Sam sensed much distress, much confliction of emotion, as he continued his tour of the city, but one person’s anguish prodded him more than all the rest. It was the woman from earlier, the one carrying her lifeless child in her arms. She hadn’t gone far the first time and she had quickly returned, just as Sam had expected she would. She had been trailing the crowd, ever since. If it were possible she would’ve broken through to Sam, no matter how much she was jostled or crushed in the sea of people that surrounded him. And it was a sea of people, a swelling mass of humanity that was still building with every house Sam passed. His armed detail kept the crowd at bay at the very center, opening an empty circle around Sam, the mayor, and the other political officials, but it wasn’t much. The woman would still have to find a way through this inner circle even if she could break through the swelling crowd. Not only that, but the inner circle had guns. The woman understood that she would not be able to get her son to Sam without help.
She continued to follow the crowd and bide her time. As Sam listened in on her thoughts—it was difficult to do above the conflicting din of the many soundless voices that surrounded him—he was struck with the love this woman had for her child. He could see inside her that it wasn’t hope that spurred her on. She had lost that long ago. It was love that urged her forward against an impossible situation that would never give her what she wanted most. It wasn’t logic, it wasn’t faith in any deity. It was love, unadulterated, and uncompromising. She loved her child, her only child, and it was said that Sam’s blood could give life to the dead. Hadn’t his blood already given life to everyone on the planet? Hadn’t it been his blood infused into a serum that had made it possible for her to have this child in the first place? Her love for her child mandated that she try anything. Anything, and this was the best thing she could come up with.
If Sam could’ve he would’ve chosen this broken woman over every other person in the thronging crowd all around him, to help. He would have given her what she desired most if it meant that he couldn’t have helped another person for the rest of his life. He felt like the entire world would’ve been worth saving if only so that there might be a place where this woman’s love could thrive.
Sam turned his attention back to the tour; for as much as his heart broke for this woman, it broke more because he knew he could do nothing for her, even with his considerable powers of telepathy. He felt the same frustrating helplessness when he looked into the eyes of the many people staring from the buildings he passed now. His party had moved into the poorest parts of town. The too large, neatly kept houses of the rich were far behind him and he was glad for it. All around him now there were buildings that were missing large chunks of their facades or leaning dangerously into the soft earth on which this part of the city had been built. The land had been reclaimed from swampy marsh long ago, before the time of the Virus, and that land was now beginning to reclaim the buildings. Only the poor lived in this place, so the problem went untended. As long as only the poor lived here it would remain that way. Many more people joined with Sam’s crowd from the sagging buildings, but some didn’t. The ones that stayed behind stared blankly from their windows long after he passed by.
Sam sensed a certain resignation from the ones who remained in their dilapidated homes. It wasn’t that they didn’t think he could help them, as so many others obviously did. They didn’t think they deserved help. They’d accepted their life for what it was, a dead end. For whatever reason, life had dealt them a bad hand, and they’d been getting played by that bad hand for so long they knew there was no chance they’d ever receive another. They were like people who been born on the edge of some strange, arbitrary cliff. They’d been plummeting to their demise their entire lives, it would seem. They’d been in freefall for so long now that they no longer sought to avoid the sudden stop that must eventually come. They’d tried everything they could think of, already. There was nothing left for them now but to continue breathing until the nightmare of their lives was finished. Sam had listened to the thoughts of people like this—there was far too many of them—from his home atop the mountain, but it was more real somehow now. Now that he could see their faces, the many age and stress lines creased forever into their ashen flesh, the loss of hope in their eyes, the broken spirit that showed itself clearly in the sunken, defeated postures; he knew that these people were probably right. They had fought life and lost. The fight was rigged against them. There was no reason for them to keep getting into the ring.
Sam hurried on now through the trash littered streets with their broken sidewalks and potholed riddled byways. He had come here to get away for a little while but now he wanted to get away from here. He continued the tour but neither the empty faces staring from the windows of buildings that should’ve been condemned, nor the woman carrying her dead child, left his mind. They were the only things he had seen here that interested him. Eventually, his party walked through a part of the town that was in worse shape even then the ghettos. The one or two buildings that were still standing here were completely missing roofs and large parts or entire walls. The rest of the buildings had been destroyed long ago, most of them reduced to jagged, broken foundations. Stray dogs, raccoons, and rats lurked behind every corner looking for food. The streets and sidewalks were so badly battered and filled with holes that it was nearly impossible for the crowd to walk upon them. The ones that did stumble were dragged along in the mass or trampled without a passing thought. Sam could read confusion in the minds of most of the people around him. They wondered why the messiah wanted to visit such a worthless place.
When Sam finally returned to the armory he felt exhausted, physically and mentally. He had seen and heard enough, both with his eyes and ears as well his mind, for one day. He thought he might be able to sleep for a week after this. There was only one thing left that he knew he had to attend to before he left the city. The woman …
“I would like to speak to that woman alone.” Sam told the Mayor once they’d returned to the armory.
