Still Myself, Still Surviving: Part II: The Realization

by Marlin Grail

  She snickers while saying it, but in no way do I see it as offensive.

  At least for him, he’s shown us how much he gives a shit about us, and about leaving. Unlike when I came back, his reunion will be a good one. It won’t add wounds to our friendship.

  “Get some sleep,” she orders, definitely getting the same tone I know Gary to have.

  I think each of us here have adopted a sliver of his traits we’ve found admirable. For Lissie, she’s embraced friendship, and taking a chance with those connections. For Will, the importance to not see the opportunity as leader as a chance to flex a muscle of hierarchy. Gary treats us like he would anyone else. Janice has begun taking up the need to not be so damn self-punishing for every time she slips. Gary knows he’s not perfect, but he doesn’t let that stop him from having a perfect day.

  For me?

  I rest back on my mattress, looking straight up as I consider what I’ve mimicked in Gary. I speak aloud, in a faint voice, “I’ve taken a lot from him. For a long time, I took his trust. I took advantage of his good personality. What have I given him this whole time in the apocalypse?”

  I wouldn’t count my service to kill or scavenge as something he’s taught me, because I’d likely still be doing both of those things even if I wasn’t in his group. Perhaps, me just not complaining left and right, like I did before, is the page I took out of his book. He’s never complained about the trouble any of us have caused him.

  I lie here, one arm crossed over my forehead, listening as the blankets whisper with their position changes, along with sighs of them—with me—awake.

  Man, here I’ve been, being an ass, assuming I know why Gary has chosen to leave us awake. What I will say is a factor he implemented by doing so, he’s testing what we’ve learned as people.

  Under my sigh, this time from relief, I smile when I angle my vision to where Lissie’s bed is. She seems to be the first one of us to fall asleep.

  “You’re already leagues ahead from the rest of us. From the outside looking, you’d be judged as the most troublesome. Truth is, Gary’s closest friend has proved to be the most difficult.”

  My last statement feels the strongest one I’m okay closing this night off on. I let the darkness paint me dreamscapes. The bizarre imagery is accepted, and considered usual to my figurative self in these illusions of painless, forgiving, and forgetful sensations.

  Sometime passes, and I feel Will’s hands shake me awake. “You’re giggling in your sleep. Try and keep that to a low,” he grumbles groggily.

  Every time I lay my head back down though, the sandman doses me back asleep, only for me to feel his hands on me again.

  “I’m sorry!” I whisper as I finally come awake.

  “No! Get up! Something’s going on!” Will urges.

  I blink, trying to focus my gaze in the darkness. Soon I’m able to see that Will is adrenalized, eyes wide-open in shock.

  Once I lift up my head, reason become crystal clear.

  There’s a loud commotion outside. Immediately, I throw my blanket off of me, and hurry to my gear back on.

  Shrills of chopped up phrases can now clearly be heard.

  “Shattered trenches!”

  “Pouring in!”

  The final yell triggers a drop in my stomach.

  “Fence is blown! They’re coming in!”

  Chapter LVII

  An accident? No. This has to be an attack!

  Our building has no windows to see outside, but, at this point, none of us would dare look even if we could.

  We can only rely on sound to keep us posted.

  It’s as if earth is taking a major pounding outside from the sound of stomping. Savage howls of officers firing away at the moans and gargling are panning left and right.

  The undead have flooded the base! They’re currently outside our building!

  Since I’m closest to our large doors, I’m unanimously considered the one to inspect how secure we are within these walls. I turn on my flashlight, nowhere near confident enough to make a sound as I check.

  Undead will hear! Shit! It’s nighttime! They probably can already sense we’re in here!

  It’s definitive when the pounding at our doors begin.

  The undead are trying to go through them.

  I look behind. I can make out Janice’s trembles. She’s slowly backing away, trying to get to the farthest point away from the chaos.

  “They’re not smart enough to find out how the doors open, but we can’t be too certain!” I declare, finding the level of my voice irrelevant now. “Let’s barricade!”

