by Ben Oliver
He fades away, and the sun returns.
“Come on,” Kina says.
And we walk, hand in hand, along the riverbank. I know that this is the last journey I will ever go on, I know that any second the world will fade to black and it will all be over, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind. I’m happy.
* * *
Being dead isn’t so bad.
It’s quiet, peaceful. You worry about nothing and feel contentment all the way down to your soul.
“What did he say?” a voice asks.
“Something about being dead isn’t so bad?”
I don’t know who these voices belong to, but they don’t bother me. I’m in a wide-open space, infinity in all directions, nothing but white light surrounding me. I’m weightless, burdenless, blissful.
“He’s out of his damned mind,” one of the voices comes again.
“I know what that’s like.”
“Shit yeah—evil stuff, evil, evil stuff.”
“Get the patch off him; maybe we can shorten his trip.”
These are the voices of who? Angels? Gods? Is this heaven? Have I been here for thousands of years or only a few minutes?
“Wow, he’s deep in it,” one of the angels says.
“Kid, I’m not a damned angel; you’re just way below the surface.”
It’s like these angels are replying to my thoughts.
“You’re speaking out loud, kid. And your towel’s come undone; I can see your junk.”
These words don’t really make sense to me. I’m certain there are no towels in heaven.
“Dear god, he actually believes he’s dead.”
The voices sound older, like adults, one of them may even be elderly.
“Excuse me!” one of the angels says. “Who are you calling elderly?”
This is all too confusing; heaven is not at all what I thought it would be. I decide to try sleeping; maybe when I wake up I’ll be able to make sense of this whole afterlife business.
* * *
The first thing I’m aware of is the fact that I’m naked.
I open my eyes, and I’m in darkness. I can’t remember if I’m alive or dead, if Tyco killed me, if the riverside was real, if the voices I heard in the place that I thought was heaven were real.
I’m under blankets in a comfortable bed. My head is thumping, and my throat is dry. I must be alive; it would be wholly unfair for the dead to be able to feel this bad.
My eyes begin to adjust to the dim light from the window.
Immediately, I know that I’m still in Tyco’s house. I can tell from the size of the room—it’s enormous. A VR-gaming rig takes up a lot of floor space, and it’s still got more room than anyone could ever need.
Someone has left a set of clothes at the foot of the bed, folded in a neat pile.
I try to think, but the pounding ache in my head makes it almost impossible. Did Tyco change his mind? Was it all a hallucination, and he never intended to kill me?
I get out of bed and stare at the pile of clothes. Tyco’s. I debate whether or not I should put them on, but in the end I decide that if he’s waiting out there to kill me, I’d rather face him fully dressed than completely naked.
I put the clothes on—they’re too big, but they’re better than nothing—and open the bedroom door. I’m on the mezzanine level of Tyco’s house again, looking down into the living room, where two ladies sit on the couch talking and drinking from steaming cups. I recognize the voices right away; they belong to the angels, the entities I heard when I was drugged up.
“We’re taking this with us, by the way,” one angel says, pointing to the gas canister that Tyco had used to boil water. She looks to be in her early fifties, hair beginning to gray. She’s skinny and is wearing a thick green cardigan. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I need coffee back in my life.”
“Agreed,” the other replies. She’s younger, maybe early twenties, with brown hair and freckles.
They’re either Naturals or Alts—it’s hard to tell from here, but they’re both very beautiful, despite the fact that they’re obviously clones.
The older of the two looks up, and her eyes meet mine. I notice that she’s wearing a black sweatband low around her forehead.
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty is up,” she says, putting her mug down on the table and standing. “Come down, boy.”
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice sounding weak and distant.
“The people who saved your life,” green-cardigan angel says, and smiles theatrically.
The younger woman stands up. She too is wearing a sweatband around her head. “I’m Day Cho, and this is my mother, Shion.”
“What do you mean you saved my life?” I ask.
“Just how it sounds,” Shion says. “And we’re going to do it again. We’ve searched this house top to bottom and thrown all your Ebb down the drain. Time to get sober, boy; the end of the world is here.”
“My Ebb?” I say, still confused by this scenario. Who are these people? What happened? “It’s not my Ebb. Wait, you’re not making sense.”
“Hey, come on now. We’re all the same; we’re all addicts, clones. If ever there was a time to get help, it’s now. Do you even know what’s going on out there? Did you even know that a Blinker was about to cut your throat?”
“Blinker?”
Shion turns to her daughter and raises her eyebrows. “Dear lord, he’s a real tweaker—clone for sure.”
“I’m not a clone,” I say, rubbing at my tired eyes. I hold up both my hands. “I’d never even tried Ebb until … Look, can you please just explain what happened?”
“We’ve been looking for other survivors,” Day says. “Others like us, like you. When the power went out, those of us who were on Ebb started taking more. What else was there to do? Without the Lens and our virtual worlds, how were we supposed to get through the day? My mother and I have been clones for years now, always talking about getting clean, but you know how easy that is to say and how difficult it is to do. If we hadn’t tried to quit on that day—the day that the Blinkers came—if we weren’t sober on that day, then we’d be dead.”
