After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1)

by Mark R. Healy

  They were a motley crew, varying in size and shape and in their attire. They more resembled a group of campers than a military unit.

  “You don't have uniforms?” I said.

  “Still working on that,” Liv said, making her way over to a tent where another female clank sat repairing a boot. “Like I said, we're still getting started.”

  “Not again, Liv?” the female said, looking up. She had skin the colour of honey, and her dark hair had been tied back in a ponytail. A chunk of her upper ear was gone as if it had been bitten or shot off. She only glanced at me briefly as Liv sat down on the chair next to her.

  “It's a dangerous world out there, Pol,” Liv said.

  Pol gathered up a knife and a pair of tweezers from a kit nearby and began to fuss over Liv's upper arm where she'd been hit.

  “Why did you sign up, Liv?” I said. “Were you a soldier before the Winter?”

  “Far from it. I worked in a shipping yard hauling crates around back in the day. Cabre took me in, trained me, and I volunteered to come out here.” She watched a muscular male clank hauling a large tyre past on his shoulder. “I was alone for a long time, and now, these people are the only family I’ve got. I’d happily die for them.”

  “Is there a larger community somewhere?”

  “The beginnings of one, yeah. In the north, with Cabre.” Pol dug the tweezers into the flesh in her arm and began prodding around, extracting the rounds that had been embedded within the muscle and dropping them into a small dish on the table. They were covered in a greasy black oil-like residue, which I could only assume was moisture that had leached out of Liv's synthetic flesh. Liv never flinched or showed any signs of discomfort, even though the procedure must have been tremendously painful.

  “Do the Marauders know about Cabre's base?”

  “Yeah. There's plenty of conflict up that way. They still have more numbers, but we're making ground on them as word gets around.”

  “Well, I hope you can turn the tide.”

  “If you like, you could head up there with our next supply run. You could meet him.”

  Seated, she was still able to look me straight in the eye due to her tremendous height. Pol ceased her work, wiping her hands on a rag, and she too regarded me carefully.

  “While I’m thankful for your help, I have my own people to look after right now,” I said carefully, hoping I was not causing them offence by refusing their offer.

  “Who?”

  “Someone a little further west,” I said, purposefully vague. Although she had helped me, I didn't know Liv, or Ascension, and I wasn't prepared to reveal all of my secrets to them just yet.

  Liv shrugged. “You should consider joining. Ascension is the only hope we have for a future.”

  Not the only hope, I thought. The notion of home made me restless given its proximity, and I knew that I should push onward.

  I extended my hand to her. “Thank you, Liv. I hate to think of what would have happened if you hadn’t been around.”

  She reached out, and my hand disappeared inside hers as she shook it. Her skin was rough and there were chunks missing from her palm.

  “You seem like you can look after yourself. You’d have done fine, Brant.”

  She gave me a little smile then signalled brusquely for Pol to continue. I collected my satchel and left the tent, ready to begin the last leg of my journey home.

  29

  The highway dissected the landscape in great flat stretches. I could see for a long way ahead. There were hills in the distance and I knew with absolute certainty that they were the hills of my home. These were not the mirages that had tricked me so many times out in the desert. These were real. They were like old friends huddled on the horizon, waiting for me to join them. I’d feel the gentle rise of them under my boots within hours.

  In such proximity to my goal, my mind began to conjure up unwanted scenarios. What if home had been destroyed by Marauders? What if I crested those hills and there was nothing left but a crater? A smouldering pile of ash. What if I’d waited all this time and travelled all this way for nothing? Where would I go, and what would I do?

  I had no answer to that. It didn’t bear considering. All I could do was press on and hope that everything was still as it should be.

  The highway steepened, but that didn’t slow me down. In fact, it only served to quicken my pace. I started to jog. Head bowed, I pumped my arms, the midday sun pounding down on my back.

  Now firmly amongst the hills, I strode toward the top, watching the crest intently as the road curved up and over it. It was getting lower and lower. I should be seeing the city soon. In fact, if memory served correctly, I should have been seeing it already. Where was it?

  I suddenly had a terrible feeling. It was gone. Destroyed. Wiped from the earth as if it had never existed, taking my future with it, all of it disappearing in a puff of smoke. The world had been toying with me, bringing me false hope in the form of those patches of green that littered the landscape. It was all a ruse. I’d been thwarted.

  But then I saw the first skyscraper. Then the next, and the next. They were all coming into view, all familiar to me. It was a skyline I’d gazed at for years, one which had been scored indelibly into my memory by a thousand journeys to work, a thousand evenings on the balcony of my house overlooking the vista.

  I allowed myself to pause for a moment and breathe it all in. I’d done it. I could take a moment to savour it, to put the wasteland at my back, both in mind and body, and drink in the vision of my future. A future that could be bright again, the way it once was. It all lay out there before me.

  With that done, I started down the winding road that led into the city.