  Will immediately hurries to his bed, fortunately a bunk. He then works all of his might to shove it horizontally to the front. I notice our remaining single beds and their frames are the best obstructing objects we have to fill in the gaps of his bunk overall.

  I don’t care if I sleep on the ground! They’re not getting in!

  Will and I partner together in picking up Lissie’s bed, raising the weight up to balance on the bunk’s first level. Janice’s is then lifted on top of that bed. A corner piece of the solid metal frame jabs me on the face, but it only makes me grit my teeth. My anger motivates me to drain all the reserves of my strength to jam it all the way through the remaining gap in this bunk’s empty space.

  Mine goes in an awkward, asymmetrical position of this barricade’s overall formation, blocking a weakness on the left side. Will quickly examines it as a whole, resituating ever so slightly on a few spots.

  “Now, we all head to the back!” Will directs.

  I don’t know why I said what I did next. It just comes out of me. “Gary didn’t know this would happen!”

  He slaps my shoulder with a swat of his hand. “Come on, Ashton! Focus! We need to be ready if a break-in happens!”

  He’s thinking if the worst happens. I feel we’re already there.

  That assumption of our condition is mocked when a sudden loud boom has the both of us crouching on the floor, instinctively bracing ourselves for something.

  “It came high up!” Will shouts.

  The only high structure close enough to that elevation was a tower. A water tower.

  The screech of distorted metal is heard shortly afterwards. It’s the man-made pain of something that sturdy screaming out when it’s destroyed.

  Sure enough at the sound, something incisive sinks into me.

  Tumbling is bound to happen. Any buildings, or any structure, intentionally bombed leaves collateral damage on the ground. That’s the real danger for us.

  “Will, let’s run—”

  I never got to finish.

  My flashlight is on and aimed directly up. The rays of light illuminate a collapsing mass...

  It’s the roof falling onto both of us.

  Bloodcurdling screams come from the back wall. I stick out my arm for them, even knowing I can’t touch them…

  It’s the greatest instinctive choice I hope I’ve made. I hope they understand and receive my last message of love for them.

  I’m immediately sucked into the sight of my old cat, a large gray tabby with a square head. I’m giggling again, but it’s just part of the moment. There’s no pain. No sadness.

  I’ll giggle forever at my wonderful square-headed biggie cat.

  Chapter LVIII

  (Janice)

  If my pitch could go any higher, it would.

  I pull at Ashton. No matter how hard Will and I exert effort at his limp and exposed arm, mindful we won’t pop it out of socket, there’s no justice for it.

  I pant out of fatigue, but the persistence keeps going every time I look at his eerily peaceful face. Not a wrinkle on it is formed from his abrupt unconscious state.

  “Why did it have to land here, of all the space around us?” I cry out in frustration.

  Will momentarily stops tugging to free Ashton from the rubble of the collapsed roof, re-examining the only corner caved in by whatever large piece of debris from the water tower that fell on us.
r />   “Look,” Will says at me, “we have to be grateful it didn’t squash this whole place! And, it still blocks whatever is waiting for us on the outside!”

  My expression couldn’t be any more the opposite from what I believe Will is expecting.

  “WHY HAVE YOU STOPPED!?” I yell in panic, unable to withhold all my motherly instincts from coming out at once.

  Ashton has let me take care of him. I won’t fail him—I can’t fail him.

  I hurriedly squat down to the crumbled mess and inspect the piece pinning Ashton. It’s not squishing him so much that he has no breath coming out of his lungs, but I fear any more time passes, the piece of the tower will fall to gravity. Wedging and forever closing the opportunity to pull him out.

  I’ve lost care to pay attention towards Lissie, because she’s let herself wallow in unproductive grief. Will plants the side of his head to the ground, further inspecting the gap between the floor and the rubble anchored on top of Ashton. The further he breathes, the more his breaths rush out nervously.

  I sit on my knees, awaiting his verdict as if he’s a doctor just come out of performing surgery on someone I love.

  “Well!?”

