Humanity

by J. D. Knutson

  “Well, that’s a more complicated situation than yours. My aunt was actually the one who killed my mother because my mother had an injury that was going to end in her death. She wasn’t going to die for a while, though, and it was going to be painful. Eventually, when her waking hours were filled with almost constant screaming, her sister shot her to put her out of her misery. And my mother asked for it.” His eyes seemed glassy, but his tone was hard.

  “What about your dad and your aunt?” My voice was a whisper as I turned my face away from him.

  “It was never clear who killed them; there was shooting everywhere at the time.”

  “So no grudges to be held.”

  “No grudges to be held. Do you hear that?”

  “Yes. The animal?”

  I could hear Gideon sit up, and then his gun went off. He laid back down. “We’ll collect it in the morning.”

  I grimaced. “Can’t wait.”

  ~ * ~

  “You’re limping pretty heavily,” I noted, “but you’re walking, which is good. How’s your arm?”

  He grinned with one side of his mouth. “The best way to test that out is to arm wrestle.”

  “That’s a good idea. Too bad you have no opponents.”

  “You’ll suffice.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “Suffice, will I?”

  He nodded upward. “Let’s go to the top of the bridge,” he said.

  “I suppose I have to,” I replied, standing. “Now that you can walk, you might escape if I don’t follow you.” There was a hint of teasing to my voice; I fell into step with him. We strode up the hill at a slow pace. He wasn’t grimacing, so we might actually be able to make some distance today – get away from this bridge we’d been camping under for three weeks straight. It would be slow, but maybe we could fit in a few miles. It was lucky the bullet hadn’t hit bone.

  We reached the railing of the bridge; he positioned himself on one side of the railing, still standing in the grass. Then he lightly took my wrist and guided me to the other side of the railing, where the asphalt was. He knelt down, and I followed suit. He was so much taller than me that him being below the bridge’s level brought him right to eye contact with me.

  I blinked.

  He stood his injured left arm on its elbow, holding his palm out to me.

  “I’m right-handed,” I said uncertainly.

  “So am I, remember?” He reached out and took my left hand, using his right hand to angle my elbow appropriately. “There. Ready?”

  “Can I say ‘go’?”

  “Sure.”

  “’Kay. Three, two, one, go!”

  I pressed against his thick hand with all my strength, pushing, pushing. I wasn’t gaining any leeway. I had to remind myself that this was a good thing – at full strength, of course he would beat me. He was two hundred pounds of pure muscle! – but it was also frustrating. Gideon was always so sure of himself, it would have been nice to beat him at something, even if that meant he was less healed than we’d hoped.

  Gideon began pushing my arm down, the back of my hand inching closer to the concrete. I used all my strength, shoving back, not giving in.

  He caught my eye, and blinked.

  I started gaining ground. I was so astonished that I almost forgot to keep trying to win. But I pushed, and pushed.

  And then his hand hit the concrete.

  “I win,” I breathed.

  “Huh. Yeah. You win. I guess I’m not as healed up as I thought.” He stood.

  I looked up at him suspiciously. “You didn’t let me win, did you?” I asked.

  “Huh? No, of course not. I couldn’t possibly let that big head of yours get any bigger, could I? Naw, I guess my leg’s just doing better than my arm, that’s all.”

  “Really. Because I was the one who treated your wounds, remember? Your leg was worse.”

  He shrugged cluelessly. “I don’t know how the human anatomy works, darling. Can we get going? I’d love to be clear of those carcasses.” He nodded at our friends rotting on the asphalt.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, frowning.

  “Good.” He held out a hand to me, bringing me back to my feet, then started walking in the direction we’d been heading three weeks before.

  “Hey. Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Careful. If you ask too many questions, I might just decide to kill you. I’m done with your medicine after all, remember?”

  I made a face. “Yeah. And depleted the whole supply. You better hope you don’t get any more infections.”

  “It won’t matter unless the infection comes from someone or something other than you. You’re trying to kill me, remember? If you cause the infection, that would be a good thing. I’m sure you’d love watching me die a slow, gruesome death.”

  My chest tightened. “Well, not necessarily slow. Anyway, with me unarmed, I doubt I will be the first person to cause you an infection.”

  He lifted his arms to indicate the empty road. “I currently see no other threats,” he pointed out.

  “Where are we going?”

  He looked one eye down at me before looking ahead again. “There’s the remains of a carnival set up just a few more miles from here. That was where you were following me to before I got shot. I thought it might be fun to check it out. I’ve been to a few carnivals, but each of them is different.”

  “Life is about exploration,” I echoed.

  “Yes. That’s a good way of putting it. Where’d you hear that?”

  “You.”

  “Oh. Huh. I’m kind of a smart guy, aren’t I?”

  “More like a dead man walking.”

  “That would be a zombie.”

  “Nope. That would be you. What are carnivals like?”

  “Well, back when electricity worked, they’d be all brightly lit, with sparkling colors and music. There’d be games to play, and rides, and shows. Lots of animals on display. Of course, it’s not the same now. All the animals eventually escaped and wandered off when they got too hungry to wait around for their vanished keepers. The lights don’t work – most of them are usually broken, and there’s no music. Any canvas has been stripped away to use in others ways, and a lot of gears are missing from the rides and games. But most of the props are still there, and, if you walk through the street, you can almost imagine what it would have been like to visit when the place was alive.”

