by Al K. Line
The most depressing thing was although he hated what they had done it was, and the admission infuriated him, a rather good idea. They needed new blood, and needed to attract the attention of anyone passing by — this was a rather spectacular, if crass way of doing it.
It made him hate them even more.
When it was finished, when the excitement of a new activity had worn off and everything settled down, Whip knew they would have to go. There was no way he would spend what could be thousands of years living with such annoying men, especially as they had been right about something.
The idiots.
"Damn those twins." Whip got up from his chair and stabbed the fire with the poker.
Even though the paint had faded, the stone revealing itself through the thin layer, the weather wearing it away with a promise that one day it would be gone, it still stung to look at it.
It may have been decades ago but it had cemented his decision that at some point, when the opportunity arose, there would be a new ruler. There would be other changes too. Whip didn't want change, or responsibility, but he had to think of himself, just this once.
He wondered what the girl was doing, when she would arrive. He knew she would, she wasn't the type to leave well alone, that much was obvious.
After unburdening himself Beamer came out of his shell. Maybe it was the familiarity now Arcene and Leel were no longer strangers, or because Arcene had told him everything would be all right? Or was it because he was energized after gorging on so much meat alien to his body? Whatever it was Arcene welcomed it, encouraged it, and the more playful Beamer got the more she reverted to the spirited girl she understood she would always be.
The sight of Arcene getting "deathy" faded faster than she expected after his initial reaction, and an hour later, with the scene behind them and food consumption buoying energy levels, Beamer was jumping about with Leel like the mischievous boy Arcene expected he always wanted to be. She got the distinct impression that Beamer's life didn't give the chance to play very often — most children were the same. Survival occupied most parent's minds, and this rubbed off on the kids — Arcene knew this and made it a point to play as much as possible with her own son for that exact reason.
"...seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Coming," shouted Beamer, smiling as he charged into the wheat field, heading straight to where Leel had run to hide. He'd been peeking, Arcene had seen him from her own hiding place, but hey, that's what kids did.
There was a commotion as a bird flew out of the ripening stalks and Leel gave herself away anyway as she ran after it, her head just above the wheat turning golden in the long summer days.
"Found you. I found you Leel, you're so silly," giggled Beamer as he chased after her, losing her almost immediately as he wasn't tall enough to see above the grass.
Arcene giggled too, spirits light and enjoying the moment. This was what life was about: being carefree and living in the now, no thought of the past or the future, just being alive and enjoying the freedom, no concern about tomorrow or even the next hour.
Moving silently, Arcene tip-toed away from the battle in the wheat field and hid behind an ancient oak, all gnarled trunk and storm-damaged branches. She settled at the base were she couldn't be seen. The early afternoon was warm, the humidity high, the shade welcome. Off to the north Arcene could see the jagged shapes of the skyscrapers, the outlines of the buildings looking more beaten by the elements than the ancient tree that offered such welcome shelter.
They'd be there in about an hour by her estimations, at least to the outskirts, and Beamer had said that his home was a few miles in at the city center, the heart of what was once a teeming metropolis, now nothing but an interesting place to visit, not somewhere to live a whole life.
The sun beat down. The air buzzed with tiny insects. Leaning against the tree, Arcene could hear beetles at work within the split trunk, burrowing away in the dark, making homes for themselves, never knowing that the world was so very different to when the tree had been a sapling and the fields surrounding it were farmed intensively, chemicals sprayed weekly to ensure the abundant insect-life didn't interfere with crop production.
She'd been taught it all, how the countryside had been so different — just another in the long line of tales she had a hard time believing.
"Found you, found you," shouted Beamer, jumping up and down with excitement, Leel running around the tree, tail wagging, the excitement contagious.
"Eh? Wassat? Oh, oops, must have nodded off there for a minute. Good job little man, you're great at this. Bet you always win."
"I've never played hide and seek before, this is my first time," said Beamer as he chased after Leel, catching her and rolling over onto the ground, arms and legs waving in the air as she took the opportunity to lick his face, spreading slobber all over his chin. "Ugh, get off Leel, I'm all wet."
"Well, for a first time you're doing amazing."
Poor kid, just like when I was growing up. Nobody to play with. Don't know what his dad's been doing though, he should do this.
"Hey, don't you go getting too good though, otherwise the game will be over too fast next time."
"Next time? You mean you'll come and see me again?" asked Beamer, hope in his eyes as he scrambled from the floor.
"Course, said so didn't I?" Arcene rolled across the ground, careful of the sword at her back, and lay on her side, smiling into the boy's eyes as she got to a crouching position.
"Cool."
Arcene grabbed hold of Leel and blew a raspberry into her chest, sending the dog into fits of manic running — she loved it for some reason.
"Haha. Leel you big daft lump, you do that every time." Arcene got back up and turned her attention to the northern skyline. "Right, you ready? Time to go home I think."
"Aw, do we have to? I want to play again."
"Another time. Your dad has worried long enough, it's time to get you home."
"Okay," said Beamer. He skipped off with Leel not far behind.
