half off with no shoe at the bottom, the other immaculate with buckled black boot. It had at one time been an older woman, the one you would see sitting in front during church, a piece of peppermint in her cheek and a handkerchief in her hand. They both stared at it for some time. This just seemed different. This brought home the state of the world. Anybody could have turned into an animated body. That’s what they were, wasn’t it? Just animated bodies with no thoughts, only drive?