“Because a few minutes later I heard music. I thought if I stayed, I might hear it again,” he said bitterly.
“Music?” wondered Seven.
“What music?” Eight pressed, walking towards the man on the couch.
“A stupid tune I can’t remember and words that don’t make any sense,” his bitter voice recounted. “I’m an artist! Not a songwriter! But I feel obsessed with it. Like I need to know the music to know myself.” When he hummed the tune it was like being hypnotized, and before Eight knew what was happening Seven was speaking:
“Day of wrath! Oh day of mourning!”
“See fulfilled the Founders’ warning,” continued Eight.
“Haven and Earth in ashes burning!” the other man chanted, snapping his fingers victoriously.
“The song. We each know a piece of it,” Eight observed, assembling the clues. “We had roses. Each of us.”
“Why would we know parts of the same song?” Seven demanded. “And what do roses have anything to do with it?”
“We’re meant to find each other,” the man said. “The song. The roses. They’re the only things tying together the people still alive in this city.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Eight, her mathematical mind spinning to work, “is that I assume you had a rose?” The other man nodded diligently, pointing to the third, living, rose. “Ours are alive. The seven others are dead. Unless I’m looking too much into the symbolism, seven others came but don’t seem to be around. Two are unaccounted for.”
Bothered by something, Seven spoke up.
“What’s your name?” he snapped at the other.
“Two-Five-Two-Zero,” he replied automatically.
“Can we call you Twenty?” Seven asked. The tall and wiry man shrugged indifferently at the designation. “What was the first thing you remember?”
“Throwing up near what looked like the city’s power center. Northwest of here. That monster came tromping around and chased me to this area. I’ve been here a few hours,” Twenty recalled, gesturing dramatically at their old surroundings. “I wanted to draw something,” he picked up a blank canvas leaning against the couch he rested on, “But there aren’t any supplies.”
“Tragic,” Seven remarked.
Twenty reverently set the canvas down before he spoke. “Something happened to this city that either killed everyone inside of it or drove the citizenry away,” he said, objecting to Seven’s condescending tone. Twenty paced around the granite table, passing behind Eight and Seven. “By the looks of it, whatever happened took place a long time ago. Which I find strange because none of us recall our lives before dawn today.”
Eight found herself at odds with Twenty. Unlike Seven, Twenty projected an awkward and aloof attitude, as if he was acting out a persona. The more Twenty spoke, the less Eight listened. A disappointment, given that Twenty was one of the city’s three survivors. She wondered if that fact bothered him and decided that his behavior came from insecurity, not malice.
“Maybe it was that monster,” Eight suggested. She pushed her hair behind her head and sighed, unwilling to let the creature become an obstacle. How could they get the information they needed when nobody lived to share it with them? Where could they begin in a city this size?
The idea came to her in a flash; energized, Eight’s eyes lit up.
“What is it?” Seven growled, seeing the expression she wore.
“I know how to find out what happened!”
“How?” Twenty demanded, suddenly ablaze with curiosity.
“Every city has some type of record center: a library, a city hall, a repository of information. I think if we explore outside a bit, we should be able to find a directory or a map to give us a heading.”
Seven smiled. “And once we get to a hall of records, we find out what happened,” he said, appreciating the plan. His positivity brought a hint of pride to Eight’s posture.
“You want to go back outside where the bloodthirsty monster is roaming about?” Twenty scoffed with exaggerated volume, piecing the plan together. His expression, angry and nauseated, reflected the bad taste his words left in his mouth. “That’s insane,” he concluded. “Why go anywhere when it’s clear that the monster ate everybody?”
Eight didn’t understand the nature of the argument. To her, they either stayed in the opera house and died of starvation or took their chances outside. “I’ll go with you,” Seven volunteered.
Exhaling a tiny breath, Eight realized that she feared Seven being swayed by Twenty more than going outside. “If the monster killed everyone, it seems to have miraculously botched killing the three of us. Besides, whatever occurred here took place a really long time ago,” Seven said to Twenty, and Eight realized that her friend was turning the tables on the malcontent.
Seven was trying to convince Twenty to come with them. “How is it that we woke up so long afterwards? What happened to our memories? These are questions we have in common,” Seven pointed out, trading his condescension for diplomacy.
For the loyalty Seven showed Eight, she decided to mend his injuries more often. She tried to hide the admiration she stared at him with and turned her gaze to Twenty. “Are you staying or will you come with us?” Eight asked testily.
Twenty was undecided.
“When in doubt, bet on the scientist,” Seven advised Twenty.
Looking like he might be sick again, Twenty shrugged.
“Whatever. Can’t remember enough of my life to value it anyways,” and he moved to close the space between them. “I wonder if those dead roses belonged to fools like us. People who didn’t realize that monsters are typically responsible for empty cities and broken stuff.”
“There’s really only one way to find out for sure,” Eight replied. She turned and jumped down from the stage with Seven following at a close distance. Twenty’s irritated grunting and shuffling to catch up indicated that he was in tow as well.
“Everyone else being dead is no reason to stop making dumb decisions,” Twenty complained, unhappy to be cooperating, but pleased to remind them of it.
