Iris

by Nick Whitesides

  He lays not far from me, but is covered in the wreckage. “Eli,” I crawl to him. Another loud boom explodes from the building. Blooders could be here any second. “Come, Eli.” I move away some of the remains. His wound is bad… he’s losing a lot of blood. With all that I have left, I drag him out by his arms.

  I’m forced to rest a few times, relaying upon sheer will to keep going. “This will be easier.” It strains me immediately to carry him across my shoulders. Eli said there was a safe house nearby. But how am I going to find it? With calculated steps, I bumble across the stony sidewalk, eyeing the nearby building complex. Better start somewhere.

  Every footstep costs tremendous effort. The added weight saps all my energy. I can’t go much further. My head swings from right to left, searching for any signs of habitation. In the window of a forgotten storefront sits an ivory plate with a cup on top. They look pristine in spite of years of wear and tear.

  Of course! Just like the music box. Eli keeps a piece of his collection at every safe house. I kick the door with my bare foot. It’s locked. Crap. Wait. Eli would have a key. I swirl my fingers inside the pockets of his jacket and sure enough, a key.

  I place it into the lock and it turns. Bursting through, I set Eli down as gently as my strength permits and lock the door. I lift up his shirt to expose the stab and immediately my heart sinks.

  That demented freak! I’d kill him myself if he didn’t blow himself up. I have to stop the bleeding. Beyond fatigued and now stricken with a nauseating panic, I jet upwards in search for his supply cache.

  This proves difficult without a proper source of light. After a minute to adjust, I see a counter standing in front of the window and a long bar that stretches down the length of the room.

  Stairs are located to my right and there’s another door at the very back leading to an alley. In the corner of the bar stands a fridge similar to Jaaks.

  I yank on the handle, squinting in the low light. It’s still too dark! I’ll have to feel around. My hands palm each item until I sense a sturdy plastic box. I pull it out and undo the molded clamps to open it. Inside I find gauze, alcohol, and tape.

  Eli stirs with wincing moans of trauma. Using the supplies, I clean his wound as best I know how. Then I dress it and tape the gauze down to apply additional pressure. Afterwards, I notice a gash by his left temple.

  The bleeding has slowed but if he loses any more. . . With the remaining materials, I wipe his head, the red paste smearing into his skin. With the heaviest of sighs, I let myself surrender to sleep at last.

  Ignoring the throbbing in the soles of my feet, I lay down. “Gimme a break,” I mumble as sleep comes. As the full effect of Jaak’s drugs wear off, my hunger becomes more apparent. It’s not long till the pangs disturb my sleep, urging me to find sustenance.

  I haven’t eaten a decent meal in so long. I’m sure I’ve lost weight. I don’t feel as built as I used to be. I place my hands on my abdomen in a feeble attempt to calm the rabid grumbles brewing inside. Wobbling over to the fridge again, I scour the contents ravenously.

  On the bottom are four gallon-sized cartons filled with water. I don’t hesitate, ripping off the top and guzzle as much as I can. It coats my throat with a cool lining as it reaches my gut. I drink until I need to gasp for air and then drink again.

  Finishing the entire carton, I toss it behind me. Next, food. I sift through the shelves ready to eat anything remotely edible. My hand snatches a can of non-perishable beans. Again, without hesitation, I stand up and bash it against the edge of the bar. The can is resilient, though the impact leaves a sizeable dent. I slam it down again, splitting it in two.

  Using my fingers as a spoon, I stick them into the two halves and slurp down the beans. The texture is dry and the taste stale, but it’s more than enough to placate my hunger. After three cans, my stomach can’t hold anymore.

  Sprawled out on the floor, I take in a huge gust of air, feeling truly satisfied. I have lost weight. I used to eat more than that. I inspect my physique, noticing the toll the last few months have taken. The pitter-patter rhythm of rain tapping against the glass mingles with the booms of thunder in the distance; lulling me into quiet submission.

  No longer weighed down by guilt or fear, I know that I’m not a slave to my emotions anymore now that I refuse to suppress them any longer. They make me who I am. Who I really am. I’m jolted awake as a boisterous thunderclap shakes the safe house.

