This Rotten World (Book 2): We All Fall Down

by Vocabulariast, The

  Zeke nodded his head and smiled at her. "That's fine with me."

  Katie looked skyward. "I've never met a person so easy to get along with. It's maddening."

  "Hey, I got nothing but time to kill," he said, his teeth gleaming in a ray of light.

  Katie reached into his lap, and grabbed him, stroking back and forth. She felt him harden in her hand. He leaned in for a kiss, and she slapped him across the face with her free hand. He leaned backwards, and she straddled him on the floor. "Well, let's kill a little time shall we?"

  Chapter 27: Room #27

  Lou woke up with the mother of all cricks in his neck. Sleeping in a chair in an arena was not the secret to a functioning neck and spine. He looked to his left and saw his leftover meal sitting there, untouched and cold. How long had he been asleep? It was impossible to tell time in the Coliseum. There were no windows inside the main floor of the arena.

  He guessed it was night, as the majority of people in the arena were in various states of slumber. Snoring and heavy breathing filled the air around him, along with the stifled weeping of the few that were still awake. People slept wherever they could, bundled up in scratchy, army-issue blankets that weren't so much designed for comfort as they were to keep you functional.

  Lou grabbed his plate of food and began shoveling the remains of the meal into his mouth, swallowing the cold globs out of prudence rather than hunger. He had to keep his strength up. As soon as Zeke and Lou had touched down in the Coliseum, Zeke had known that the place was doomed to fall.

  "Look at those fences, man. How long do you think those will hold?" Zeke had asked.

  Lou knew the answer. He knew that sooner or later, those fences were going to come tumbling down, and a lot of people were going to die in the ensuing chaos. Lou was betting that he wasn't going to be one of those. But he needed to know where Zeke was. It was funny how quickly he had become used to the man. He wasn't what you'd call likeable, but his quiet capability was comforting. While Lou was screaming inside of his head and swearing under his breath, Zeke would remain cool, calm, and logical. He admired the man, but he also felt a connection with him.

  Now, he wasn't here, and while he swallowed a load of cold mashed potatoes and congealed gravy, he began to feel panicked by his absence. Lou looked to his right, and saw Brian and his two daughters curled up on a landing. Their bodies were entangled underneath several green blankets. Lou had wished to be a lot of things in his time, but right now, he was glad he wasn't a father. Out of all the people he had met and talked with in the Coliseum, Brian's case was easily the worst.

  It wasn't that he had lost his wife, plenty of people had lost significant others. It was that he had lost his wife right in front of his kids, at the hands of the very people that were supposed to be protecting them. For the whole evening, the children had alternated between sitting in dumb, mute silence and sobbing uncontrollably. Brian seemed like an alright sort, but he clearly had no idea how to comfort two grieving children. Of course, that could be because he himself was grieving. Lou doubted that he would be able to do any better if their roles were reversed.

  There were a lot of people in the Coliseum who had lost friends and relatives, but the majority of the people had simply not been able to contact their family members. They still had hope that they were out there somewhere, holed up, with the doors locked tight and the windows boarded up just like in an old horror movie. Brian had no such hope. The only positive thing Lou could see about Brian's situation was that Brian hadn't had to pull the trigger himself.

  Then there was the fact that he still had two little girls to look after. The teenage girl, June, with red hair and a pouty face dotted with acne, seemed like she might be fine eventually. It was the littlest girl, Ruby, that was the major problem. She was 6-years-old and one-hundred percent helpless. Without someone there to protect her, she would be gone in no time. Brian had to know that. He had to know that he was guarding a ticking timebomb of sorrow that could explode at any moment.

  It was a hell of a thing. Lou was glad it wasn't his thing. He stood up and cracked his back, groaning as quiet as he could at the noisy release of pressure. The arena was dim. Only about one out of every three lights was on. Lou bent down and put his boots back on his feet, though it pained him to do so. His first steps were stiff and painful, a result of their escape from the city the day before. Lou couldn't remember the last time he had run so far. Lou picked his way down the stairs, stepping over slumbering bodies wrapped in blankets, lying on the concrete like deep-breathing burritos. He stepped out onto the concourse where the lights were brighter.