"Kids," said Arcene to a passing bee. It didn't pay her the least bit of attention.
An hour later and it was like stepping into another world. There was no sudden transition but before they knew it the landscape had changed from endless fields and rolling hills to a battle of nature versus man. Nature was winning, by a sizable margin.
What was once a large road that carried tens of thousands of cars a day in and out of the city, was now a perfectly level field full of plants and grasses, the excavated remains of the road forming high banks either side, the trees spilling down to soak up the abundant rain that channeled down the slopes, feeding the vegetation. Arcene made out a few humps of abandoned cars, skeletal remains entombed within a coffin of ivy. Bright shrubs fought for space: rogue elements, the spillover from gardens, seed dropped by birds decades ago.
That too soon changed, and they walked through what Arcene knew were once called the suburbs, nicely spaced houses on generous plots, home to those that could afford to live close to their place of work. Then it became more claustrophobic: terrace after terrace of red-brick houses, tiny courtyards at the rear, half of the blocks nothing but piles of rubble, the others held up by their neighbors.
Arcene tried to keep the mood light, but the city had totally changed the atmosphere. Leel's ears were flat to her head, tail no longer dancing, but down low, only the slightest curve at its tip. Beamer was like a different person. The barrier was up, the happy child of a few hours ago replaced with a pensive boy, eyes darting about nervously, head snapping from side to side as he heard a noise, shoulders hunched — frightened.
Why is he so nervous? This is where he grew up.
"Hey, you want to do something cool before I take you home?" Arcene smiled, she couldn't help herself, this was going to be just perfect.
"S'pose," said Beamer, looking glum, small too, as if he'd curled his body inward.
Arcene studied the morose child. His body was slumped forward, arms hanging limp by his sides. E
ven his walk was different, he was shuffling along like an old man, hardly lifting his feet at all, just kicking through the tufts of grass and the mosses finding purchase in the cracked concrete.
"Hey. Hey! Stop." Beamer stopped and looked at her. "What's wrong with you? Aren't you happy to be seeing your dad again?"
"Yes, I am, but, well, I'll miss you. Miss being out there, even if it is scary." He turned in the direction they'd come from, but that was a different world now, invisible. All they saw were ancient homes, dead cars and fallen signposts. "I was scared Arcene, and the castle was horrid, but meeting you, and Leel, um, I kind of feel safe with you." Beamer fidgeted, wringing his hands, focusing on his feet.
"No need to feel embarrassed saying you like our company, we like yours too. Right Leel?"
Woof.
"See," said Arcene, smiling. "Now, about this cool thing, you wanna do it or not? Me and Leel can always go on our own if you aren't interested." Arcene changed direction, heading to the largest skyscraper in the city, one of the few that remained seemingly intact.
"Hey, wait up! I didn't say I didn't want to come," protested Beamer, little legs running to catch up.
"Move it then, we haven't got all day. We can have one last adventure then it will be time to get you home. Let's go gang." Arcene began jogging through the empty streets, intent on her goal, excitement building as she remembered about the Room Marcus had told her about — as long as the building was still standing then it would be great fun, he'd promised. She'd almost forgotten, so preoccupied was she with her unexpected traveling companion. She'd planned on going there alone, but maybe it would be even better with company.
The day was warm, Drem Scarpino was sweating as he made his way inside, leaving behind his immaculate vegetable plots, every weed dug up, put onto the compost heap — waste not, want not. The moment he entered the top story of the building he instantly cooled, sweat drying on his skin, leaving him feeling sticky and in need of a shower. It would have to wait, he had chores to complete, as always.
He walked into the large suite of rooms he had lived in for more than half his life, moving there from the old house he had grown up in when he found himself alone after performing the most terrible of deeds: he put his mother out of her misery then tried to leave the bad memories behind and find more suitable accommodation.
His early years had been a struggle: strict parents, an obsession with staying indoors and never enough food meant that when he found himself alone it came as a relief in many ways.
That was in the past. He'd created a new life, a good one. Even when it was just him and Beamer things had been pretty good, although the boy could be a real handful at times and he had to be strict with him occasionally. That's what boys needed though: a firm hand. It was for his own good, to keep him safe.
Drem hurried to the fireplace, poked it with the tongs, then carefully re-arranged the slow-burning logs before adding another. The pile was still high, there was plenty, but he reminded himself that soon he would need to split the wood still on the ground floor. It would also need to be hauled up the endless flights of stairs. They weren't really logs though, he told himself, these were the joists that held up many homes, scavenged from the rubble once the buildings had collapsed, salvaged before they rotted away.
He looked around the open-plan living space, noting it seriously needed a clean and tidy. Things had got a little out of hand without Beamer — he'd been so preoccupied with finding his son that almost everything else had been allowed to slide. Not good, not good at all.
Although exhausted, Drem knew that he should try to put things in order, if nothing else it would help take his mind off the emptiness he felt. He began by picking up clothes, then dealt with the stack of plates he'd washed but not put in the cupboards. He even halfheartedly did a little washing then piled the damp jeans and shirts by the door so he wouldn't forget to go hang them up to dry. So many chores, so much to do. Beamer would have done a lot of it, he was so helpful.
