by M.E. Wynne
***
Later, though hard to tell how much, Nelson woke. The light outside the window was gone and the glare of overhead fluorescents blinded him. He rubbed his eyes, then startled. A young girl, no more than fourteen, sat underneath the other end of the table, near his feet, watching him. Her stringy, blonde hair fell into her face, but other than that she looked fine. I’m entering stage two. Delirium.
“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice light and twangy.
“Nelson Gaines.” He paused. “I’m thirsty.”
She got up, found an old, red plastic cup in the cupboard, and filled it at the faucet. “Drink slow.”
He did, never expecting to be so grateful for a glass of water. When finished, he asked, “How’d you find me?”
“I followed you down the ramp. Show me your tongue, Nelson Gaines.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Patty Barnes. Now, show me your tongue.”
He licked his dry lips, and stuck out his swollen tongue.
“We probably gotta give it another day, but it looks good.”
Good? What does that mean?
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’re going to live. How long ago did they toss you?”
Live? “Yesterday.”
“Sucks, doesn’t it? To have to live away from everyone.”
“I’m going to live?”
“Most likely,” she said, twirling a strand of hair like this news was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Where are you from?” Nelson asked, wondering about stage-two hallucinations.
“I’m from Dallas. Or New Texas. Or whatever they’re callin’ it these days.” She paused and rubbed a finger on her chin. “Hey, didn’t you say your last name was Gaines?”
Nelson winced. “Yeah.”
“Isn’t there a guy—a famous scientist named Gaines? He’s makin’ a vaccine to stop the Athens and save the world. You ever heard of him?”
”Yeah.”
“Any relation?”
“He’s my younger brother.”
“Boy, I bet you’re pissed that they tossed you.”
You have no idea.
200 YEARS LATER
Another man went over the wall. This time voluntarily. He scaled the wall, snagging his shirt and then his calf on the barbed wire at the top. He was well past the age of climbing—pot-bellied, bow-legged, scraggly hair, looking like an abandoned house that had been forgotten and needed repairs. He worried more about the people he’d left behind than himself. I hope they find the vid chips. I hope it saves them.
The walk along the old highway was harder than it should have been. The asphalt had cracked in lots of places and clumps of wild flowers had sprung up through the holes. Despite his old aching bones, he savored the freedom of being outside the wall with blue skies as far as the eye could see. He wished Ledger and Maya could’ve come with him. He hoped they’d figure out a way to outsmart Gaines.
He shuffled along, and along, without a destination, trying to figure out how he could survive. Daisies, dandelions, a few bluebonnet seeds in a pinch, but no buttercups. They’re poisonous.
If his two-hundred-year-old memory served him correctly, the first exit off this former highway led to a warehouse district. Businesses that are no more. The only business left standing is Holistech. Randolph Gaines saw to that. It was quite a ways off, maybe ten miles, maybe twenty to the old suburbs, where he might find a house to live in. Can I walk that far? The tear on his calf hurt, even though the bleeding had stopped. He supposed if push came to shove, a warehouse might make a fine home. At least for tonight.
It’d certainly be bigger than Maya’s One.
Two miles, and aching knees later, he almost missed the exit ramp. The sign was no longer there, taken down by either the elements or, he hoped, another survivor.
In the time since the Athens had bloomed, and people had been tossed away, others had gone over the wall by choice, like him. At first, it seemed like it was one a week, then one a month, and finally one a year. He couldn’t remember the last one he’d heard about, but it might have been Stephens McNulty.
Stephens had been an especially dramatic loss to the citizens of New Texas as he was trained in medicine and a gifted healer. When any of the Temporals, or their pets, got sick, he could fix them up. Could mend a broken bone, too. Even the Eternals occasionally called on old Stephens, despite the fact that they had a fancy, modern hospital and all. He touched his calf. I could use a pinch of Stephens’ medicine now. Might be infected.
That had left the Temporals with only Seth Bayer, who everyone knew was a quack. Moons, Maya could heal better than Seth.
As he ruminated on Seth’s bad medicine and the loss of Stephens, he walked down the steep ramp, leaning back on his heels to keep from tumbling ass over teacup. At the bottom, entering the warehouse district, he spied he oddest thing. The first two buildings, constructed from metal, were in worse shape than him. But the third, made from concrete block, looked almost new. On one side there was a garden of veg. The building looked freshly painted a horrible blood red color, but fresh nonetheless. And, next to the parking lot, where a large oak tree grew, was an old-fashioned tire swing, like the one he’d had as a boy. How long had it been since he’d seen one of those? A hundred years? More?
But the strangest part of the whole scene was one small boy on the swing and an older girl giving him a push. Children! There are children on this side of the wall. What would Randolph Gaines make of that? Some of the people he’d tossed over the wall had survived, and had families, and made warehouses into homes so close to the borders of New Texas. Does he know about these others?
He walked up to the children and spoke. “Hi, I’m Arth, but my friends call me Coach or Bear.”
“Hiya,” the boy said and the older girl said, “We don’t talk to people we don’t know.”
“Well that makes perfect sense, but how you gonna get to know me, if you won’t talk to me. Besides I already told ya my name. What’s yours?”
The young boy, who appeared to be around five, wiped his nose on his sleeve in the crook of his elbow, leaving a trace of snot on his upper lip. “I’m Kirby.
“I knew a Kirby once. That’s a fine name. And, what about you?”
The girl squirmed and with eyes down, said softly, “Anna.”
“Well lookit that. You’ve got a “A” name like me. I’ve got a daughter named Maya, she’s bigger than you, but we talked about naming her Anna. It’s such a pretty name.”
The girl blushed and squirmed some more, pushing a mound of dirt with the toe of her beat up shoe.
“Hey, Mister! Where’d you come from?” Kirby asked before a huge racking cough seized him, rattling his chest until Anna pounded on his back. He spit some phlegm onto the ground and wiped his nose on his shirt again.
“I walked down that overpass ramp.” Arth pointed toward the highway.
“Ha! I meant before that.”
“He means are you from Freedom or Adamstown?”
Freedom or Adamstown? Sounds like she’s naming cities. How can there be any out here?
“I’m from a place called New Texas.”
The girl looked up from the ground, both children opening their eyes wide.
“Did you come over the wall, Mister Bear?”
“A-yeah. I did indeed.” Arth pointed to the tear on his calf, which had grown red around the edges. “Do you know others who came over the wall? Do you know Stephens McNulty?”
“We know Doc Stephens,” Anna replied. “He was here yesterday to treat Kirby’s cough and he’s already on the mend. Yesterday he wouldn’t get out of bed.”
Kirby nodded in agreement.
“He’s a good man. I’m sure you’ll be all the way better in no time. Do you think we could get him back here to patch up my leg?”
Anna came closer and squatted down to take a closer look at the gash. “I don’t know, but we can ask my momma.”
>
“That would be much appreciated. What’s your momma’s name?”
“Sunny.” Anna took Arth by the hand and led him toward the warehouse. “Sunny Gaines. She’ll want to meet you. Our family is originally from New Texas, too.
Thanks for reading this short companion piece to the novella GLORY.
GLORY takes place two hundred years after the virus and the creation of a quarantined city in New Texas. It’s the story of Ledger Dent, a soccer player, who lives in a society where winning has become not only illegal, but also taboo, and his quest for victory.
M. E. Wynne is the pen name of Shel Delisle, and you can find more about her work at https://www.sheldelisle.com or sign up for new releases and special subscriber offers here.