After returning to the city’s streets an awkward silence overcame them. Seven and Eight, having become comfortable with one another only recently, were forced to contend with Twenty’s unpleasant personality. For as big as it was, the city became surprisingly claustrophobic when it was being traversed with stiff companions. As she debated it in her head, Eight concluded that the staggering vacancy of a city designed for millions bothered her the most.
Not just hundreds or thousands but millions. Each unoccupied apartment tower, villa, and shop implied that once upon a time an unthinkable hive of millions had occupied the city. It was a number that resonated in her mind and tugged at her heart.
Men, women, and children had lived and died in this city, victims of an invisible catastrophe that wiped them out. Could the monster have been responsible? Too much of the city was intact for it to have personally exterminated the citizens. Perhaps it had besieged them and the residents had fled into the surrounding land?
“I have some theories,” Seven declared, speaking directly to Eight but making his voice loud enough for Twenty to hear. Since leaving through the opera house’s back door Seven’s silence had been infectious and his deference to Eight essentially qualified her as the leader. While she appreciated his support, she suspected that Seven did so to keep her in his protective sights.
Twenty, on the other hand, lazed several dozen feet behind them. He stopped to admire every empty window and towering building that caught his attention. His tactile senses controlled his every impulse. Twenty would drag his finger over grimy surfaces just to leave a streak, he wrote his number into the dead soil of tree boxes beside apartment entrances.
He was testing his senses, smelling and touching and listening to everything that landed within his short attention span. He refused to keep up, refused to assign the urgency to their journey that he conversely accused them of lacking.
Eight�
��s solution was to ignore Twenty while Seven pretended not to care. She could feel Seven’s attention fixated on her, watching as she read what few street signs remained. That Seven alone maintained a vigilant watch for the monster’s return made Eight feel safe, it enabled her to lead them onward. She wanted to tell him of her gratitude but when she thought of speaking to Seven beyond what was necessary, her voice disappeared.
Talking about the next steps in her journey prevented her from asking more serious and personal questions. Could he remember anything? If so, what? Did he find her anywhere near as annoying as she found Twenty? Seven cleared his throat and Eight realized that she hadn’t acknowledged his previous statement. Her face burning with humiliation, she said, “I want to hear them.”
“Me too,” Twenty chirped, arriving at their sides once more. “Can’t wait for some more good news,” he added, his voice layered with sarcasm.
“Shut up,” Eight snapped. “Continue,” she said to Seven.
“Millions of people lived here. That’s my best guess until I see a map of this place. If you look around you’ll see that each building is still standing. There are no broken windows, no blast marks, nothing to indicate a struggle.” Eight’s head moved up and down slowly as she listened. “We haven’t seen any bodies or graveyards. Nothing to indicate the inhabitants knew their end was coming.”
“Then what do you think happened?” Twenty pushed, impatient for the revelation.
“They were taken by surprise. Utter and absolute surprise. Something in their city, possibly something they knew about, killed every living thing, disposed of the bodies, and did almost no damage in the process. If there were any signs of a struggle it did a damn good job cleaning up after itself.”
“So…” Twenty began, strolling around Seven and Eight. “You’re saying that something tore through the city and gobbled up its victims, then left no traces of itself?” he tapped his head theatrically. “Sound like anything you know?” he asked patronizingly.
“We saw that monster ripping up four blocks,” Eight countered. “It leaves a very noticeable trail.”
“Spare me! That monster killed those people. It probably snuck up on them in the middle of the night, while they were all sleeping, and ate them as a midnight snack. Simple as that,” Twenty said, dismissing their opinions.
“Then where’s the damage?” Seven debated with Twenty. “It chased us and destroyed everything around it. If that monster went into homes, apartments, office buildings, sewers, every place survivors might hide…then why is this city still here?”
“How should I know? Maybe the citizens were dumb like us and came outside as soon as things got quiet. Your theory doesn’t account for how this city is still standing, either,” Twenty barked back at him. When he saw the looks of disapproval he countered by asking, “If it wasn’t the monster then what emptied out a place this big?”
“A dozen possibilities. Biological warfare, radioactive fallout, viral outbreak,” Eight replied, summoning the scientific knowledge that lay embedded in her brain.
“Yeah, but,” and Twenty took a deep breath, “Even if the dead were moved by survivors, the survivors would still die eventually. There would be bodies. Or graveyards. We’ve walked for hours and seen nothing like that! There are no graveyards. There are no survivors. There’s just that monster!”
Twenty positioned himself ahead of Seven and Eight, speaking to them with effortless condescension. “There’s a bloodthirsty monster roaming the streets of this city. Hunting us, in all likelihood, and you two are dumb enough to go wandering around looking for what? For answers? You’re going to walk us right into harm’s way,” Twenty howled. He turned the street corner, eager to be sensational.
Which was precisely when Twenty and the stranger walked into each other.
Chapter Three:
On The Hunt
Eight-Four-Two-Zero settled on her log, comfortable in her distance from the bonfire's heat. Letting out a loud sigh, she conceded that it had been the longest day of her life. She could smell the smoke rising away from the pile of wood, freshly chopped and sacrificed for the wellbeing of the horde of people around it. Casting a quick look around her she saw numerous similar fires dotting the sloping knolls, their vermilion hue darkened by the star-struck midnight sky.
