by Sam J Fires
“We’ve got a lead,” said Lea.
“Well, come in, tell me all about it,” said Travis, ushering her inside and closing the door behind her.
Travis’s apartment was modestly decorated, save for a few posters of synthwave bands covering the walls. “Lucky to have gotten to see those in my lifetime,” said Travis, gesturing to the walls. “Can’t see them playing for anyone else in the future.” He turned to Lea. “Drink?”
“Please.”
“I know a guy who produces his own bottled water. Incredible stuff. I’ve got to say, I was terrified it was going to be like the cat pee they serve down in the market, but this guy knows what he’s doing.” He poured himself a glass and took a long healthy swig. “You know, we’re probably sitting on the world’s biggest beach, and yet, there’s no water. It makes me wonder how the sea is faring. I used to love swimming in the sea as a kid,” said Travis, looking out through the plastic casing fitted by his architects. It hindered the view considerably. “We’ve managed to find new ways of getting by, but it always feels like we’re hanging on by our fingernails.” He sighed, trying to stop himself from getting too melancholic. “Okay then,” he said briskly, “back to business.”
“Bob Cooper told me he didn’t supply anyone with any heat-related weapons, but there’s a convention on the edge of the city that we can go investigate. He thinks there may be something there.”
“He’s not entirely wrong,” agreed Travis. “They call it the Red Market. I call it the land of terrorist grooming. It’s a wretched hive where anyone who’s looking to set themselves up as the next Al Qaeda can get their supplies. I can’t understand how you no longer have people aspiring to be writers or musicians, but you still have people who want to be Bin Laden.” He chuckled at the joke but noticed Lea didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Everything all right? You seem troubled.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “It’s not this assignment, is it? Because, if need be, I can always put Vincent on it. God knows he’s spoiling for a fight. I just gave it to you because I figured you were the most capable.”
“No, it’s not that,” said Lea, wondering how much she should divulge. “When I met with Bob…he called me a child soldier. Said that at least he didn’t train kids to fight his wars for them.”
Travis sighed. “I figured something like this would come up eventually.” He gestured to a leather sofa which was surprisingly well-preserved. Lea took a seat and Travis sat alongside her, still clutching his glass of water.
“You’re not going to put a hit out on him, are you?” asked Lea, worried that by echoing Bob’s opinions, she had just signed his death warrant.
Travis waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I went bumping off everybody who spoke out against me, I’d be defending Travistown all on my lonesome. I encourage people to question my decisions from time to time. I will say, in this regard, he’s right.”
“What?”
“He is. Everyone who knows me knows I’m not above arming children. Which is probably why I won’t be winning any popularity contests anytime soon.” He took a long gulp of water, emptying his glass before continuing. “Lea, it kills me the things I’ve asked you to do.
“You’re probably too young to remember this, but back in the old days, girls your age would be worrying about looking pretty, boys, what shoes go with what dress, what they’re going to do with their life after school. If you’d been born a decade earlier, you’d have known what all that was like.
“This is a crueler world. A merciless world that will have zero problems chewing you up and spitting you out. I’d like to be able to say that I’d protect you from all the cruelty in the world, but there’s going to come a day where even I can’t work miracles. I need to know that you can look after yourself. Sometimes that means doing things you wouldn’t normally do. I still think back to the day I asked you to kill that poacher. I’d been putting it off for some time...
“We all lose our innocence over time, it’s an occupational hazard of getting older. I truly believe that the innocence of children is something that should ebb away over time as opposed to being snatched up, but in today’s world this is no longer possible.
“When we had to deal with the attack that day, I knew that there was a very real risk that you could die, and it would have been my fault for not having prepared you. I didn’t want that on my conscience. It kills me that the children of today have to grow up too fast, but I look at you now, how fearless and strong you are, and I know I made the right decision. If the Lord gave me a second chance to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. Maybe if Bob had a family to call his own, he’d be looking at it differently.”
Lea nodded her head, silently accepting the explanation, while also feeling ashamed of herself for ever questioning Travis. He’d done right by her, made sure that she had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and the means to defend herself.
“So, how do you want me to play this?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I suggest you and Vincent head out to find out where the Red Market is being held, and whatever you can sniff out. Chances are, they’ll be someone who’ll give you something you can use. This guy, he’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs that will lead us right to his doorstep. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s living somewhere in Travistown.”
“You sure about that?”
“Lea, to live on the edge of Travistown is practically a death sentence. To even think of venturing outside the city’s barriers, you’d have to be some crazy survivalist. He wouldn’t last very long out there.”
“What do you think we need to be looking for? Just anything unusual?”
Travis chuckled. “Define unusual?”
“Sorry?” Lea was looking puzzled.
“We live in a world where sandstorms wreak havoc on the populace. ‘Usual’ stopped being a part of our days a long time ago.”
Lea smiled. “Okay, looking to find something insane then?”