  Bang! My forehead smashes into the open fridge door. Eli would have laughed. The safe house is brighter now that the sun begins to rise.

  “Krys?” rings out a disoriented cry. “Krys?”

  “I’m here,” I answer, rushing to his side to grab his hand. It’s cold. I check his temperature. He’s burning up. “Eli, you don’t look well.” Dreadful worry wells up in me, leaving a churning pit in my stomach.

  His words weaken as his breathing becomes cumbersome. “Where…Where are. . .” I help him get into a sitting position, placing his back against the bar. “I’m fine, but. . . do you have any water?” His vocal chords appear to rub coarsely against each other. “My safe house?”

  I nod and hand him one of the cartons. He takes a few swigs then pours a little on his head. “Oh, that feels heavenly.”

  “You’re gonna need to take it easy before we get you back.” I reassure him. “He’s gone. Gone for good. . .”

  “And took a good part of the building with him. We were lucky to survive the explosion.”

  The lively hue that normally surrounds him has dimmed. With heartfelt concern, I say, “Eli, we need to get you back to the house.”

  “We didn’t care if it was a boy or girl. We just wanted it to be healthy.”

  I swallow. “You don’t have to talk about this now.”

  “I do,” he grumbles.

  I sit down next to him and listen.

  “There was a man in our group who studied old medical books. I think his name was Richard. He was the closest thing we had to a real doctor. He noticed Andy’s symptoms pretty early on. I wanted to at least wait until she showed before telling the others. I can’t tell you how happy I was, Krys, I really can’t. There’s just no words that come close. Nothing was as sweet.” Overcome with emotion, he bows his head and cries tenderly.

  I lift my BAND arm and rest it upon his shoulder. “Eli, we need to go home.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I can’t go back. Not now. Not when I know the truth. Everything’s different.”

  I take my hand away and straighten up. “So what’s the plan? Where do we go? We can’t stay here forever.”

  He averts his gaze. “I’m sorry, Krys. I think it’s time we parted ways.”

  Disbelief keeps me from accepting those words. “You’re just exhausted. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Krys,” he replies softly.

  “You just need to rest and get some food.”

  “Krys!” The hollow silence is matched with the seriousness in his voice. “I can’t keep doing this.” He sounds defeated.

  Indignantly, I jump to my feet, fuming. “Can’t keep doing what?”

  He looks down as I rant.

  “I didn’t ask you to save me at the courthouse! I didn’t ask you for anything! As far as I’m concerned, you saved my life and now we’re even. I owe you nothing!”

  My body quivers with boiling rage to disguise the hurt. “What will I do without you?” I mutter pathetically.

  Finally, he smiles and says. “You’re gonna live. That’s what you’re going to do. But I need you to understand that I’m finally ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  Those calming eyes tame my temper. I didn’t realize how worn out they are. Bogged down by grief and misery. With a meek chuckle and a short exhaling breath, he replies, “I’m finally ready to die.”

  Chapter 15

  A Matter of Death

  “It’s not about strength or power. Strong men die every day. It’s about calm. Becoming one with you
r surroundings, aware of everything happening within your circle of influence.”

  This doesn’t make any sense. “Then why is this so difficult? I don’t understand how you do it.”

  He puts up a hand. “You just need to quiet yourself. Quiet your mind and listen. Each step must be made with perfect precision so you distribute the weight evenly and make no sound. Let me show you. Close your eyes.”

  I do, exhaling sharply as he walks around me in circles. “Do you hear the dirt scraping under my feet?”

  “Yes, I do.” He’s to my left.

  “Okay, what about now?” In an instant, his steps vanish. I strain with all my might to hear him but it’s silent. “Where am I, Krys?” he whispers into my right ear. I didn’t even hear him breathing! “This is how I’ve survived. In this city, strength means nothing but a quick death… and that’s if you’re lucky.”

  A short pause and his voice sounds from afar, without my notice. “Stealth is life.” This recollection dispels before me, melting back into the dreary safe house.

