by Mark Tufo
"Thanks," Virginia said, moving to the dark cave. "Where's the light?" she asked, hesitant to go any further.
"Motion activated," he said, annoyed.
Virginia slipped through the narrow tunnel, feeling her way to the adjoining cave. As Ray promised, an overhead light flickered on as soon as she entered the large room.
There was a king-sized bed on one side, two dressers, and a bathtub with hot running water. Virginia waited to make sure no one followed behind her, and then she filled the tub and removed her sweaty clothes. The hot bath was relaxing, and it felt good to rinse off the sticky layer of sweat her body had accumulated over the past couple of days. Still, she washed and got out as quickly as she could, wrapping herself in Ray's thick bathrobe. She scrubbed her clothes in the warm, soapy water, and then hung them to dry along the side of the tub.
Holding the robe close to her body, Virginia padded barefoot through the tunnel, finding Ray right where she had left him. Beside him, however, there was now an untouched tray of fruit and sandwiches.
"Lunch?" Ray asked as Virginia slowly entered the cave.
Virginia hurried to the food, taking a small helping of all that was offered.
Ray picked up a peanut butter sandwich and leisurely nibbled at it. "Slow down. You'll give yourself indigestion." He confirmed that all of his logistics were set, and then flipped off the computer monitor. "I see you found something clean to change into."
Virginia blushed, clasping the fabric with one hand to keep her chest and legs from showing through. "I couldn't find anything else."
Unable to eat any more, Virginia found a chair and curled up beneath the robe. She watched Ray slowly finish his sandwich, the silence killing her. "I know why you developed HD-1, the Blue Dust, or whatever you want to call it," she finally said. "I'm not sorry this happened to me. Not anymore, anyway. I've seen so much . . . and I'm glad to know what I now know."
"I'm glad to hear that," Ray said, visibly contemplating all that remained available on the food tray. He picked up a nectarine and took a large, juicy bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweet fruit. "We stole a whole shipment of these from Corporate growers in this district. We're selling them at the deviant market for ten cents on the dollar." He gave Virginia a dire look. "Scurvy is a big problem in the shantytowns."
Virginia looked down, feeling as though she needed to apologize for all of the suffering deviants had endured throughout the years. She had to apologize for humanity, and for all the years she took her freedom and her rights as a human being for granted. "I'm sorry," she finally said aloud.
"Beg pardon?" Ray asked, finishing his nectarine, licking the juice from his fingers.
"I'm sorry that humanity let you all down so miserably," Virginia said, her throat knotting up.
"Humanity let you down too, if I remember correctly," he quickly replied, setting the nectarine pit aside.
Virginia nodded, and she covered her face with embarrassment as she began to cry.
"You've lost a lot, my dear," Ray continued, getting up and wiping off his hands. He went over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I can tell you're a strong woman. You'll survive this."
Virginia looked up, feeling a sense of calm from his reassuring face. He wiped away her tears, and she closed her eyes as his hand gently caressed her face. His hands smelled faintly of nectarine, the sweet scent soothing and inviting.
"I'm sorry," she said once more, another wave of tears coming as her mind drifted to thoughts of her estranged husband and kids.
"It's time now to think of the future," Ray said, wiping away her new tears. "Dwelling on the past will only hold you back."
She nodded.
"Oh, I almost forgot." He fished her wedding band from a drawer. "No harm in you wearing it now."
She held it for a moment, put it on her left ring finger only to move it immediately to her right. She looked at it, reveled in the feel of it on her finger, and then pulled it off with a light cry. "For the future," she said as she dropped the gold ring into the palm of Ray's hand and closed it into a tight fist.
Ray's eyes met hers, and he gave her a quick nod of gratitude. "A generous donation."
He wiped her face once more, the smell of nectarines brushing over her cheeks, and then he softly kissed her anxious lips.
She turned away. "I'm sorry . . . I can't."
He watched her, his face wrought with desire and confusion as she turned back and their eyes met again. She wiped the tears from her face and new ones immediately took their place.
He clasped the wedding band tightly in his hand, then disappeared alone down the dark cave.
Chapter 112
GEORGE FOLLOWED JOSEPH through the wet, smelly trails leading to the edge of town. Joseph had a bag of items with him, cleaned up bits of trash with which he could barter at the market for necessities. The two chatted casually while they went. Joseph made the trip roughly once a week, picking up as many food staples and toiletries as his bag of recycled trash could buy. Amy generally stayed behind to guard their home from potential invaders, and as a result, the nearly two-mile walk was usually lonely. Sometimes, he would find more items along the way to add to his bag, although stopping to search through the distant piles always inevitably tacked even more time onto his already lengthy trip. Every once in a while, he would bump into a neighbor on his way, but usually he didn't see another soul until he neared the market.
George continuously gagged, the melting snow bringing out the worst of the pungent, decomposing stench all around them. He looked around, his stomach nauseated even further by the inescapable sight of soggy trash and rust-colored puddles of garbage water. He noticed that Joseph didn't seem bothered at all by it or the endless mountains of trash, and he assumed that the poor man's olfactory system had burned out long ago from living amongst that rotten, putrid smell for so many years.