“I’ll be sending the word out,” said Travis, settling into the comfort of the sofa. “It’s typical. Whenever we’ve got something good going for ourselves, something that remotely resembles progress, you’ve got some chancer lowlife looking to take advantage. I’ll tell Vincent he’ll be going with you.”
“I can do it by myself, you know,” insisted Lea.
“Oh, I know you can,” said Travis confidently, “but Vincent used to run with that crowd. He’ll have a better idea of which doors to knock on, and of course, there’s safety in numbers.”
“Well, let’s hope that this monster doesn’t strike again in the next few days.”
“You and I, both. Word has already started spreading around Travistown. It’s funny how even without social media, gossip still gets around like wildfire. They’ve even come up with a name for him already.”
“What are they calling him?”
“The Sculptor.”
CHAPTER 8 – THE PROFESSOR
The Professor watched as Lea and Travis were talking, feeling a taught tug of jealousy at the father-daughter bond that had built up between them.
It was an unspoken rule in Travistown that everyone needed to be defined by strength. Whether that be physical strength or intellectual prowess, you couldn’t simply exist in Travistown without displaying some quality that made you an asset. The Professor’s biggest strength was his excellent brain, combined with his ability to analyze and organize his thoughts logically. That was the making of a brilliant scientist. The Professor rarely showed his emotions, maintaining calm in even the most stressful of situations, yet seeing Travis with Lea, made him ache for his father and the bond they’d once shared. If his father had been alive today, the Professor wondered what he would have made of his son. Would he have approved of the trade he went into? Would he feel comfortable with the type of people he’d fallen in with? It was hard to say.
The Professor hadn’t been a scientist in his previous life. In fact, before the storms, the closest he got to c
hemistry was when he’d smoked some pot passed around by his classmates.
Two years after the apocalypse had taken place, the Professor had felt the need to redefine himself. The world was changing, and he would need to change with it. So, he went on a journey to explore the barren wastelands. For weeks, he had traveled aimlessly, not sure what he was looking for, until he concluded that he was running. Running away from who he used to be, because out there in the desert, nobody knew who he was. He could reinvent himself.
He took refuge in an abandoned town that was seemingly stripped of all life, except for the walking catastrophes that roamed the city, humans who were now stripped of their humanity; flesh and bone gradually being replaced by grains of sand.
When the Professor had first spotted one in a convenience store, he’d almost given up on life and was content to let the thing do…whatever it was these creatures could do.
“Speed is the key,” came a female voice from behind one of the shelves. The Professor spun where he stood.
There was a woman who was standing, wearing a cream-colored top, her black hair starting to go gray, pulled back into a ponytail. She seemed to have a toolkit strapped around her belt.
“If you try to outrun them, you can break them down over time.” The Professor could hear that she was speaking with a slight British accent. “Look.” She pointed at the hulking monster’s feet. It was hard to make out in the unlit store, but as the Professor squinted, he could see tiny little grains of sand crumbling off the body and onto the floor.
“These bastards have to move slowly because, with any sudden movements, they can break down like sandcastles.”
“Well…” gulped the Professor, clearly impressed by her knowledge, but unsure how to translate his thoughts short of sarcasm. “Just as well I’m not an athlete.”
“That’s not all,” said the woman. She pointed to the fallen sand lying on the smooth-white floor, which appeared to be vibrating where it lay. Before the Professor had time to register what he was seeing, the woman continued, “There’s a theory that every single grain of sand contains a fragment of consciousness from the original person.”
“Jeez,” murmured the Professor. He glanced outside the shop where towers upon towers of sand lay. He wondered how much of the sand out there was zombified people, whether it consisted of trapped bodies unable to move, their consciousness spread out like leaves in the wind, unable to die. He shuddered at the possibility of such a fate befalling him.
Recognizing the Professor’s look of abject horror, the woman continued. “I know,” she said sympathetically, “I’ve had the same thoughts myself.”
Trying to push the existential question to the back of his mind as much as possible, the Professor asked cautiously. “Who are you supposed to be? A scientist?”
The woman smiled. “I guess I should be flattered you would put me in the same league as the big brains. No, I’m just a high-school science teacher.” Noticing the Professor’s visible deflation, the woman said defensively, “But, hey, that doesn’t make me a simpleton. I was able to educate your ass, wasn’t I?” Her guard suddenly up again, the woman asked. “Well, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or do I have to set my sandman on you?”
His hands in the air, the Professor said with resignation, “I’m just passing through.”
The woman took note of his seemingly despondent nature. “Why are you out here? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure there are settlements.”
Did he dare tell her the truth? No. The second he did that it would put her back on red alert. Out here the Professor could be whoever he wanted to be. “I could ask you the same question.”
The woman shrugged. “I’m not so good with people. I prefer my own space.” She moved closer to him, as though she were gauging whether he would pounce on her like a bloodthirsty tiger. “Do I need to worry about you?”
The Professor held his hands up in submission. “If you think I’m a threat, you might as well take me out. I’m not looking to fight back.”