  “Sounds sad.”

  “Why?”

  “To have to imagine what it used to be like. To know it can’t be like that any more. To just walk through it like a ghost town.”

  “Candace, you know how we’ve been practicing thinking about nothing? Feeling the peace of your surroundings so that simply being is enough?”

  “Yes.” I loved it when we did that. When we just listened and smelled and felt the world around us, there was no loneliness. There was no death. There was no sickness. There was no hunger. There was breath. Life. Tranquility. There was just me and Gideon, alone in a peaceful world.

  “When we go to this carnival, I want you to try a variation of that. Don’t focus on the loss of what was. Focus on the beauty of what is.”

  “What about what it was meant to be? That’s lost.”

  Gideon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Humans think they’re in charge of this earth, but they’re not. We’re just inhabitants, leaving our mark until we ourselves are removed. The carnival is a mark one set of humans left. Now, we get to cherish the beauty of what nature has allowed to remain.” His breath was becoming more labored as we walked, our interchange causing more strain to be put on his lungs than necessary, considering this was his first walk since getting a gun injury.

  “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “I’ll help you. First, we have to get there. And I think I’ll be able to move faster if we do less talking.”

  I nodded, shutting my mouth. The sun was bright above us, and I could hear nothing but the birds chirping, the sound of our footfalls, and Gideon�
�s breath. After several moments, I peeked over at him out of the corner of my eye, analyzing how he was doing. He was limping worse than when we’d started, and his face was deep red.

  “I think we should rest,” I told him.

  He caught my eye. “Worried about me, are you?”

  “No. But I don’t want you to kill yourself before I get the chance.”

  “I’m fine, Candace. We’re only half a mile out now. See that?” He pointed.

  I looked in the direction he indicated, peering around a few buildings that used to be department stores. There, just out of reach, was a Ferris wheel.

  I grinned in spite of myself, wanting to sprint the rest of the way there. I glanced back at Gideon.

  His lips twitched. “You can go on ahead, if you don’t want to wait for my slow pace.”

  “Not a chance. I’m staying right where I can see you.”

  He chuckled, and we kept walking at a gentle, steady speed. The Ferris wheel drew nearer. We passed the department buildings, and I was able to make out the shape of other parts of the carnival: vendor stands, a small roller coaster, fences surrounding everything.

  It was more like the skeleton of a carnival than anything else. The only color remaining, outside of the greenery that covered everything, had been painted on metal. Any wood that had been there was long gone. Broken, colored light bulbs lined the faded names of rides, games, and snack stands. The game stands that had once hosted a large display of stuffed animals you could win were stripped bare. Very little remained.

  “This is depressing,” I murmured, biting my lip.

  Gideon was watching me. “Then don’t see it for what it used to be. See it for what it is.”

  “How? All I can see is what it used to be. And anyway, you said we should imagine what it was like when everything was alive.”

  “That’s before I realized you’d think it was sad. Look, close your eyes.”

  “I don’t know that I trust you with my eyes closed.”

  “Candace, you’ve been with me, unarmed, for weeks. You close your eyes all the time – you’ve been sleeping very soundly every night, ever since you started thinking about nothing. Now, close your eyes.”

  I rolled them before I closed them.

  I felt his hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me forward.

  My eyelids fluttered.

  “Keep them closed!” he commanded.

  I did. He continued to push me forward, then stopped.

  “Now, don’t open your eyes. I’m going to describe something to you. Pink and white, embracing as one, surrounding its environment like a cloud. How does that sound.”

  “Nice.”

  “Okay. Open your eyes.”

  I did. I was staring into the basin of a pink cotton candy machine. The basin was empty, save for the white crisscross of cobwebs.

  “See? Humans created this, then nature took it and made it into something beautiful.”

  “Cobwebs?”

  “What’s more beautiful than someone taking an abandoned object and making it into a safe haven for themselves?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Another way is as a hunting ground.”

  “There isn’t any prey trapped in the web, though. The spider isn’t even here.”

  “He must not have been very successful.”

  Gideon sighed. “Let’s try again. Close your eyes.”

  I did without argument, and he began steering me by the shoulders again.

  “Blue, green, purple, yellow, red. A stained glass window, a rainbow of color, dancing right before your eyes. Open them.”

  I did. Broken glass littered the asphalt in front of me. Blue, green, purple, yellow, red. Smashed to pieces. The remnants of the fun Technicolor lights that once represented the carnival.

  “Do you see it?”

  “See what?”

  “The beauty, Candace.”

  “Not really.”

  He took me by the arm, hauling me away from the glass.

  “Where are you dragging me to now?” I demanded.

  He stopped me in front of a speckled, cracked mirror, hung on a tall, metal wall. “What do you see?”

  “A mirror.”

  “No.” He stood behind me, gently pushing my hair forward, then tucking a few strands behind my ear. He lifted my chin, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “What do you see?”

