Diverse Energies

by Joe Monti Tobias S. Buckell

  “Don’t come in here,” Akira said. “Remember what happened the last time you saw a dead body.”

  Shame warred with revulsion as Kenji swallowed down his bile. He risked a quick peek into the bedroom and could see the lower half of a still body lying on a futon. The curtains were closed, leaving the room in semidarkness. His friend was poking through boxes and drawers, a thief of darkness, pocketing anything of value.

  Kenji took a hesitant step forward, his eyes drawn to the stillness of the feet. How strange, he thought, he is still wearing his socks.

  “How did he die?” he asked.

  Akira turned and looked at the dead body, and shrugged. “Not from hunger, that’s for sure. He had three additional ration coupons. That’s why he had so much rice even though he was only one person.”

  “Then how —”

  “He offed himself. Took a whole mess of pills — see.” Akira kicked a few empty prescription bottles, sending them flying across the wooden floor.

  “How long?” Kenji asked.

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on him for weeks now,” Akira said, rummaging in a large trunk and appraising a small music box. “I can always tell who’s checking out. Their feet drag, and they walk around in a daze. Stop bathing. Lose all interest in life. This one hadn’t come out of his apartment for three days. I knew he was a goner.”

  Akira let out a snorting laugh. “My uncle thinks it’s unnatural, this knowledge I have. He said I must work for Death himself. Hey, better to work for him than to be taken by him, right?”

  Staring at his friend, all Kenji could see was the flashing of Akira’s teeth before he turned back into the shadows. Kenji suppressed a shudder. His friend had a talent. An unusual, terrible talent. But one that helped to keep them alive. Akira kept track of the loners, whether elderly or not — those unfortunate souls no one gave a damn about anymore. Scavenging on the dead had kept Akira and his family alive and had turned into a lucrative business.

  A shiny object caught Kenji’s eye. On the floor, underneath a pile of papers, there was a flash of silver. He reached down and pulled out an engraved silver lighter; an intricate pattern of designs swirled along its oblong shape. Running a finger over the cold surface, he had a vision of his father lighting a cigarette with a lighter very similar to the one in his hand. He could almost hear his mother complaining about the smell and shooing his grinning father out of the house. When they received his father’s personal effects, the lighter had been missing, lost at sea along with the entire ship.

  Opening the cap, he flicked the flint wheel, watching as a strong flame lit the room.

  “Nice lighter,” Akira said. “Silver — it would fetch a good price.”

  Kenji shut the lighter and curved his fingers possessively around it. It was selfish, but he didn’t want to sell it. He didn’t want to relinquish the small memory it gave him of his father.

  Akira stepped out of the shadows and eyed him for a moment before nodding. “You should keep it. Lighters are very handy.”

  Kenji nodded and shoved it in his pocket — appreciating how his friend instinctively seemed to know how he felt. He owed him so much. With the deaths of Kenji’s father and brothers, if it wasn’t for Akira, Kenji didn’t think his family would make it. It had been two weeks since Akira had called him for a hunt — two lean, hungry weeks. The comforting weight of the sack of rice was a burden he’d happily carry even with the knowledge that it came at another’s death.

  Several hours later, Kenji sweated under the steady blaze of the hot August sun. His shirt clung to his body as beads of sweat rolled off his hair and into his eyes. Many of his classmates had taken off their shirts, the sun beating down on their reddened backs. He worked side by side with Akira as they dug a new bomb shelter with ten other boys behind the Mitsubishi weapons factory. Foreman Masahito, an ex-soldier who’d lost a leg in battle, had already made his morning inspection rounds and was back in the cool interior of his office. The boys wouldn’t see him again until lunchtime.

  “Aieeee! It’s so hot I feel like a boiled noodle!” Akira said. “Let’s take a break and go get a drink of water.”

  “I hate this!” Kenji kicked at a clod of dirt.

  With a loud groan, Akira stretched his arms high over his head. “Well, look at the bright side. We don’t have school anymore.”

  “I liked school,” Kenji replied.

  Akira sighed. “Sometimes I don’t understand how we can be best friends.”

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a small white towel from his back pocket, Kenji walked with Akira into the dark, fortified-concrete building for a respite from the heat. The old building had once been a thriving business center, with many offices and small shops. Now it was a warren of abandoned spaces. They entered the nearest room, where they found another friend, Jun, sitting on a desktop despondently playing with a red metal yo-yo.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Akira asked, nudging Jun with his elbow.

  The smaller boy sighed. “I just don’t have any energy. What’s the point of it all anyway?”

  Kenji nodded in sympathy.

  A truck drove by. Several large speakers were affixed to its roof, and a woman’s voice blared out at them.

  “Hail to His Majesty the Emperor! Hail to the Living God of Japan! We will win the war against the evil West! The Imperial Army will fight for the honor of our Emperor, our God! Long live the Tenno Heika!”

  Kenji thought it was funny how they all ignored the monotonous refrain that was meant to bolster their morale. All it did was increase their resentment at the Emperor’s never-ending war.