  The concourse was empty for the most part, with the exception of a couple of soldiers and a few random night wanderers like himself. "Hey, man. What time is it?" he called to a soldier.

  The soldier looked at the watch on his wrist, "Two o'clock."

  "Thanks," he said and then strolled past the guard to the glass doors of the Coliseum. Outside, he saw a soldier smoking, his brown skin illuminated by a brief puff of the cigarette. Zeke had run out of smokes earlier in the day. He felt the pull of nicotine. He pushed on the door, and was immediately assaulted by a combination of noise and smell. The night was sticky hot. A bank of clouds had moved in during the night, trapping the day's heat. The glow of the moon shone behind the clouds.

  "Can I bum one of those?" he said loud enough to be heard over the buzzing of the dead.

  The soldier looked at him, the strain of the situation etched on his face. Lou sensed his hesitation. In the man's brain, he was going through the typical cost-benefit analysis that any smoker does whenever someone asks to bum a cigarette. Should I give him one? If I do, how many do I have left for myself? Can I get more cigarettes if I need to? If I don't give him one, will the person get mad or violent? Do I have to see this person again?

  The man reached in his pocket and held the pack out to him. Great, generics. But beggars can't be choosers, so he held out his hand and pulled a cigarette from the packet. He put it to his lips, and then leaned forward when the soldier held out his lighter, cupping his hands so the wind wouldn't blow out the flame, not that there was any actual wind to do so.

  Lou inhaled, and they stood smoking in silence, two black men, united by their color and the decay around them. "You think we're going to make it?" Lou asked.

  The question caught the soldier off guard. "Man, I don't know. Things are looking bad." The soldier blew smoke into the air.

  "Are we safe here?" Lou asked.

  The man thought about it for a while. In between puffs, he said, "For now."

  "What are you going to do when things go bad?"

  The man looked at him, smiled and said, "I'm gonna use every bullet I got. Maybe get out of here while the gettin's good."

  Lou nodded, indicating that he thought it was a good idea. "Any idea what's going to happen to everyone in here?" The slight smile that was on the man's face drifted away, and the look that was left behind was one of sincere sadness. "Lot of people gonna die."

  Lou hated the man for the answer, but he appreciated his honesty. "Any idea how a man like me can get one of those?" Lou pointed to the soldier's rifle.

  The soldier stopped looking at Lou. He was tight-lipped, and no answer was forthcoming.

  "C'mon, man. We're all in this together. I got every right to defend myself. What happened to the right to bear arms?"

  "You have no rights when martial law is in effect. The last thing we need is a bunch of high strung motherfuckers walking around this place with loaded weapons in their hands."

  "I'm not talking about now, I'm talking about when things go bad. You leave us without weapons then, and it's like you're pulling the trigger yourself."

  The soldier dropped his cigarette on the concrete and ground it out with his foot. "You want to see something?"

  Lou knew the question was more than just a question. It was an answer without being an answer, the type of question that really meant, "I'm gonna show you where the weapons are
, but you never heard it from me."

  "Of course," Lou responded.

  Without speaking the soldier walked onto the concourse. They circled around the arena for fifty yards, and then the man stopped, looking both ways down the concourse. Seeing no prying eyes, the man pulled a side door open, and they descended into the bowels of the Coliseum via a set of gloomy stairs.

  At the bottom, the soldier opened the door a crack and looked out. Seeing no one around, he walked with purpose down the nondescript hallway. Blue metal doors appeared on either side of the corridor.

  As the soldier walked past a door that looked like any other, he pointed at it. It was a brief gesture, and Lou would have missed it if he hadn't been paying close attention to the man. Lou looked at the number above the door. Number 27. He burned the number in his mind as they continued their trek through the bottom of the Coliseum.