  “Stealth is life,” I repeat, watching Eli sleep on a tattered cot nestled in the corner. I close my eyes tight. “Okay, focus. Quiet your mind, blend into your surroundings.” I take a step, trying not to be distracted.

  It’s somewhat silent, but the second step is not. You can do this. Quiet your mind. I lift my foot just as Eli moans in pain and press against the floorboards, causing them to creak.

  In retaliation, I stomp hard, not caring if I fall through to the first floor. “Urgh! Come on! It’s been hours! I’m gonna get myself killed! Forget it, there’s no more time.”

  In less than a day, Eli’s wound has become infected. I’ve done what I can to clean it but he refuses treatment. I decided to move him to the second floor to get away from the open window. I check his temperature again once I’ve calmed down.

  Cold sweat and a fever. This is bad. Yesterday, I convinced him to rest for a day before leaving. He’s been semi-conscious since. After a decent rest, I moved all the supplies up to this level, battled with Eli to change the gauze, and barricaded both entrances downstairs, using the first floor refrigerator to block the front and some smaller furniture for the back.

  “You’re not dead yet,” I chastise Eli, taking my hand off his forehead. The majority of the safe house is barren to the bone. The walls are branded with scorch marks dancing up to the ceiling. He really likes to keep it minimal.

  In my downtime, I took some salvageable clothes from the cot to make myself some different apparel. A gray long sleeved shirt with a loose collar. The Kevlar pants got so torn up, they were of no use to me anymore. Instead, I wore a pair of black pants that fit reasonably well. Using a ripped white shirt, I cleaned my wounds and then changed.

  The floorboards groaned and snapped underfoot as I stomped around in search of a new pair of shoes. After combing through the entire house, I resolved to search in one of the nearby complexes. I scavenged for hours, rummaging through worthless trash until palming an old pair of black boots laced together.

  In my completed attire, I returned to the safe house, nearly slipping off the roof. When I entered the open window, my joints locked up.

  My lungs seemed to burn with a searing fire. Each breath adding to the flames. Unable to stop myself, I began to pound my fists against the plastered wall. It’s only in retrospect that I realize I was screaming as loud as possible.

  I didn’t care that it hurt. The barrage lasted a few minutes, knuckles breaking through and leaving holes until I’m out of breath.

  “It’s not fair!” I yelp, still winded from my outburst. “This is all my fault.” I’ve learned that talking aloud helps me to vent. “If it wasn’t for me, Eli wouldn’t be dying. If I had just let things be, I’d still be in Pura and he’d be fine. I wouldn’t have caused so much pain. I wouldn’t have been the cause of so much death. I wouldn’t have known about this messed up city and Jaak and the Blooders and—”

  That’s when it hit me. My shaky hands throbbed as the adrenaline subsided, my knuckles raw from the battering. I returned to the main room and watched Eli shivering in the cot; barely conscious, repeating one word over and over… Andy.

  “I won’t let him die. He of all people deserves to live.” These words come back to me as I cut the top off of another can of beans. I eat them thoughtfully, meditating on the task at hand. I need to find Fash. I met him at the courthouse so I think I’ll start there.

  A tiny screech squawks from the bottom of the can as my dirty fingernails scrap the last few beans. I slurp them down with a big swig of water. That’s all I get today, make it count. My SIO pills might still be in Jathom’s pack. If I can find them, I can save Eli.

  I pour some water into Eli’s mouth before I go. He coughs a little, then takes a few good gulps before I return the carton to the fridge. I unwrap his sash from around his neck and wear it; along with his black jacket.

  “Don’t worry, Eli. I’m not gonna let you die. You deserve better.” I’ve never been sentimental or shown much affection; even to the people I actually care about. But ever since my BAND malfunctioned, it’s become easier to access these emotions.

  I kneel down at his side and place my hand on his head and bow mine in silence. As if willing him to stay alive until I return. I’ll have to survey the area to navigate my way to the courthouse. I step out of the loft window and onto the ledge.

  I take my time climbing down, my fingers gripping the gaps in-between each brick. Around ten feet down, I jump and land hard, brushing off the dust.