  Part Three

  West

  30

  I stood on the outskirts of the city and watched a gentle haze drift about among the ruins. The air was redolent of burned wood, and indeed, I could see the charred remains of buildings here and there where they had been incinerated. Overall, the houses out here in the suburbs had fared better than those in Perish. The cracks that ran across brick and mortar and wood were superficial, more like the gentle creases of an old man’s face than the gaping rifts that had shredded the dwellings in that city to the east. They gave the impression of aging with grace rather than falling apart.

  Even more striking was the degree of vegetation here. There were weeds and grasses growing on the sides of almost every street, at the foot of walls and also through gaps in the asphalt. It wasn’t thriving yet - that was too strong a word - but it was definitely making a strong return. Indeed, many twisting, creeping vines had begun to crawl up the walls of these houses and into those cracks like contorted green veins in their skin. Peering through broken windows I could see sunlight streaming into these old residences, illuminating and providing warmth to tiny seedlings that were shooting up through fissures in concrete walls and floors.

  The rate of revegetation was stupefying, even having seen it returning in small patches in the wasteland. I expected some change, given the warmer climate and the respite from wind erosion that tore at the wasteland, but the difference in only a year was still drastic.

  I gathered a handful of dirt and massaged it in my palm, savouring the coarse texture. It ran through my fingers and scattered on the cracked pavement below. The streets around me were quiet, but for the moan of the wind as it swept between empty alleyways and through the skeletons of ruined cars that littered the roads.

  From the hills, the city seemed just as I remembered. I felt sure I recognised every twist and turn of it, every brick. Every street and laneway. Now, with all of these fine details coming to light, I wasn’t so sure. It was different. It had been altered, sculpted by the wind and the rain and by these plants that grew unhindered all around.

  I stood and dusted my hands on my shirt, taking one last glimpse at the road behind me. Then I continued on.

  As I moved further inward, those differences I’d perceived were becoming stronger. Overpowe
ring. I felt as though I was peeling back an onion one layer at a time, and that with each block I passed I was working my way toward a rotten core, each layer more noxious than the last.

  Places I’d known and loved were almost unrecognisable. They kept appearing before me like ghouls, like monsters who sought to taunt me, to dash the hopes and dreams that had filled me only a short time before. I stopped before each one in turn and tried to picture how they’d once been.

  A favourite restaurant had been gutted by fire. There was really nothing there to identify it as the place from my memory, as now it was nothing more than ash and a pile of scorched bricks. I recognised the buildings either side of it, but even they were not quite as they had been. A boutique movie theatre I’d frequented was also in ruins, its entire facade a pile of rubble. Within the gloomy depths of it I could make out some of the old furnishings and a staircase that had led to an upper level, and it too was partially demolished. I tried to relive the smell of the popcorn, the excitement as the lights went down, the laughter of a packed cinema.

  But it wouldn’t come to me.

  Drifting through the streets, I eventually came to a place that made me stop dead in my tracks. I squinted in the afternoon sunlight and shielded my eyes to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. No, this was it all right. The park I had visited so many times with Zade.

  I moved forward slowly, not knowing what to expect or how my emotions would cope with seeing it again. This was, perhaps, the place I had thought of the most, the place where my memories were strongest. The innermost refuge of my dreams.

  I stepped between the rusted old swings and looked out across the gentle slope of the park. I could still hear his laughter as I’d pushed him on these swings, as I’d chased him down the slope and into the trees - trees that were now drab stumps, more like broken columns of concrete than the majestic things they had once been. If I moved to just the right spot, the right angle, I could match the scene perfectly with the one in my mind. It was like looking at an anatomy book with transparent overlays - in my memory it was complete and whole, vibrant. Turning one page took away the thick covering of grass, the next the leaves on the trees, then the branches, page after page until it ended with just these withered ashen bones that jutted from the earth.

  To my left, a plastic climbing wall, once vibrant red, had cracked and bleached in the sun and was now almost white. Zade had been too young to climb it, but that never stopped him from trying. Without fail he would head to it every time we arrived, attempting to emulate the feats of the older children as he stared up at them, eyes like saucers, astounded by their nimbleness and the ease with which they negotiated the apparatus.

  Come on, this one isn’t for you, I’d always say, pulling him away. In return he’d kick and scream and try to wiggle from my grasp until I could distract him with some other more suitable activity. It was a ritual that annoyed me at the time, but now it brought a sad little smile to my face.

  There was a big wooden fort and a seesaw nearby as well, but they hadn’t fared much better. More pale memories.

  I pulled the photograph from my pocket. Zade beamed back at me as he always did, frozen in time, forever perfect in his joy and innocence. I brushed my fingers across his face, could almost hear that laughter again, echoing across the park. The sound of his feet. The smell of crushed grass. It felt so discordant to be so near to a memory and yet so far.

  But I had more important business to do. No time right now to wallow in the past.

  Looking around, I assessed my next objective. Between the nearby skyscrapers I beheld another familiar sight, a tall angular building with a curved peak that stretched up above almost all others. It was the headquarters for M-Corp, the company that Arsha and I had worked for. That’s where our workshop was located, and that was where I would most likely find her.

  I tucked the photo away and strode down the slope. My long journey was almost at an end. For the first time I considered Arsha and how she might react to my return. What had she been up to?