  Without warning, the soldier turned and began yelling at him, "What are you doing down here? Citizens are supposed to stay on the stadium level."

  Lou was confused for a second, but then another uniformed soldier appeared around the bend of the lower concourse.

  "What do we have here?" the new soldier asked.

  Lou understood now. The soldier was caught, and now he was doing what he had to do. Lou played along.

  "I was just exploring."

  "C'mon. You know you can't be back here." The soldier grabbed him by the arm and marched him back the way they had come. The new soldier followed along for good measure.

  "Goddamn civilians are worse than a damn child on Christmas, poking their nose in where it don't belong," the new soldier said.

  "Tell me about it."

  Lou played the part of stupid civilian. "I was just seeing if they had a couch or something down here. Those cots are killing my back."

  "You'll just have to make do," the new soldier said.

  When they reached the concourse, the original soldier shoved him roughly and said, "Stay up here. Downstairs is off limits."

  "You got it," Lou said.

  The two soldiers walked off in the direction of the front doors of the Coliseum. The soldier that had helped him looked back over his shoulder and Lou nodded in his direction. The soldier gave him a nod in return, and then he was gone, around the curve of the concourse.

  "What was that all about?"

  Lou jumped and spun around. It was just Zeke, his clothes rumpled and a smile on his face.

  "Just getting a little help for the end of the world."

  "Sounds good to me," Zeke said.

  They bumped fists and then walked back into the arena, while Lou told him about room #27 and what was stored inside.

  Chapter 28: Shit Buddies

  Rudy's cot bowed beneath his weight. Amanda watched him snoring away as she sat up on her own cot. The cots were made of a lightweight aluminum frame covered with green nylon. It reminded her of when she had been sick at elementary school and the nurse had made her lie down until her parents could show up.

  Amanda sat up and stretched her back while she regarded Rudy. She felt sorry for him and yet oddly protective. He was a ball of self-esteem issues and poor health, but somehow, she felt responsible for him. He would be dead already if it weren't for her and, to a lesser extent, Chloe.

  Amanda turned her gaze to Chloe. She too was sleeping, as calm as the dead. Amanda shuddered at the thought. She didn't quite know what to make of Chloe. There was something about her that was cold and almost inhuman. She seemed capable, but Amanda would rather rely on a starving tiger to watch her back than Chloe.

  It was early in the morning; how early she didn't know, but the majority of people were slumbering in their cots or around the arena, bundled up in blankets. A feeling of emptiness washed over her. How many people had died in the last 24 hours? How many people were still trapped out there. Or did she have it wrong? Weren't they technically trapped in here?

  At first, when they had been rescued by the army, she had been happy, ecstatically happy, dodged-a-bullet happy. But as they sat on the transport, and the medic looked at the bitten soldier, that had all changed. The medic shook his head in silence, pulled a revolver from his belt and put a bullet through the man's head.

  At that point, someone else had been in charge, and then came the harrowing journey to the Coliseum. She wanted to purge the memories from her mind, but there were too many of them. Bullets flying, limbs being blown off, and always the arms, reaching for them. If the dead ever gained the ability to stretch like that guy from the Fantastic Four, they would all be dead in a matter of days.

  But they couldn't stretch, so death was a slow thing. Death was coming for them in waves of plodding, unsleeping flesh. It was paused outside, waiting for them to tire, to let down their guard, and then it would all be over.

  Rudy shifted on his cot, and she looked at him once again. So helpless. So sad. He was pathetic, but he was the only person she knew who was currently alive. Her parents had been unreachable via her cell phone, and the signal had all but stopped registering by the time she had passed out. For all intents and purposes, her cell phone was now nothing more than a glorified calculator.

  The worst part was knowing that if everything were alright, she could have just hopped into a car and been in Eugene in a little under two hours. Now, they might as well be a world away. Was there a refugee camp in Eugene? Were things as bleak there as they were here? Amanda hoped not.