“What woman?” the mayor asked.
“The woman that’s been following me this entire time.”
The mayor creased his lips and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand, Sam.” He said after a moment, “There were thousands of people following you—they would’ve crushed you, surely, if my officers hadn’t been there—and you ask for one woman who was following you?”
“That is correct, Mr. Mayor.” Sam answered simply. He answered with his mouth but he also nudged the mayor’s mind toward his request, telepathically. He projected the face of the woman into the mayor’s consciousness until he could recognize her at a glance as easily as Sam himself. After that, the mayor didn’t need more persuasion; he turned and left to retrieve the woman.
There were many rooms in the armory. Sam would’ve preferred an empty room in which to converse with this distraught mother, but there were no empty rooms. Instead, Sam choose one of the six food pantries. This pantry was filled with canned food and non-perishables. Cans and airtight bags bearing pictures of every vegetable, fruit, and canned meal imaginable lined every wall upon dozens of large wooden shelves. The room was as large as a small studio apartment and there was enough food inside it to feed a large family for months. Sam could see in the woman’s mind that she wasn’t nearly as accustomed as he was to having enough to eat on a regular basis. In fact, she hadn’t eaten in days, and it wasn’t uncommon for her not to eat, so that she could feed her child. There were many times when there simply wasn’t enough food in her house for two people. Once the mayor found the woman, Sam led her to the pantry to talk. Her face was coated thickly with dust and streaked with old tear lines. Her eyes were low and red, her back bowed from carrying the weight of her dead son in her arms for so long, and her hair was completely disheveled. She looked just like all the other poor and hopeless people from the poorest parts of town.
Once he was inside the room with the woman, Sam found that he didn’t know what to say. The woman did. “Save m
y child, please.” She pleaded as soon as they were alone. Sam arranged two chairs for them to sit, but she remained standing with her child in her arms. Her arms shook with fatigue, but she held them out towards Sam. “I will give everything I have … I will do whatever you say.” It was a long time before Sam could force his lips to move, and when they did, nothing came out. He knew he had to disappoint this woman. He had to tell her that he was not the Christ, that he could not call out to corpses and cause them to walk as living people again. If he didn’t tell her the truth, she would never quit seeking him. If he returned to his house, she would follow. She would die at the base of his mountain trying to reach him, and her child would remain dead anyway. Sam knew what he had to do, but he had no idea how to do it. He had been just a kid himself a short time ago. He’d only recently experienced the depth of his own mother’s love and now, in such a short time, he had to disappoint another mother who shared that same love for her child.
Meanwhile, the woman continued to offer the child’s body to him. He felt awkward standing there while this woman stared on intently with real hope in her eyes. Finally, slowly, reluctantly, he took the child. It was a girl. Even though her flesh was bloated and discolored—she had been dead for some time, obviously—Sam could see that she had once been very pretty, probably the spitting image of her mother. He gazed down at what remained of the little girl for a long time before he lifted his head to look at the mother. Her hands hung limply at her sides, but the intensity never left her gaze. She obviously expected a miracle. Minutes passed, hours it felt, and still Sam could not figure what to say. At last, after an eternity, he handed the child back. The woman didn’t rant, she didn’t rage. She didn’t sob. She only took the body back in her arms and collapsed into the chair for the first time. She sat there, so completely motionless, that she appeared to be in a catatonic state. She was. She was oblivious to the world around her. None of it mattered any longer, now that Sam wouldn’t bring life back to her beloved little girl.
Sam had expected her to fight, to demand that her need be granted. That was the kind of resolve he had read clearly in her mind before. But now she was suddenly like a popped balloon. She had been filled, but now, in a terrible moment, she was completely empty. Tears began streaming down her already streaked and dusty cheeks, but she did not tremble. She still didn’t move, nor make a single sound, not so much as a whimper. She just sat there, slumped over her child, bathing her small body in her warm tears. Sam felt failure in himself like the entire mountain on which he lived, collapsing upon him in a single thud. He had done a good deed giving the lead guard a second chance when he’d first arrived, but this woman deserved another chance more than anyone else in the entire city and Sam was powerless to help. He left the room slowly, with the weight of his failure still crushing his chest.
CHAPTER 10
The climb back up the mountain’s staircase was brutal. It wasn’t the increasingly cold and biting late evening winds, or the inconvenient aches in Sam’s thighs and calves. It was what he knew awaited him once he completed the climb. It was also what he had left behind. The woman. Sam could think of little else and had thought of little else ever since he first laid eyes upon the poor woman. That child represented her life, her dreams, and just like that child those too had lost their vitality long ago. It was the hopelessness and the helplessness of it all that bothered Sam the most. The hopelessness belonged to the woman. Not only from her circumstances, but what Sam could read in her mind, the harsh memories of so many years mired in poverty and lack. Sam had no idea how any human being could bear such misfortune as this woman had for so long. It should be too much for one person to suffer so harshly, year after agonizing year, but not only did this woman endure it, most to the townspeople did it.