I try to keep up with Day’s story, try to make sense of it in my head. How did they survive the attack? How were they immune to the chemical that turned everyone else into killers?
Shion takes over. “You do know that everyone has been turned into a sort of murdering human drone, don’t you? We think it was the rain—somehow they poisoned it. My husband, Day’s father, attacked me on that first morning. Day managed to get him off me and stood between us. He wouldn’t attack her; it was as if he remembered who she was, but not me—he wanted me dead. We got out into the street and saw what had happened: thousands of people killing one another, bodies falling from buildings, kids beating one another to death, packs of them roaming around murdering whoever they found. The packs were all families—always a mother or a father and their kids, never two parents. It took us a while to realize that they don’t kill their own blood. I’m sorry, this probably all sounds like sci-fi nonsense to you. How in the hell did you survive when you’ve been out of your head on Ebb throughout all of this?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I say. “I didn’t take that Ebb; I was drugged.”
Day and Shion share a look of doubt, a look that says junkies will make any excuse.
“Right,” Day says. “And who drugged you?”
“The guy with the knife.”
“Blinkers aren’t that smart,” Shion says, shaking her head. “They don’t make plans; they just stalk and kill.”
“He wasn’t a … Blinker,” I say, using their term for the Smilers. “He was like me; he took the Delay.”
“Delay? Kid, now you’re the one who’s not making any sense.”
“I was a prisoner in the Loop. The day before the war started, we were taken to the Facility so they could run tests on us. We think that they injected us with some sort of cure or immunity to the chemical. Me and a few others survived a
nd managed to escape. The guy that was about to kill me was an inmate too.”
“Wait, hold on, you were in the Loop?” Shion asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“And they ran tests on you?”
“Every six months,” I tell her.
“Jesus,” Day whispers.
“And they tried out some sort of vaccination on you?” Shion continues.
“I think so, yes.”
Shion paces the room and then stops. “You’re telling me that guy we killed wasn’t a Blinker?”
“No. You killed him?”
“Yes,” Day says with no hint of remorse. “Well, we shot him six times, and he ran, but I doubt he got very far.”
“You killed him? Just like that? No second thought?”
“Listen,” Shion says, pointing a finger at me, “this is no time for morals; it’s kill or be killed, and that’s all there is to it. If you want to survive, you better get good at taking people out before they take you out.”
“But he wasn’t even—”
“He was still going to murder you; that basically makes him one of them,” Shion interrupts me.
“He ran?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, kid. I hit him clean in the chest at least twice, and I think another caught him in the throat. I don’t care what technology he’s full of, he isn’t surviving that,” Shion says, grinning.
“He was … He could have been … He had every right to want to kill me. I don’t blame him.”
“You know, a thank-you wouldn’t go amiss,” Shion says, sitting back down on the couch and shaking her head. “We save this guy’s life, and he’s concerned about karma or some shit.”
I sit down too, shaken by the thought of Tyco’s life coming to an abrupt end. I try to push it from my mind. “How come you two aren’t Smilers?” I ask, my voice hoarse from coughing.
“Is that what you call them?” Shion asks. “We call them Blinkers.”
“Me and my mom,” Day says, “we were on Ebb when it happened; so were thousands of others. It seems like the drugs stopped the chemicals in the rain from turning us. Thank god we weren’t mixing with Crawl, or we’d have been taken out for sure.”
“Ebb making people immune is a pretty big flaw in the plan,” I say. “Whoever did this failed to fix a major issue. Clones make up about ten percent of the population.”
“Twelve percent,” Shion says. “But why fix something that will fix itself? It’s not as though clones can defend themselves. Easy prey for the Blinkers, and even if they’re not killed by the infected, they’ll eventually kill themselves. Besides that, you’re missing an even bigger flaw in their plan.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why bother turning the population into killers?” Day says. “Why not just kill us all? If you have the ability to drop biological weapons from the sky—and your goal is to wipe everyone out—why bother wasting your time with mind-altering chemicals? Why not just drop poison?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I admit.
“Well, we’ve thought about it and come up with no good reason.”
I nod. “So what happens now?”
“We’re gathering up as many of the survivors as we can before it’s too late. We’re getting them all in one location, getting them clean, and then we’re preparing,” Day tells me.
“Preparing for what?” I ask.
“Whatever comes next.”
“You don’t think this is the endgame?”
“No way,” Shion says, laughing. “Ask yourself: Why do people start wars? They do it for money, land, religion, or revenge. Seeing as there’s only about three cults left in the world and we’re all ruled by one government, I doubt it’s religion or revenge. That leaves money or land—either way, whoever did this has to come and claim their prize.”
“So, you’re building an army?”
“Yeah, an army of junkies. Good plan, huh?” Day says, smiling for the first time.
“What if there’s a chance we can cure the Smilers … the Blinkers?”
Shion laughs. “And how, exactly, would we do that?”