  I tried to picture her face, her voice. Her mannerisms. Those recollections were somehow difficult to grasp, as if they’d been whittled away by the constant agitation of the desert winds.

  It didn’t matter. There would be plenty of time to refresh those memories, to make new ones.

  The shadows of the skyscrapers were long by the time I reached them. Downtown, the streets were much cleaner than they had been in Perish. Here and there I had to pick my way through the rubble of fallen buildings, but for the most part it was not a difficult passage. There were remains of the dead distributed randomly about, huddled in corners and inside the wrecks of cars, in bus stops and inside store fronts, wherever they had fallen. They’d been claimed by hunger, by the cold, by other desperate people who competed for the same tiny pool of resources, and then left to rot. In time they would melt away into nothingness, leaving no trace that they’d ever lived here at all.

  This deep into the city the vegetation was lessening. There was far less exposure to sunlight here than out in the suburbs, but nevertheless I could see it, poking out of drainpipes and through cracks in the gutters. Even in such an unlikely location, life was trying to re-establish itself. Little by little it would take back the territory that it had once owned.

  I turned the corner. M-Corp was just down the street, soaring up into the sky so far that I had to crane my neck just to see its peak. A gentle breeze buffeted me, drifting down the street and sending bits of dust and garbage darting through late afternoon shadows that clung to the recesses of towers along the way. It ducked in and out of the broken hollows, crooning a sad little song on the otherwise empty street.

  And so, I was home.

  M-Corp had taken some superficial damage over the years, but structurally it still appeared rock solid. Looking along the elegant curves of its facade I could see that practically every window above the third level was shattered, mirroring the buildings around it. An airbust at some point had done the damage, if I recalled correctly. As I neared it, broken shards of glass crunched under my boots and twinkled dimly through the dirt. The front doors were up ahead.

  I stopped. Something was wrong.

  The glass windows and doors that led to the foyer were covered in a thick coating of dust. Beyond that I could see things piled up against the door: sofas that had sat in the foyer, tables, chairs from the conference room, trash receptacles, and just about everything else. It was almost as if a huge whirlwind had pushed out from the centre of the building and thrown everything against the entrance. It had been barricaded from the inside.

  There was also a huge chain and padlock linking the doors on the outside, effectively blocking it from both directions. I remembered the padlock, but not the barricade. Arsha must have felt this increased the security of the place.

  “Arsha?” I called out. My voice bounced around the street for a few moments before fading out. There was no response. Our workshop was located on the fifth floor. Not too high. With the windows smashed, she should have been able to hear me. “Arsha? It’s Brant.”

  I moved around the side of the building. There was an alleyway here with a loading dock and a fire exit that could also provide access to the building, and it too was blocked. A dumpster and a wall of garbage and debris had been piled up, but I knew our secret entrance was here. Tossing some debris out of the way, I dropped my hands to the oxidised metal of the dumpster. With more precision than I expected, I located a small indentation and pulled at it, revealing a little hatch that had been cut into the side of the dumpster. I crawled through. Inside it had been hollowed out, and lying on the concrete within were a flashlight, a crowbar and a couple of other implements Arsha had left inside. I pushed through the back wall and came out into the alley.

  The loading dock and the little steel door that was located beside it were not far. Stepping up to the landing, I carefully extracted a chunk of mortar from the corner of the wall. Behind it was a small silver key which w
e used to open the door.

  All of this was unchanged, like I had never been away.

  With the door open, I reached for the hidey-hole and replaced both the key and the mortar, then moved inside to the foot of the stairwell. It was gloomy, but enough light was spilling in from above to illuminate the way.

  Up on level five I found the workshop, and inside the memories came flooding back. It had changed, that was for sure. The pristine white walls, floors and benchtops were now stained with grime and dust that had floated in through the gaping exterior windows. Things had been moved around as well - the shelving had been reorganised and there were more cardboard boxes strewn about, filled with wires and green circuit boards, paper filters, various plastic containers and cylinders, and other discarded pieces of junk. I traced my finger along the nearest bench as I walked along. Familiar objects came into view. Glass eye droppers with latex bulbs, a burette, a dusty oscilloscope, a colorimeter.

  Arsha wasn’t here.

  I kept climbing floors, hoping to get a vantage point from which I could survey the city. At around the twentieth floor I stopped and lifted the binoculars to the surrounding area. I saw familiar bridges, buildings and streets that wound their way across the city. I took my time, hoping to cover every square inch of territory to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. Finally, beyond the inner city, I saw a slash of brightness that poked between the shadowy skyscrapers like the morning sun peeking through bedroom drapes. I squinted.

  It was a rise, a little hill bathed in the bright orange-red afternoon sunlight.

  And something was moving there.

  31

  I zig-zagged my way through city blocks, trying to keep the hill in view. It was no use. The skyscrapers rose up around me on all sides, and from street level there was no chance of keeping visual contact with it. I became disoriented, and when I finally emerged from the central cluster of high rises, I found that I had missed my target, travelling too far to the east.