They were as isolated from what life should’ve been as the Simmons, if for different reasons. This woman, however, seemed to have been awarded a more generous helping of suffering. It was hope that made the difference. Many of the others, the faces Sam had seen staring blankly from the windows of homes that should’ve been condemned, had abandoned hope and accepted defeat. As much as Sam hated to admit, it he thought that perhaps they were better off for it. This woman had clung to hope, and it had only drug her through the mud. Hope spurred her onward where knowledge should’ve forbade her. Sam’s father had had hope. He’d sincerely hoped he’d never have to acquaint his son with an alien ability that should’ve never been in the possession of mortal men. Sam’s mother had hoped. She’d hoped that the world would be a better place after the Virus that had nearly destroyed it. As far as Sam could tell, those hopes had died with them. For, there were still many more poor people in this city—and, most likely, every other remaining city—than rich people and the poor were still kept as far away from the wealth as possible. Even in their minds, people were the same as they’d always been.
Sam had been prepared to save the entire world, if he had possessed that kind of power, for that woman. Now he felt that if he had the power he would’ve rather destroyed the planet with all its wrongs and contradictions that might never be corrected. What kind of world deserved to exist, that demanded such suffering? Hadn’t that woman already given enough for the life of her child, without having to see that life snuffed out anyway? And then to harbor hope in her heart, hope that would do absolutely nothing but prolong her suffering! Sam’s breath began to come quicker, and he pounded the steps as he climbed the mountain as if he were stomping down a terrible monster with every step. He could feel the anger rushing up inside him. It wasn’t fair that that woman should suffer like she did while the rich escaped, unscathed. She had lost her child because she could not afford to feed her. The rich knew nothing of that kind of lack. They thought they suffered when they lost money. This woman would’ve given every penny she could’ve ever hoped to earn in exchange for life.
Sam stomped the steps harder, until the jolts were too much for his already aching legs. Then he hung his head and climbed the steps slowly. Slumped in upon himself with his shoulders sagging heavily, he looked as defeated and frustrated as he felt. When he reached the top of the staircase only a false band of fading reddish yellow light lingered upon the horizon. The rest was darkness. The sun was nearly set; Sam’s climb up the mountain had been the longest he could ever remember. When he arrived at his front door, he hesitated at the knob. He had to take a deep breath before he could summon the strength to turn it. When he walked into the house he was accosted by an unpleasant, dank smell. He knew where the smell was coming from. He had been trying to avoid the cause for as long as possible. Unfortunately, it was time to face it now. Sam walked slowly through the house he knew so well, toward his parent’s room. The house felt immensely empty, as if Sam could walk through it his entire life and never reach the other end. There was a part of him that wished that were true. If it were, he would never have to reach his parent’s room.
Sam continued walking and unfortunately for him he did reach the other side of the house. His father’s room. The smell was strongest beyond his father’s closed door. Sam stood with his hand upon the knob longer than he had at the front door. Part of him did not want to turn that knob but an equal part of him wanted this painful necessity over and done with as quickly as possible. He turned the knob and opened the door quickly, afraid that he’d never do it if he didn’t do it now. The smell was strongest in the room, not overpowering but not welcomed either. It was the smell of death. Sam hardly noticed it, now. He was more concerned with the body of his father, laid out carefully upon his bed. Geoffrey’s legs were straight and his arms were crossed neatly upon his chest. The coverlets beneath his body were ruffled, but his body looked as if he were in complete repose. Sam could only imagine his father pulling himself awkwardly from his chair so that he could rest in peace upon his own bed like this. He looked handsome, Sam thought. He didn’t look like a person who had had life stolen from him—like that poor woman’s daughter—but one who’d relinquished it upon his own terms. Sam sto
od over his father, completely still except for short quick breaths, for a very long time.
He felt as if a semi were sitting upon his chest, a weight of sorrow that he shouldn’t have been able to endure. He wanted to remain near his father, to lay on the floor near his father’s bed if necessary, but he was too exhausted to think clearly. It had been a very long day and this… This was the final straw. Sam’s young brain could digest no more. Sam only remembered turning to leave the room. What he remembered next was waking up early the next morning feeling as if the semi were still there upon his chest. He had just awoke, and he couldn’t remember a time when he felt more exhausted. Then again, he hadn’t experienced as much in his entire lifetime as he had in the last few weeks. He had slept but he didn’t feel rested, not when he had just awakened and the stench in the air was already reminding him that his father was still dead in his own room at the back of the house.
The New Assault Page 6