  “I hate that stupid truck,” Akira said. “At least when it gave out food, we had something to look forward to.”

  Jun groaned. “Don’t remind me! A nasty tin of tuna fish, hard biscuits, and a small container of rice. It wasn’t even that good!”

  “You wouldn’t complain about it now,” Akira said with a smirk. “You’d be ripping that truck apart trying to get to the food, along with thousands of others.”

  “Stop talking about food!” Jun shouted. “I swear I’m glad they lowered the conscription age! Only two more years and we can start eating three meals a day.”

  “Hopefully the war will be over by then,” Kenji said.

  “The war will never be over,” Akira snarled.

  Kenji shook his head. “It has to end. We’re dying out.”

  Akira stopped and stared at his friend. “What do you mean?”

  Kenji was staring out the grimy windows. “It’s been fifteen years that we’ve been fighting the West. The Emperor can’t hold out against them much longer. Every year things are getting worse. They keep dropping the conscription age because we’re running out of soldiers to send into battle.”

  After the first world war had devastated most of Europe, Asia, and South America, the remaining powers had carved up the planet, claiming countries as if they were nothing more than pawns on a chess board. Until finally there were only two powersleft: the President of the West and the Emperor of the East.

  “But the worst part is that whole cities are disappearing, and no one knows what’s happened to them,” Kenji said.

  “I know, it’s the strangest thing,” Jun cut in. “My brother’s squadron flew over Beijing last month. He wrote and said it was nothing like he’d ever seen. A whole city destroyed and empty — no people anywhere. What happened to them?”

  Akira scowled. “Whole cities can’t disappear. It’s just crazy rumors!”

  Kenji shook his head. “It’s not just rumors, Akira. We had cousins living in Manila who were supposed to come home last month. They’ve disappeared, and there’s no radio contact with Manila at all. It’s like they’ve been wiped off the face of the earth.”

  “Damn it! That’s just not possible!” Akira yelled. “Maybe they were bombed, and that’s why they’re all dead.”

  “But what kind of bomb wipes out an entire city? Nobody has that kind of technology!” J
un said. “And where are the survivors?” His yo-yo twirled forgotten on its string.

  “What if cities are disappearing out there every day, and we don’t even know about it?” Kenji asked. “What if it happens to us?”

  They were all quiet. After a moment, Jun got up with a heavy sigh, winding up his yo-yo as he trudged back out into the sun. Kenji and Akira sat drinking water and fanning themselves, still too hot to move, when Akira bolted up in alarm.

  “Look!” He pointed out the window. “It’s a B-29 bomber! Western.”

  He ran to the window and looked about wildly as Kenji dashed over to his side.

  “Huh, there’s only one,” Akira said. “What the hell is it doing out here by itself? On a suicide mission?”

  He turned away with a heavy sigh. “I’m too hot and tired to care anymore.”

  Kenji remained at the window, staring at the plane. “Hey,” he said in excitement. “It’s a parachute! Maybe the pilot had engine troubles and had to abandon his plane.”

  Akira looked toward where Kenji was pointing, but he was too late. The parachute had already dropped beyond their view.

  “I didn’t see anything. Maybe it was the sun in your eyes,” he said. He stomped to the back of the room and sat on the floor, where it was dark and cool.

  Kenji watched his friend with amusement before turning back to the window. Suddenly, a bright flash of light filled the entire room, blinding him. He averted his face and closed his eyes. But the multicolored light was seared onto his eyeballs. In the next second, a thunderous blast threw him across the room.

  Clouds of dust floated everywhere. So thick, Kenji couldn’t breathe. He needed air, but he couldn’t move. Opening his eyes, he felt the sting of a thousand scorpion bites prickling his skin. Looking down, he saw shards of glass protruding from his arms and legs. His body began to tremble from shock as tears of fright coursed down his face.

  “Kenji! Where are you?”

  He heard Akira shout for him, but the sound was muffled, as if he was underwater. Trying to stifle his fears, he called out to his friend. “Over here. I’m hurt.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a figure moving toward him, climbing over rubble. The air was thick with ash, floating particles, and something worse. He couldn’t move, still stunned from the explosion. Akira cleared debris off Kenji’s glass-covered body before pulling him up out of the rubble.

  “We have to get out of here!” Akira said. “They might come back and bomb us again.”

  Kenji began to pull the glass shards from his arms and legs as Akira looked on in horrified fascination.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked.

  Shaking his head, Kenji concentrated on removing the worst of the pieces. There seemed to be no pain, even as blood oozed from his wounds. Pulling out the final piece, he looked at his friend. Other than a film of dust covering him, Akira looked unhurt.

  “What’s the matter with your face?” Akira asked. “You’re all red and burned on your right side.”

  “I don’t know,” Kenji said, putting up a shaky hand to touch his numb cheek. “I can’t feel anything. What about you? Are you hurt?”

  Akira shook his head. “My ears ache, but that’s it. I guess I was lucky to be sitting in the back.” He let out a shaky breath that sounded on the verge of tears. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Stepping out of the building, the boys were stunned by the sight before them. Bodies burned beyond recognition lay everywhere. Most were dead, but more frightening were the ones that moaned and wept, trembling in pain.