  “Janice, I don’t know how to put this respectively…” he winds down, hesitant in tone.

  “Just tell me!”

  “The whole of him doesn’t look to be nailed under anything massive, but I think it’s his left foot keeping him from moving. It might be crushed by the main weight of the fallen object!”

  I drop woozy with a pure feeling of sickness. It keeps me from hearing the rest of Will’s analysis. With a wavering arm stuck out, I restrict him from coming any closer to me.

  Logically, I applaud him for staying calm, but the emotional side of me wants him to say no more, and just let me be on the back wall with Lissie. My tears skew his figure, so it’s a surprise when he harshly slaps my arm down and puts his hands on my shoulders.

  “Focus! I’m with you! But, he needs us! We can’t make this about us! You don’t have the right to do that now! It’s not your place!

  Both of his eyes concentrate to stare at just one of mine at a time. He dutifully reverts back to the attitude of taking charge. Will is now directing orders to me and Lissie. Lissie shakes her head in disbelief, or doubt, that his plan can work.

  However, it doesn’t deter him.

  “Lissie, I need you with me lifting up the big plate of rubble currently on him. So, that way, Janice can crawl under me and fiddle Ashton’s foot out.”

  Lissie’s fingers visibly trembles. She reaches out slowly, but refrains from touching any of the concrete in front of us. “What if Ashton wakes up during?” she asks him, seeming startled herself that the thought came to mind.

  He rests an arm on his knee, side-glancing at her and me. His rational tone prevails over insecurity. “Look, if he does, just be okay if he’ll make a lot of noise. His foot’s certainly broken, and when he comes to, he’s likely going to find it very difficult to ignore his level of pain.” He tightens his hand into a fist, nodding to himself as he looks down at Ashton. “He’ll be very relieved by the end of it though!”

  The worst guilt I could actually put on myself is letting Ashton be trapped, just because I’m too scared to try anything about it. This is tough love, Ashton—the kind for both of us!

  “Wait until we raise it high enough, Janice!” Will instructs. He signals a nod over to Lissie. She finally lets her palms freely hold onto the jagged and crisp edges of the large concrete plate. “On three. One. Two. Three!”

  It’s a rocky start.

  Lissie’s left hand accidentally slips off. She immediately compensates by having her right shoulder go under and help push up. Both grunt, but this is where emotion is the best counterfeit to make-up for diminishing strength, because that large block surely begins to move up and off Ashton.

  “Go, Janice!” Will orders in a hiss.

  Already on my belly, I start scooching under, spitting out hair as it falls to my face every time it scrapes up from the rubble. Will lent me his flashlight and I shine it on Ashton’s leg. The light is obstructed in shining completely on his foot, the culprit being the unfortunate pile metal and rubble suffocating it.

  You can do this, Janice! Ashton needs your help! That’s why you’re here! You’re needed to be helpful!

  I place the light below my chin, then fight with the tight space to extend both arms above my head. My own evaluation suggests he needs to have his leg bent inward towards his center, so that way I can have an easier time to yank it out. Little bits of the ceiling’s metal support beams fall, escalating my level of nerve pinches and cut fingers.

  Then comes the next part—pulling apart several concrete pieces. I spread them afar carelessly, like tearing clumps out of damp clay. My teeth clamp down as I get a clear sightline of his shoe. I realize he’ll likely wake up the moment it moves.

  “I’m sorry, my sweet!” I moan out in sympathy for him.

  Ashton’s waking yell gives no warning. Neither do I when I articulate his knee and ankle to fall where I need them to be. I then grip his shin and pull the foot towards me.

  “Janice!” Will strains. It’s an indication that he’s down to last remaining drops of physical ability.

  I swerve back out. Ashton’s roaring only grows louder, but I remain in the moment, tugging his body into the home stretch. My fingers feel as though they dig straight into his shoulders, but it’s a necessary to free him. Once we’re a safe distance away from the rubble, his leg recoils against being laid out how it should.