  “Myself?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked closely. “I look washed out. There are shadows under my eyes.”

  He dropped my chin, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I might just have to shoot you for that,” he informed me, wrinkling his forehead.

  I turned to face him. “What next?” I asked.

  He looked around at the wall we faced, at the building it was attached to, then met my eyes. His glinted with mischief. “Follow me,” he said. Then he turned and walked into the building.

  I followed, but, when I entered, my eyes were met with more mirrors. Some of them were cracked. Others were whole. A few were completely shattered, their pieces littering the ground.

  It was a maze. A maze of mirrors.

  “Gideon?”

  I heard a chuckle somewhere ahead. My heart was in my throat. Was this a ploy? Was he trying to escape? He couldn’t have ran before; with his injury, he wouldn’t have managed to outrun me. But a house of mirrors was the perfect way to confuse me long enough to slip away.

  I sprinted forward, looking for which way I was supposed to turn. I chose one turn, then another. Over and over again I was met with my face. Me. Candace. I looked even paler than I had in the first mirror. What would I do if he left me?

  My breath was shallow. Sweat beaded under my eyes. And, still, turn after turn of the maze. Dead end after dead end.

  “Gideon!” I gasped, panicked. I had no idea where I was or how to get out. The mirrors felt as if they were closing in on me. I stumbled, then sank to my knees.

  I needed to breathe. I needed to focus. I wouldn’t manage to get out if I couldn’t even see straight.

  I closed my eyes, slowing my breath. I listened for anything I could possibly hear.

  “Candace?”

  I blinked my eyes open. Gideon’s face was right in front of mine, his eyebrows knit in concern. I could see each freckle across his cheeks and nose. His deep brown eyes stared into mine.

  “Gideon!” I breathed in relief; my hand snapped out to grab his arm.

  He patted my hand. “I didn’t know you’d panic like that. Sorry.”

  “I thought you’d left me.”

  He stood, pulling me to my feet. “Well, I didn’t. I just thought it’d be fun. And, at the other end. . .” He pulled me by the hand, through the maze of mirrors, to the other side. There stood the Ferris wheel. “I thought that if you couldn’t see the beauty in anything else around us, then you’d at least be able to see it here. After all, you got so excited before, when you could see it from the road.”

  The bulbs lining the limbs of the Ferris wheel weren’t lit, but they weren’t broken, either. The structure stood, tall and unbroken, glinting in the sunlight, the earth claiming it with green climbers.

  I stared at it, then looked over at Gideon. “Yeah. I like this.” I looked at it again. “If you look at it and nothing else, you can almost pretend civilization hasn’t ended.”

  He was silent for a moment, letting me look.

  “I had one other idea,” he all but whispered.

  I turned to him, open to any suggestions he had. “Yes?”

  “I want you to close your eyes again.”

  I did. He took my hands and pulled me forward, leading me along. After several steps, we stopped.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” he murmured, then placed my left hand up against his shoulder. His newly freed hand went to my waist. He led me in a slow, careful circle, that my mind began to interpret as a dance. After a minute, he started whistling a leisurely waltz, continuing to lead me along.

  “Open your e
yes,” he finally said.

  I did, meeting his. I looked around us, noticing the white stucco columns that encased us, and the open roof above our heads. We were dancing in a gazebo.

  “This is where the orchestra would have played, I think,” he whispered, watching for my reaction.

  I smiled up at the open sky, then at the columns around us. “It’s perfect. It doesn’t look touched at all.”

  “Well, there’s a chunk of rock missing over there.” He indicated it. “But I thought you’d appreciate the feel of it. It’s a little easier to imagine the reality of this structure, since nothing is really missing.”

  “Can we camp here tonight?” I asked. “It would be really neat to see the stars through there.” I pointed at the open roof.

  Gideon smiled. “Sure. I don’t know that I could walk much more today, anyway. But, before we get settled, maybe we should look around and see if there’s anything to forage for dinner.”

  “Alright,” I replied, considering the landscape. “Maybe if we. . .” I was in the act of lifting my arm to point when there was a roar; a giant blur of orange landed on top of me, forcing me to to the ground. Then it was up again, pouncing at Gideon.

  I noted that Gideon had his gun out, then noted that our attacker was an animal. A big, hairy animal with a long, thick mane. The fur was matted and tangly, patchy in some places, and the beast had a starved look to it – weak, like it had been wasting away in our absence.

  Gideon raised his right arm defensively toward the lion, and the lion knocked the gun from his hand; I watched it fly toward what used to be a pretzel counter as I staggered to my feet. Gideon whipped his knife out with his left hand, his right hand still buried in the lion’s fur. The lion whacked at him with horribly ragged claws, tearing long ribbons of flesh out of Gideon’s already healing arm.

  I stood there, shock holding me to the spot. Where had this lion come from? Was it originally from this carnival, one of the escaped attractions?

  Gideon wrestled with the lion, falling to the ground under its weight and doing everything he could to hold the animal at bay.

  The animal didn’t seem to think I was a threat at all. It had simply pushed me out of the way, then gone for Gideon. Not that I provided much meat. . .