“After we found our families, my friends and I talked about getting to the Facility—the place where they injected us with the vaccine—maybe they have a cure there.”
“You and your friends?” Shion asks, raising an eyebrow. “Friends like the guy who was about to cut your throat?”
I’m about to tell them the short version of how Tyco came to loathe me when Day begins to breathe heavily, and her eyes roll back in her head.
“Mom, Mom, it’s happening again, Mom.”
Shion moves over to her daughter and holds her close. “It’s okay, baby; it’s all right.”
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“It’s part of the withdrawal process. Coming off Ebb isn’t easy—takes its toll on the body.”
Day is convulsing now, twitching violently, foamy spit dribbling from her lips.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“You’re going to be fine, baby; you’re going to be just fine,” Shion says, stroking her daughter’s hair.
The convulsions begin to slow, and Day’s eyes return to their normal position.
“Just give me a quarter patch, Mom. I’ll come off it slowly, a quarter a day for a few days, Mom, please,” Day is mumbling, not quite herself yet.
“You know we can’t do that, Day; we have to get clean as quick as possible.”
“Mom, please, please, I don’t think I can keep going like this. I think it’s going to kill me if I don’t have a little, just a little bit.”
“No, Day, you listen to me: I’m going to be strong for you when you’re weak, and you’re going to be strong for me when I’m weak, do you understand? It took the end of the fucking world for us to get clean; I’m not going back now.”
As Shion speaks, the lines around her eyes grow deeper. She’s fighting off her emotions and her instinct to give in to her daughter’s requests.
Day stares angrily up at her mother, the muscles in her jaw clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing until her expression turns to one of knowing and resignation. “You’re right, you’re right. We can beat this.”
“It’ll get easier, baby; it’ll get easier, I promise. We’re over the worst of it now.”
Day’s eyes fill with tears, and she cries quietly in her mother’s lap.
“Do you really think there’s a cure?” Shion asks, staring at me with an equal mix of doubt and hope in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But it’s our best bet. Either way, I’ve got to get to my family first.”
“Your family?” Shion repeats. “Listen, friend, if your family is unlucky enough to still be alive, they’ll be Blinkers.”
“I know that,” I say. “But I can’t just give up on them.”
Shion nods. “We’re staying here tonight,” she says. “Day’s too weak to get through that snow.”
We spend the night in the house, all of us sleeping in the living room, taking turns staying awake and making sure that no one tries to get in. The snow falls all night, piling up against the house. It gets so cold that even though we’re indoors, I can still see my breath in front of me.
On three separate occasions during the night, I catch myself thinking about how I felt when I was high on Ebb: the sense of invincibility, the absolute immersion inside my own imagination, the feeling of being completely free from the restrictions of my body. Now I know why they ran all those ads over and over again, why every third Barker Projection was a government-issued warning about the dangers of Ebb, starring the Overseer himself, Galen Rye. Patch up, patch out. Ebb is a road to ruin.
I watch the sun rise slowly through the large front window of Tyco’s home on the east side of the city; it illuminates the Black Road Vertical, where I grew up—now rising out of a seven-foot bank of snow that covers the homeless village around it.
Memories of my dad appear in my mind
: watching centuries-old movies, fixing up thrown-out tech to make our own VR units, him reading stories to Molly and me when we were barely old enough to remember. I stare at the tower block, the top now hidden by low-hanging clouds, which still spew out snow relentlessly. I will make it to them today, one way or another.
“This is part of it,” a voice says from behind me. “This is a part of the grand plan.”
Startled, I turn around. Day is behind me, wearing only a baggy tank top and shorts but with a thick blanket over her shoulders.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“The snow,” she says, standing beside me. “I think whoever turned the people into monsters is now killing off the survivors with the weather.”
“Why are they doing it like this?” I ask. “You’re right: If they can send chemicals in the rain, why not just kill us quickly?”
Day shakes her head, still staring at the city through the window. “I don’t know.”
“If they have control of the weather, that means they have control of the government,” I say.
“As One,” Day says, unable to disguise the hatred in her voice.
“He was there,” I say to myself, remembering Galen’s presence in the Facility on the day of the mass Delay.
“What?” Day asks.
Thoughts swirl in my head, crazy notions about our own government turning on us, but I dismiss them. “Nothing,” I reply.
“Wrap up warm,” Shion says from behind us. “We’re going to have to dig through this snow to get to the other survivors.”
“Hey, listen, thanks for saving me and everything, but I’ve got to find my sister and my father.”
Day studies me, her eyes full of sorrow. “Go,” she says. “You have to go; you have to make sure they’re safe. If there’s even a one percent chance that they’re alive, you have to go. Come find us when you’re done.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, thanks,” I say.
“Well, if you’re going to be an idiot, I might as well wish you luck,” Shion says. “Try not to die.”
“Where are the survivors?” I ask. “So I know where to find you, if there is a cure?”
Shion turns to me, reaches out a hand, and places it over my forehead.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused by her actions.