Chores complete, and now in desperate need of a good wash, Drem walked into the bathroom then almost walked straight back out again. It was a terrible mess. How had it got so bad? The sink had a black ring around it, the floor screamed for a brush and a mop, the compost toilet, full to the brim, needed taking out and adding to the compost heap — all manure was good manure, you couldn't waste a thing — and the shower cubicle was almost impossible to actually see as the glass partition was thick with soapy residue from the course block he made himself with animal fats and a few precious oils he had found in one of the stores still standing, now empty apart from for a few things he had no idea as to their purpose — they sure used a lot of lotions, gels, and weird stuff back when such places were hives of commerce.
Over the years Drem had tried various products he'd found in stores and in people's homes, many of the descriptions on the bottles long ago faded or the labels peeled off. But plenty of them had still advertised their esoteric messages, promising to revitalize your eyelashes, make your complexion shine, give you radiant hair or somehow eradicate the wrinkles that had formed at his eyes.
Half the stuff ended up doing nothing but bring him out in a serious rash, or make him blotchy. Others would stain his face or make his skin feel weird. One product dyed his hair red and he had to shave it down to the scalp, wasting precious charge from his array of batteries powered by the mishmash of solar panels scattered all over the expansive roof of his home.
In the end he'd given up trying the endless products, none of them seemed to fulfill their promise, but he supposed they weren't to be used three centuries too late, if they ever worked at all.
It was all a marvel. The sheer number of items was bewildering — why there had to be scores of things that gave the same promise he never could understand, but that must have been what was expected in the consumerist society he had never known, just read about in books.
He turned on the water, heated from a solar tank on the roof before being diverted into the plumbing system. There was even a small electric pump that would kick in as the water drained, sending it back to a holding tank, graywater to be used on the vegetables.
Drem sighed as he stepped into the shower, letting water wash away the grime and sweat, making him feel almost alive again. He soaped himself, the block gritty and hard against his skin, then worked it into his hair before he rinsed. Ablutions complete, he scrubbed at the glass with a cloth and some of the soap, rinsed it repeatedly with the shower head before then cleaning himself once more until his skin was pink and scraped free of soil and sweat.
The towel scratched as he dried himself, and it smelled musty, yet another thing he had to do.
"Goddammit!" He threw the towel away in disgust. He'd just got clean and now he stank already. How was he supposed to cope with all this stuff on his own? "Why the hell did he run away?" Drem walked into his bedroom and pulled out clean clothes, at least they weren't stinking too. He dressed quickly then walked across the short hall and peered into Beamer's bedroom. It was as he'd left it. The bed was made, the pile of books the boy was obsessed with reading were stacked neatly on the bookshelf, and the cupboard drawers were closed.
Something struck Drem then, something he hadn't once considered until now: there were no toys. No games, no plastic trucks, no pictures on the walls or anything to indicate who occupied the room, as if it was a transient place, there just to let somebody sleep. No personality.
He shouldn't be so surprised, Drem never picked up anything for his son. His thoughts were always occupied with getting home, and they went out as little as they had to — the climb up all the flights of stairs was enough to put him off leaving unless necessary. But height was safety, and it meant that he could have his vegetable garden, the only thing that kept them alive. Still, he should have paid more attention to what a child might enjoy. Heck, when he was young at least his parents had given him toys, endless picture books, pieces of this and that from the endless homes they could walk into at will, taking
whatever took their fancy.
There was none of that, everything in the entire place was functional or was there when they'd moved in, and even then he'd hauled a lot of it out once it was just him and Beamer. Well, that was life, there wasn't time for frivolity when survival was the main preoccupation.
Was this why Beamer had run off? Or one of the reasons anyway? Did he just want to play, be a child? Could that be it? No, he knew no different, and besides, this was what life was like. It was because he'd got so angry with him, that was why. He'd brought up the topic of eating meat again and Drem had to admit he'd overreacted a little. But the boy didn't understand, not yet, but it was wrong, not to be done.
"Oh, who am I kidding? I don't even believe that myself, it's just an excuse Drem and you know it. Idiot!" Drem sat on the edge of Beamer's bed and looked at himself for the first time, really looked — he didn't like what he saw one little bit.
He'd convinced himself that being vegetarian, easy as meat was always a real luxury when he was growing up anyway, would be the best way to keep Beamer close to him. Safe. If they focused on meat for their diet it would mean endless forays out into the countryside, away from the familiar. It would mean danger. There were a lot of very dangerous wild animals, some living in the city, so the country was doubly menacing. It would also mean they would be apart more, risks higher while they hunted, cooked and dealt with the animals. But it was also because he was squeamish, hated dealing with it, and always balked at the gore. Even that wasn't strictly the reason though, the truth was that he enjoyed working the land, didn't want to have to keep leaving to do such things, and he wanted to keep Beamer close, high up and out of harm's way.
For that to succeed the boy needed things to occupy him — physical labor, endless chores and careful maintenance of their small, isolated world was the perfect solution.