  Amanda felt pressure in her bladder, so she rose from her cot. She climbed over a metal railing and hiked her way up the concrete steps. She took a right on the concourse, and waved at a soldier as she walked to the bathroom. She undid the belt on her pants and hovered over the now-soiled toilet seat. She guessed the janitorial staff had the day off... for the rest of their lives.

  She was hovering there, urine tinkling into the toilet loudly, when she saw boot toes appear underneath the crack to the door. A sense of dread rushed through her body immediately, and she stopped urinating out of instinct.

  "Don't stop on my account," said a voice on the other side of the door. The voice contained a sinister quality that sent a flood of adrenaline rushing through her body. Amanda stood up, and hiked her pants up around her waist. She grasped the loose ends of her belt, and that's when the man on the other side of the door kicked it in. It was the soldier she had waved at. He was leering, his rifle flung over his shoulder, and his teeth gleaming in the shadows of the stall. He rushed at her, his hands pawing in places where they had no business.

  Amanda pushed and fought the man, but he was like unbending iron, attempting to smash her into the back of the stall. She lashed out at the place where she knew the man's aggression originated from. She threw a fist at his groin, but she didn't connect. Just the attempt was enough to send the soldier into a rage.

  The man punched her across the jaw, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyes went dark, and all she could do was flail her arms in an attempt to keep the man off of her. But he was stronger, and she felt the stubble of his cheek against her own skin. She screamed, but it was cut off with a squeak as the man placed his rough hand across her throat.

  "What are you fightin' for? It's the end of the world, baby. Live a little."

  As her head spun, she saw him reach for his own belt with his free hand. There was a sharp whistle behind the soldier. He turned around, and then he was writhing on the floor, clutching at his groin. As the stars cleared from her eyes, she saw Chloe kicking the man in the face. Teeth skittered across the floor, and then there was no more struggle. Chloe didn't stop, and by the look on her face, Amanda could tell that she wouldn't stop for a while. When she was done, the soldier's face was no longer recognizable, and loose teeth gleamed at her from the filthy floor of the bathroom.

  Chloe looked at her in the stall, held out her hand, and Amanda grabbed it. Chloe pulled her to her feet and then they walked quickly and silently out of the bathroom. They ran down the stairs to the arena floor, and Amanda sat on the floor, pulling her knees u
p to her chest and hugging them tight.

  Chloe looked around the arena, her eyes calm, and her breathing shallow. Amanda waited in silence as Chloe scanned the area. Amanda couldn't help but see the soldier's face leering at her, his smile impossibly shiny. She still felt his stubble on her cheek, and she wiped at the places where he had touched her.

  "You alright?" Chloe asked.

  "I think so," Amanda said.

  Rudy stirred on his bunk, looking over at them, his eyes squinted closed like Jabba the Hut, lying on his side. "What's going on?"

  "Go back to sleep, Rudy."

  Rudy's feet lifted into the air as he struggled to get enough leverage to sit up. He grunted and groaned, fighting gravity and his own rubbery bulk. "What the hell happened to your face?" Rudy said pointing at Amanda's jaw.

  "Nothing happened," Amanda said, feeling a sense of embarrassment that she knew she shouldn't feel.

  "A soldier tried to rape her in the bathroom," Chloe said.

  "What?" Rudy asked, unable to believe his ears. His face became red, and he bounded to his feet, quicker than Amanda or Chloe could believe. "Where is he?"

  "He's already taken care of," Chloe said. Amanda again felt a sense of dread at Chloe's words... the coldness. But she had saved her. She had kept her from something even worse than a punch to the jaw.

  "We have to tell someone," Rudy said.

  "The man is dead. If we tell someone, then we're next. Who do you think they're going to side with? It's martial law out there, Rudy."

  Rudy shook his head, refusing to believe it. "It's not like that. These are soldiers; these are good guys."

  "Wake the fuck up, Rudy. We're not safe. We might never be safe again."

  Rudy sat on the cot, and it held his weight, despite the fact that it bowed heavily in the middle. Amanda was sure that it was about to break at any moment.

  "What do we do then?"