The woman hesitated, trying to make sense of his defeatist attitude. “You know,” she started, “if you wanted to die, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. In this kind of life, death is a lot easier to come by.”
The Professor nodded in silent agreement.
“In my experience, people who have lived this long have two different goals: company, or they’ve lost themselves to a pillage-and-rape mindset.
“Which one do you belong to?” the woman asked.
He didn’t answer, he was lost in contemplation.
She stepped towards him, her apprehension ebbing away. “What’s your name?”
The Professor jerked his attention back to the woman but still he said nothing. He wasn’t ready to part with that information quite yet.
“Well, at least let me introduce myself. My name is Dr. Diane Garland.”
The Professor raised an eyebrow. “For someone who seems to err on the side of caution, you seem very open to being friendly.”
Diane shrugged. “You try spending several years in isolation with only yourself for company, and then tell me you wouldn’t be willing to take a chance.” She paused, catching sight of the blank look on the Professor’s face. “You know, as time goes on, resources become scarce. If you planned on staying put for a while, perhaps I could teach you a thing or two.”
The Professor tried hard to stifle a laugh. “With the greatest respect, you’re a high-school science teacher. What could you teach me about surviving in a wasteland?”
Diane held up a small handheld device that looked like a ball with tiny pipes coming out of it. She flung it at the still-approaching sandman. Seconds later, it exploded, sending sand scattering everywhere.
The Professor recoiled in shock at what he was seeing while Diane stood there, looking a little smug. “A few things,” she said.
And so, the Professor had followed Diane back to the building that she’d turned into her home — the high school where she used to teach. She taught him everything she knew, which turned out to be everything he needed to know, including the limited information he’d uncovered regarding the sandmen.
For someone who’d been quite open, he was surprised by how guarded she could appear at times. He couldn’t hold it against her. He certainly hadn’t been forthcoming about his past. He wondered how generous she would have been if he’d told her the whole unvarnished truth.
One day, after two months of surviving alongside one another, the Professor came across a series of photos that were being kept in a box. In them, Diane was standing arm-in-arm next to a tall man with brown hair. “Who’s this?” the Professor asked teasingly.
Diane snatched the photo away. “None of your business.” As she pulled the photo away, she gazed longingly at it, running her finger over the man. “It’s my husband, Jeff. We were together for sixteen years. He worked as a lawyer.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“We met in London,” said Diane in an increasingly strained voice. “We had a good life over there. Everything we needed; a nice house, good neighbors, a comfortable lifestyle. We’d even talked about starting a family.” With a wistfulness in her voice, she added, “He would have made a great dad. He seemed to have endless patience.”
“So, how did you end up here?” asked the Professor.
“The firm Jeff worked for was setting up shop over in LA, and they wanted him to head up the team over there. Naturally, I came with him. Since I didn’t want to be stuck at home twiddling my thumbs, I got a job at one of the local schools, and…” she stopped, noticing the Professor’s smirk, “…just because it was high school doesn’t mean it wasn’t productive. I had some of the best years of my professional life there, though, admittedly, the children could be a handful from time to time. I figured it would give me a bit of a head start for when Jeff and I eventually had our own kids.
“And then, Jeff’s practice started running into trouble. It’s hard to make a name
for yourself in the world of corporate law when you don’t have a legendary reputation behind you. They had to make a few layoffs. Jeff had pretty much decided that he would be better off back in the UK.” As the memories came flooding back to her, so did the bitterness and resentment that had long stayed buried. “I was expected to give up everything I had here and just head off home back to the UK. We had a huge argument over this; how I was expected to be the good little wife who followed him everywhere like a lovesick puppy? So, I told him that if he got back on that plane, he’d have to do it without me.” Diane sighed. “That was the last time I ever saw him. I was so convinced that I was doing the right thing, but now, I find myself wondering what life would be like if I’d just swallowed my pride. I’ve no way of knowing what’s going on over there. For all I know he could be long dead. All the friends I made over here, everyone is either dead, missing, or might as well be dead. I still ended up alone.”
She turned away, not wanting to let the Professor see her getting emotional. “You’re not alone,” he said gently.
It was that night that they became more than survivors when the Professor finally found the courage to tell her his name.
After that, they entered a state of bliss. They were the only two people in the world. Even when the world crumbled around them, they still had each other.
Until the day she was no longer there.
The Professor’s first thought was that she’d been kidnapped by bandits, but none of the booby traps they’d set up had been triggered at all. None of her belongings had been taken.
It was as though she had vanished into thin air.
The Professor searched the area, praying that she hadn’t been turned into one of the sand creatures. He thought she could have wandered out into the wasteland and got lost, but there was no sign that she’d even left the town.
He felt despair clutching at his chest, furious that he’d allowed himself to be happy for the first time in a long time. Not bothering to pack anything up, he left, with only the clothes on his back, fully intending to walk into the desert until he died.