  The overcast sky is backlit by the sun, providing a warm, dim shadow. The smell of sulfur gets stronger every block I pass. I have to hurry, but I also can’t move too quickly or I’ll give myself away.

  My tactics are nowhere as precise as Eli’s, but there’s no other choice. I poke my head around every corner and every opening; taking no chances. Without company, my anxiety skyrockets, especially during the quiet moments. Like in the desert, I can’t help but look behind me a couple times just in case I’m being followed.

  “Don’t be so paranoid, Krys,” I whisper. “Remember what Eli taught you. It’s not about speed. It’s about slow and steady movements to avoid being detected.” I inhale then exhale sharply. “Ok.” Peeking around a corner, two large figures loiter in the middle of a decaying intersection.

  “Crap,” I say under my breath. In less than five minutes, I’ve already spotted a pair of Blooders. Odds are their numbers will increase the closer I get. I press my back to the wall and crouch down. I’m not going to get very far this way. What do I do?

  I stall my breathing to listen. They sound bored, if anything. Though I’m only able to make out half of what they are saying. Hiding behind a large metal container, I walk gingerly in a crouching position. Rubble and debris bury the majority of the streets.

  I guess the Blooders weren’t interested in cleaning up. But that means more cover for me. Their conversation becomes more clear as I sneak my way forward.

  “So how many are left?”

  “I dunno. I think at least four.”

  “Aw, well it was nice while it lasted. Guess we’ll have to start paying visits to Roosevelt.”

  On hands and knees, I crawl through the shattered window of an upside down car. I have to plan each movement meticulously to ensure I don’t cut myself. Another rusted car, tipped on its side, is the only thing separating me from them.

  As I clear the upside down car, I stay bent down and peer over the tipped automobile. They stand no more than twenty feet away from me. One holds a grimy pipe encrusted with human flesh while the other bears a long-barreled gun strapped across his shoulders.

  Both are clothed in mismatched leathers with deep red stains. They cover their faces also, one with a bandana and goggles, the other with a thick black mask wrapping around his head.

  “I’m not looking forward to it,” says the one wielding the pipe, squeezing it with his warped gloves.

  What do you hear, Krys? Lumberin
g steps move away from me, stop, then come back. Paper crinkles under their boots, then a piece of glass cracks.

  The faint contact of metal on fabric, the pipe tapping against the Blooders thigh. Slight clicks as the rifle components shift with every footfall. I could distract them. Take one out by surprise and then the other. It’s not the best plan, but what else can I do? I have to get Eli those pills.

  There’s an alleyway blocked by the upside-down auto, leading to a dead end. I fold my arms, wracking my brain, fearing the worst if I don’t handle the situation well. No matter what, I have to deal with them quietly. There’s no way to know if another group is nearby.

  Reexamining the alley, I notice a closed window down at the very end. The glass has been broken, leaving the flimsy wooden panes behind. A couple of fist-size brick pieces lay by my feet as well.

  “I think I have my plan,” I mutter with a grin. Maxis would be proud. I play it out in my mind, then go over it a dozen times to minimize any possible errors. Okay. I select the most jagged chunk from the rest, weighing it slightly. This is it.

  As they turn around to pace away from me, I shoot up and pitch the brick violently at the auto to their right. Before it hits, I dive down. The glass of the car window shatters like an explosion, breaking the silence with notable hostility.

  Inhuman grunts and shouts erupt from them as they charge to the right, away from the alley. “Come out! We’re gonna skin your hide!” Once the first one is out of sight, I jump up on the upside down car and whistle. The Blooder with the mask just barely notices me while his comrade has already disappeared.

  I sprint down the alley as he stampedes towards me. “You’re dead!” he yells. “No one crosses our borders!” His boots clang against the cars frame.

  He’s almost around the corner. I climb through the window, close the frame, then press up against the wall and wait. I hear his sprint whittle to a saunter then stop completely, seemingly confused.

  “I don’t play games!” The pipe clinks against the brick of the wall; trying to flush me out. I put up the black hood as his shadow comes into view. Just a little closer. The pipe taps against the outline of the window. With no light and Eli’s gear on, I can be fairly unseen.