"I hope the weather holds," Joseph said, wary of the lingering clouds.
"It just seems to get worse every year," George said, not offering a direct response to Joseph's comment, but keeping the small-talk going just the same.
"You're not kidding." Joseph shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other, the weight of it beginning to pull uncomfortably against his back. "I hope the cold weather doesn't affect today's market. That last flash-blizzard caught a lot of people off-guard," he added, his tone of voice offering a genuine level of concern.
George slowed his pace as the piles of trash on his left gave way to an immense automobile graveyard. Old metal frames, engines, and compacted cubes sat piled amongst rusty remnants of the Old World's most popular form of transportation. George remembered automobiles. He had never driven one, but he had ridden in many of them up until his early teens. They became obsolete even before fossil fuels became scarce, phased out in a last ditch effort to reverse the effects of global warming. Of course, the effort came far too late, and the Big Climate Change happened anyway.
George marveled at the piles of twisted metal, reminiscing back to the all but completely forgotten days of road trips, family vacations, and regular visits with relatives. The world had been a far different place for almost as long as he could remember, and sometimes he forgot how much life really had changed through the years. He stopped for a moment, his breath still, as he and Joseph came upon the remains of a large, commercial airliner.
Joseph stopped with George, assuming the older man had never before seen a vehicle so large. "It's called an aero-jet. They say people used to get these heavy behemoths up in the air, somehow, and keep them there long enough to fly anywhere across the globe. It seems impossible, I know, but—"
"I remember airplanes," George gently interrupted.
Joseph turned to George, surprised. "You do?"
George took one last good look at the dead mechanical structures at his side then continued down the trail. It was strange how familiar, yet so equally foreign, the vehicles were. He never had the opportunity to fly before all of the commercial airlines shut down, but he rememb
ered watching planes cross the sky when he was very young. Sometimes he would wonder if those memories were no more than petty childhood imaginings: spectral flying machines that disappeared from the skies once Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny fell into their rightful ranks of childhood fantasy. With everything he just saw, however, he knew that they all had to have been real . . . every single one of them.
Once upon a time.
George wondered if he looked hard enough, or dug deep enough through the endless piles of trash, perhaps he'd find that God was buried somewhere out there as well.
The stench compounded itself once more as the cars and airplanes disappeared and became replaced by more towering piles of rotting food containers, discarded treasures, and dirty diapers. Another young deviant emerged from a nearby pile, carrying his own bag of findings for the market.
Joseph nodded at the other deviant in a friendly greeting.
The deviant nodded back at Joseph, and then saw George's brown eyes. He ducked his head low and silently hurried down the trail, gaining considerable distance between them in a mere ten of fifteen seconds.
"What was that all about?" George asked.
"He had a rough experience with a human once. Don't take it personally," Joseph said.
"You know that guy?" George asked, watching the frightened young man disappear into the distance up ahead.
Joseph shrugged. "I should—he's one of my neighbors."
"I hate my neighbors," George said.
Joseph looked at George, surprised. "They must be pretty rotten people."
George thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, not really."
Joseph let the issue drop, redirecting George's attention to a plateau that became visible as they came to the top of a short hill. "We're not far now," he said, pointing to the flat, untended expanse of land up ahead.
To the right, deviant workers manned giant rail carts filled with trash. They seemed to be bringing it in from a distant location, and then shoveling it into the tall piles George and Joseph now passed the last of. The workers took turns looking up from their task, all of them recognizing Joseph, each reacting in various ways to George's presence.
George dug into his bag and pulled out a picture of Virginia. He held it up for the workers to see. "Have any of you seen my wife?"
Most of the men took a good look, but none seemed to recognize her face. George put away the photo with a tired sigh, and he and Joseph moved on.
"The market is just ahead," Joseph said as they continued down the path and entered the five-foot-tall field of wild grass. Small patches of snow still blanketed the field, and the path was slick with sheets of ice.
A ninety-degree fork appeared in the path, and Joseph and George veered to the left. The busy sound of bartering and networking slowly became audible, and then seemingly out of nowhere there was an enormous clearing filled with hundreds of deviants and their wares.
There were no booths or kiosks, but a few inventive people had set up small tables, brought folding chairs, or set up makeshift umbrellas. Some went from person to person, trading wherever they could. There were a few fruit stands, one person selling rats, a clothing peddler, a man who'd somehow obtained commercially packaged bags of rice, and another walking around with a bag full of batteries. George figured the inventory here likely changed by the week, but those who had the means could go home with a decent variety of household staples.
"Good luck finding your wife," Joseph said.
George nodded. "Thanks." He looked around, noticing several suspicious eyes watching him.
The two shook, and then Joseph disappeared into the crowd of browsers and traders.
George slowly moved through the crowd, flashing Virginia's picture in all directions. Most of the people there seemed confused to see a lone human walking through their market, and a few strong young men followed him to ensure he was not up to any foul play.
George tried to look as non-threatening as possible, holding Virginia's picture between him and his onlookers.
"Whatcha got there?" a young man sitting with a cage of rats asked, taking notice of George and his numerous onlookers.