Turning back to the fire closest to her, she tried to pretend that she didn't see the suspicious glares or the people nearest to her vacating their spots. A certain level of animosity was to be expected, she was that much of a pragmatist, but when she realized that a crowd had formed around her, she wondered if coming had been a mistake. To join the assembly meant confronting a unique set of social problems but they were issues she preferred to deal with sooner rather than later. That, and in the middle of the night this close to the shore, she was cold.
Among her many other concerns, Eight-Four-Two-Zero doubted the crowd’s ability to create and to build the things needed to survive. They were on an empty island, a tangible strip of hospitable and sustainable land—the first of its kind in generations. Here they had found the spoils of war, and she found herself in the company of the victors. She frowned at that. Victors who were staring at the possibility of starvation? Of homelessness?
Because their old home was wrecked, because they feared returning to it, every single person on the island was stranded. And they were uneducated. Uncertain. Fear coupled with ignorance begot devastation.
She saw, in their avoidance of her, in the flicker of fear in their eyes, that her companions were ready to blame her. To discard her. Failure would turn the victors against their captive. Eight-Four-Two-Zero wondered why she had come. What had she been expecting? Certainly not acceptance of her, or appreciation of her actions, but maybe a begrudging inclusion at least?
Her actions were as crucial to their liberation as Seven’s were. As if summoned into her sight by the mere thought of their liberator, Eight-Four-Two-Zero saw her, Eight, on the opposite side of the fire, sitting alone, and she realized that all of this—the war, their freedom, the destruction of their old home and prison—had been accomplished on Eight’s behalf. Whether or not the woman on the other side of the fire knew as much appeared doubtful. Her eyes were red and puffy, her posture exuding a solitary grief.
For everything that Eight-Four-Two-Zero felt towards Two-Six-Five-Eight, sympathy was rarely among them. But now, staring at the broken woman who had lost everything, she couldn’t stop empathizing. Like everything as of late, her feelings were messy, and thinking about the woman across from her who was not-quite a friend but not-quite an enemy either dredged up flashes of resentment mingled with appreciation.
A person, no more than an amalgam of shadow, light, and mass wordlessly sat down beside her. She knew who it was without asking, without looking. A familiar presence, a companion through this war that would be spoken of down the generations.
“Enjoying the view?” her companion asked, crossing his arms around himself to keep warm.
“Not particularly,” she sniffed, forcing her eyes away from the grieving woman. “I can’t imagine how she must feel. To have found everything only to have it snatched away. Love, freedom, happiness,” her voice trailed off.
“His greatest gift to us was our freedom,” he answered, somewhat cross. “Seven died defending that gift. If Eight is smart, she’ll remember that.”
“Eight. Smart? Technically? Yes. Pragmatically? No. Remember,” and Eight-Four-Two-Zero held up her wrists, revealing the handcuffs binding them together as her long black sleeves fell back against her arms, “I may be biased.”
Her companion raised an accusatory eyebrow at her, but something else flickered into his eyes that revealed how deeply troubled he felt. Was it pity? Or remorse? It occurred to her that he liked the idea of her in chains far less than she did, and before she could brush off her gesture as a lighthearted joke, he had already retrieved a key from his pocket.
“You still have that? After everything that happened up there?” she glance
d upwards at the night sky, pocked with stars.
Instead of answering, he took her hands, set them on his knee, and wrangled the key into its place on the restraints. She tried not to watch him too closely, this sometimes serious but ultimately compassionate fool. Freed from the bonds, the skin on her wrists were reddened from wear and irritation.
“Consider your sentence commuted,” he advised her.
“Commuted?”
“Eight thought it would be the best thing to do.”
“Our glorious and self-declared leader might have more common sense than I thought,” she said, glancing at Eight. Still absorbed in her mourning, lost in her thoughts, Eight was oblivious to the crowd settled around and watching her. “She was the one who slapped those on me, after all.”
“Careful. By this time tomorrow, when everyone that’s on this island votes, she will be our elected leader.”
“Elections are no guarantee of moral righteousness. Trust me on that,” she warned her companion, assuring him of her knowledge of such affairs. “Still. It’s a brave new land we’ve come to. This island is massive. It could eventually sustain millions of people for generations.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” he shook his head, disillusioned. “Think about it—there’s nothing on this island. If we’re going to survive, we need to learn how to build things. Big things.”
“I hear a proposition coming.”
“Not a proposition. A new sentence.”
“I thought you said it was commuted? Time served?”
“That was the old one. Eight’s cooked up a new one for you.”
“I’ll do it,” she agreed preemptively. In spite of her companion’s surprised expression, she continued on, “Did you think I would wait until this moment to consider my future’s prospects? It’s been thirteen hours since we crashed on this island and I’m stuck here like the rest of you. Not that I think my life needs more excitement. One war is enough for me, I think.”
Someone to Remember Me: The Anniversary Edition Page 4