  Will and Lissie moan loudly in relief, Lissie somewhat whimpering as she massages her shoulder. Ashton’s finally out of the wreck, but the beginning of our new duty begins.

  How to soothe his pain.

  “What do we have in our bags?” Lissie asks.

  I gently stroke the side of Ashton’s face. “It’s okay, dear! It’s gonna be okay!” Comfortably laying my thighs against the ground, I calm myself by massaging his upper body.

  Soon my instinctive attempt at maternal aid begins to work on this grown man. Instead of the same long-seconded howls of agony, he lets out small pants that sound more like little laughs, a masking of what he feels really.

  My son would calm down in his fits of rage when I was attentive like this. I now feel he didn’t deserve it nearly as much as Ashton does at the moment, but I have to credit my son for training me to handle a loud and overwhelming distressed soul—with no ability to focus on anything but the present.

  I pat and rub little circles on his forehead. This “alternative care” feels like it’s doing just as splendidly as any medicine we could find in our supply stash could.

  Both elements finally combine, when Will rolls some painkiller capsules my way.

  “Here, Ashton!”

  He looks above at my offering hand. He takes a pill with his tongue, a true representation of his poor state—Ashton is unable to handle taking the pill with his hand.

  His foot’s broken, and we don’t have the real ability to heal it. We’re trapped within these walls, only a sliver of the outside peaking in on our quandary. There’s still something that’s not out of my power—being warm and nurturing towards him.

  “Thank you,” I humbly state to Will, decorating him verbally with appreciation.

  His eyes dart down at Ashton’s injury. “We should get the shoe off.”

  Gary chose right to have you second-in-command, Will, even if I can’t douse you with gratefulness.

  Will doesn’t give warning. He simply unties the shoe. Ashton lets out several mumbled grunts. I relax his jaw, then guide him to look up at me. I see the cut and blood on his head. It’s drying, but looks bad. My expression runs cold, but it doesn’t match my purposefully pacifying words.

  “Just look at me, Ashton.”

  My call to his name is in sync with Will’s act of pulling off the shoe. Ashton voice his hoarse with throbbing misery. A tear fills his eye from the pain after. I wipe it
with my thumb. The loudness of his throat is on par with the loudness from undead outside.

  They sound like the lonely ocean they are right by our front door.

  Lissie, sitting beside Ashton’s side, leans over to examine the foot. She understands why Will hissed from the sight. “That’s okay,” she hurries in, adopting my similar behavior in self-control, “we have gauze for it.”

  Ashton’s first words, since the disaster, are simple.

  “I miss when things were normal.”

  None of us know how to reply. I kick out the silence with “Of course, my sweet. We all miss when things were normal.”

  Will and Lissie remain like surgeons with a patient as they wrap gauze on his damaged parts. During the process, I keep my dialogue going to distract him from the bloody situation. “It was a day.”

  He tilts his head, his hair scrunching against my thigh. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I never told you before today, but it was always the case even until now. I believe you were a great mom. You are a great mom.”

  Dedicated to keeping on a rational track, I fight the tears that wish to derail my duty to him. The minutes pass, and the two of them finish wrapping his foot. Ashton now appears completely pleased we rescued him from the rubble.

  Will kneels down beside him. “How you doing, man?”

  “We make a great team,” Ashton replies, getting a chuckle from Will.

  “Yeah, man, the fact you just said that means you’ve changed.”

  Aside from the undead shuffling and pushing around, some sounding as though they trip and bang their head against our doors, no living speech or action evokes a need for us to listen in.

  We simply know we’re stuck in here.

  The base is either abandoned, or the others still around are in their own shelters—us forgotten, or uncared for by them.

  Poor us, certainly, but poor Gary. He’s likely not aware his group, his family, friends, his lover, had a snippet of fate trying to take what he’s sacrificed so much to protect.

  I stare into the corner, avoiding to look at the imposing shard of metal from where that tower landed. I’m able to see a clear night sky. A few specks of stars sparkle. For the reasons unquestioned by any of us, I feel sentiment pouring in from seeing those faraway eyes in the sky.