George walked up to the man, keeping the picture up in front of him. "I'm looking for this woman."
"Never seen her. Would you like to buy a rat?" the man replied.
George shook his head, turning away.
The overlooking group drew closer as Ray's associate, Mary, who happened to be shopping at the time, slowly approached George to get a closer look at Virginia's picture. She nodded with absolute certainty. "I've seen her."
George grabbed the young woman's arm. "You have to tell me where she is!"
There was suddenly a group of silent, staring deviants surrounding them. George froze, realizing that his stance probably appeared threatening to those nearby, and he let go of Mary's arm, backing off a few steps with his hands in the air. "I'm sorry."
Mary eyed the crowd, then turned back to George. "Why do you want to find her?"
"She's my wife," George said, fighting to hold onto his composure. "I just want to take her home."
"And you're searching for her here why?"
He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Because I think she might be . . . like you."
Mary nodded, her face going soft and compassionate. "I can have someone track her down for you. Where are you staying?"
George shrugged. "Can't you just take me to her?"
"Unfortunately, I can't."
George shook his head, defeated. "She doesn't want to see me?"
"I don't have the authority to take you where she is," Mary said.
"Can you take me to someone who does?" The weight of a hundred eyes watching him in his agony felt like enough to make him nearly collapse. He looked down, dizzy with apprehension.
Mary thought for a moment. "I can't make you any promises, but let me see what I can do. Meet me here later, after dusk?"
George nodded anxiously, barely able to breathe. "I'll be here."
Mary nodded and then continued with her shopping. The crowd slowly resumed its regular business, haggling and bartering despite George's presence. He stood where he was, a standing vigil, vowing not to move again until he had Virginia in his arms.
Chapter 113
SHELLEY SCRAMBLED in an attempt to climb out of the giant trash bin. She was waist-deep in garbage, which luckily was composed mostly of discarded scrap paper and classroom supplies. She cringed and gagged when her hand went into a wad of discarded chewing gum, however, and she wiped it clean as well as she could against the metal side of the bin.
The bin seemed to be rolling on an electronic track, moving at a slow but steady pace deeper and deeper into unknown territory. Shelley couldn't see much, given how high the sides of the bin were, but she could see parts of some of the taller buildings and shuttle tracks she passed. She didn't recognize any of the buildings, and she had no idea what direction she was going. It felt like she had been moving for hours, although she had no way of gauging how long she actually had been in there.
The trash chute back at the church grounds had sent her gracelessly flailing down into the bin, which seemed to move on a timer. It was evident that no one staffed the immediate area, because Shelley screamed and cried for help until her throat went raw and no one seemed to hear her. If there were any people nearby, they certainly did not make themselves known.
The bin was filled with too many flimsy materials for Shelley to be able to pile them up and climb, although she did make several attempts before she realized the futility in it. She tried springing up against the sides, scaling the smooth walls, and even knocking the entire unit off its track, but every attempt she made to escape ended in failure. She eventually gave up, exhausted and emotionally spent, and fell back against the trash to watch the sky slowly move over her.
A thick cloud overhead held an uncanny likeness to Kurt's face, and Shelley stared at it in disbelief. Of all the shapes a cloud could take, the one ri
ght overhead had to look like her dead brother. Slowly, the face changed as the cloud drifted in the light breeze. The image grew angry. A heavy gust of wind whipped by overhead, and Shelley could have sworn that she heard Kurt's furious voice: "You!"
Shelley cried out, cringing and covering her face. "You're not Kurt!"
She waited for the voice to return, but it did not. The wind died down, and the only sound that remained was the creak of the trash bin wheels slowly rolling along the rails. She peeked up at the sky, sighing with relief as she saw that the face in the cloud had dissipated into an indistinguishable mass of random shapes.
She caught a whiff of something foul, and then took a few deep breaths in attempt to place the smell. She looked in all directions, and she noticed that there were no more visible buildings. The smell grew stronger, and as the bin continued along its track, it occurred to Shelley that she was moving along the outskirts of the local dump.
Shelly quietly listened, staying completely still, as the bin suddenly jerked to a halt. All was silent for a moment, and then Shelley heard a handful of voices coming from outside.
"Hello?" Shelley called.
"There's someone in that one!" a young male voice cried out.
"Hello?" Shelley yelled, hitting the side of the bin.
"Lean against the wall, toward my voice!" the young man called back.
"Okay!" Shelley leaned against the wall, tightly shutting her eyes. There was a loud click, and then the bin slammed to its side. The piles of trash spilled over her and onto the ground, and Shelly scrambled out of the bin. She held onto the icy ground for a moment, her head spinning.
"Are you okay?" a young man asked.
Shelly looked up, gasping at the sight of the small deviant group. They all wore hard hats and carried shovels. She saw the shovels and considered the damage they could do if the men decided to attack her, and she screamed. She pulled herself to her feet, dizzy and shaking, and grabbed her bag. Two men tried to assist her, and she took a pathetic swing at them both with a terrified growl. The men all quickly backed off, grumbling at her detestable manners.