  At his feet, Kenji nearly stepped on the charred remains of a young boy — a red yo-yo still caught up within his blackened grip.

  “Jun,” Kenji whispered. He blinked back tears as he tried to swallow the scream building inside him.

  All around them, fire burned everything. People were rushing toward the river in a panic. Akira pulled Kenji with him into the crowd.

  “Wait! My family! I have to find them,” Kenji called to Akira. A group of soldiers ran by at that moment, herding people toward the hills and shouting out warnings of further attacks.

  “No! We have to keep going. It’s not safe. They might come back any minute now.” Akira forcibly dragged Kenji away.

  Kenji resisted. Pulling away, he stopped a passing soldier.

  “Excuse me, sir, could you please tell me if Urakami-machi got bombed?” Kenji asked.

  The soldier looked down with dead eyes. “Urakami is a burning inferno. The bomb dropped right on the cathedral. Nothing survived there. Save yourself and get the hell out of here!”

  Akira pulled Kenji away, and both boys began to run as fast they could. They had not gotten far when a stabbing pain struck Kenji in his chest, slowing him down. Stopping, he pressed hot hands against swollen eyes blurred with tears.

  “They can’t be dead. They just can’t . . . they just can’t,” Kenjisaid over and over as his mind repelled the thought. Akira, noticing that his friend had fallen behind, ran back and, throwing Kenji’s arm around his sturdy shoulders, dragged him up a nearby hillside. Reaching a patch of green, both boys collapsed to the ground. Suddenly, Akira cried out in horror. Kenji looked up in a daze to see a large patch of skin dangling from Akira’s hand. It had ripped off Kenji’s shoulder in a large sheet as his friend had helped him sit down. Horror-struck by what he had done, Akira began to cry.

  “Don’t die, Kenji! We’ll get out of here together! Please don’t die,” Akira wept.

  “Water, I need water,” Kenji said. He was disoriented and had not felt the skin rip off his shoulder.

  “I’ll get it. Stay here. Don’t move.” Akira rose to his feet and rushed toward the river.

  From the hilltop, Kenji looked down on the area where the Mitsubishi factory had been.

  Wake up, Kenji, you’re having a nightmare, he thought. But his eyes remained open, taking in the wasteland of piles of burning rubble and dying people. Monsters climbed up the hill pleading for help. Hideous creatures whose distorted humanity made them more frightening than any tales of demons and oni. Was this what had happened to his family?

  A young girl crawled up the hillside, half-naked but for the tattered remnants of her school uniform. The left side of her face was swollen and red like a balloon. The right side was blackened — the skin burned away. Her head was bald but for small patches of wavy black hair that had once been long and luxurious.

  Catching sight of Kenji, she called out to him.

  “Is that you, Kenji-chan? I’m so happy to find you!” Reaching out a hand to touch Kenji’s foot, she collapsed at his feet. Her entire frame shuddered one last time before stilling — her eyes remained open and staring up at him. There was nothing about her he could recognize. Her face was a grotesque mask. And yet he grieved for her. It was as if she had held on until finding someone she knew, afraid to die alone.

  Akira appeared, a small can of water in his hand, which he gave to Kenji to drink.

  “Who was that?” he asked when he saw the body at Kenji’s feet.

  “I don’t know,” Kenji said after drinking down the precious water. “But she knew me.” He gasped. “She knew me.”

  “Come on, let’s follow the train tracks. I hear there will be relief trains coming through if we can get to Michino-o station,” Akira said.

  “But that’s in Nagoya. I don’t know if I can make it that far.” Kenji felt weak. Leaning over, he vomited up the water he had just swallowed.

  “It’s less than two kilometers. You can make it. I’ll help you. Please! We have to try or we’ll die here!” Desperation sounded in Akira’s voice.

  For his friend’s sake, Kenji got up and began to walk down the hillside. He was light-headed and confused. Had it been hours or days since the bomb had fallen? Only Akira’s sturdy arm around him felt real. Everything else was a nightmare.

  They walked slowly, picking their way around downed utility lines, twisted steel girders, and pieces of broken buildings and houses. Roads
were gone, and what would have been an easy route was now impassable, as dangerous live wires wreaked havoc, spreading fires through the ruins. Breathing became more and more difficult for Kenji. He felt as if a hot knife had stabbed him in his lungs.

  By late afternoon, Akira was practically dragging Kenji along.

  “Akira, leave me here to rest. I’m too tired. I can’t make it,” Kenji said, falling to the ground. Akira stood in front of him, heaving with sweat.

  “No, I’m not leaving you. We’re going to make it. I see the train tracks up ahead. It’s clear over there, so it’ll be easier to walk. We’ll make it,” Akira said.

  “I can barely see anymore, and my face feels so hot. Please just leave me here.” Kenji’s face had swollen up so badly that when he touched it, he couldn’t feel his own fingers. Peering up into Akira’s face, he could make out his friend’s scared but stubborn look.