Elysium

by Jennifer Marie Brissett

  Whenever her father flew away he told her how much he hated to leave her alone. Adrianne always knew he was not leaving just to look for food; he was leaving to look for people. He still believed that there were folks holed up somewhere down there — survivors — folks like them with their minds still intact. He wanted to find them and maybe form a community, maybe even rebuild a little of what once was. Adrianne had doubts that she kept to herself. She watched him open his wings high on the morning breeze and coast into the purple sky, ascending and flapping.

  Flutter, flutter.

  He had been gone for almost three days. She tried not to worry. It was hard when he was away that long. The mist was thick again. She hoped he could see his way home. He was probably in one of the bombed-out buildings, waiting until the heat of the sun burned off the fog. But he’d come back. He always came back. …

  Home was a high-rise office building. It was a shell of its former self, a metal skeleton. Broken glass was everywhere. Papers and the insides of computers were strewn all over the floors. They had cleaned it up when they arrived and made themselves as comfortable as possible. Adrianne used one of the offices for her room. She liked having a door. It meant privacy. She needed that, or so she thought. She spent her days reading and writing in a journal, a leather-bound fancy thing that she had found in the office supply closet.

  A pigeon cooed and landed on the ledge outside her broken window. It poked its head in and jauntily hopped across the metal frame. It flapped its wings and took to the air. She watched it, a gray dot against the purple sky. She had a fire going in a small metal wastepaper basket. It kept her a bit warm against the cold. Her father had showed her how to make it without burning the whole building down. She stoked it with rubbish found around the office: memos, contracts, order forms, and other nonsense. Sometimes she read the memos to such and such about something or another complaint or redress or whatever. They wrote that stuff like it was so important. She’d crumple it up, throw it on the fire, and watch it curl up, brown, and blacken to ash.

  She remembered how on a night like this her mom once told her a story from “back home” as she tucked her into bed. Her eyes wide and fingers stretched for emphasis —

  Pitney jumped at sounds she heard

  and peered from wall to wall

  to see the ghost who should appear

  from out the entry hall

  Grinning teeth stained red with blood

  Pitney was sure she’d seen

  yellow and long and sharp they were

  from out the darkness gleamed

  Thunder clapped and lightning struck

  shaking the window frame

  she dived beneath the sheets and hid

  before the monster came

  Pitney watched the sun rise up

  But no duppies came to call

  So what caused her this night of fright?

  Grannie’s stewpeas ’twas all

  By the end, they both were giggling uncontrollably with her mother tickling her belly while telling her it was time to sleep. Now those days were gone. She had the story, but not her mom. And the story wasn’t funny anymore.

  At least she knew that nothing was in the building with her except the pigeons. They’d strung empty cans on computer cables along all the stairways. They’d make a hell of a racket if something were to cross them. In the early days, all their time was spent “fortifying the barricades.” Office furniture and mostly anything they could carry barred the entryways to their floor. If anything got through, her father said he could carry her in his arms and fly away. And if he wasn’t here, she was to go up to the roof and fire the flare gun. He’d come get her. He promised that wherever he was, he’d come get her. Seemed like a dubious plan, but Adrianne hadn’t argued. She knew he meant what he said. He was doing the best he could.

  Her father returned, coasting with his long wings and circling as he made his descent through the window of their floor. Adrianne folded herself into his arms and stayed there, not wanting to let go as he patted her head and said, “I told you I’d come back. I’ll always come back for you, baby. I’ll always come back. …” She treasured the sound of his voice — every utterance, every word, every syllable.

  He was barefoot and looked a bit bruised. Adrianne noticed that he’d lost more of his facial hair. His face seemed extra smooth. He’d stopped shaving a while ago because his beard had stopped growing. Now the hair on his head was going, going, almost gone. And something about his bone structure had changed, too. More of his jawline could be seen, and his head was longer, more stretched out.

  He pulled from her arms and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He drew out of his pocket a tiny, tiny kitten so small that it fit into the palm of her hand. Its eyes were filled with terror, but it stretched out its neck when she scratched it with her finger. It folded itself into her arms and was so exhausted that it fell asleep.

  He unwrapped a blanket filled with food he had brought back. He had all kinds of stuff — cans of soup, crackers, peanut butter — enough to keep them going for weeks. He’d even found a live chicken somewhere. He’d cracked its neck and brought it along. Adrianne felt queasy watching him pull off its feathers. It seemed like preparing to eat a distant cousin or something. But they needed protein. It was gonna die out there anyway.

  They had a feast that night. The smell of cooking warmed Adrianne from the inside. After dinner, her father felt so good he launched into telling stories about the ol’ days when he went to clubs uptown and wore his fine clothes. Then he hummed an old tune while Adrianne kept rhythm by clapping hands. He got up and danced without a care in the world. Adrianne couldn’t help laughing. It was a good time. Their bellies were full and the cat was curled up asleep by the fire. They were safe and they were together.

  The cans from far below in the building rattled. A loud cry from outside. They had forgotten themselves. Her dad quickly doused the fire and Adrianne grabbed the kitten. They went into the furthest corner of the office and huddled in the dark as the sounds outside grew louder and louder. Her daddy’s wings covered them like a shield. Slowly the howls became distant and faded away.

  Early the next day Adrianne watched her father fly into the thick mist. He was going out to look for survivors again. He didn’t say it, but Adrianne knew that was what he was going to do. It was as if he admitted that it was people he was looking for instead of food, he would be admitting that they were most likely all alone. And her father refused to accept that. He needed to believe that people could survive and still be sane out there, living life like them. He didn’t want to raise Adrianne in a world devoid of life. So far all he had found were things that he didn’t want to talk about. Adrianne had long ago given up believing that there was anyone else left. If there were people out there they would have found signs of them already, or so she thought. She kept her doubts to herself. They held each other close before he said goodbye. He reminded her about the flare gun and that she should go to the roof and fire it if there was any trouble. He would come right away, he said, and she believed him. Or, at least, she tried to believe him.

  Her mom hadn’t been affected by the mist. Neither had Adrianne — until now. But her daddy was different. He had started to change right after the dust fell. After days of him bent over screaming and sweating, small feathers began to sprout from his back. Her mom had tried to hold him, had wiped his forehand with a cloth. It was all she could do. She told Adrianne it was a sign — a miracle — her daddy was becoming like an angel. Adrianne knew her daddy was no angel. Angels didn’t have wings, cherubim did. Adrianne learned that in Sunday school, but she didn’t bother to correct her mom. Believing Daddy was touched by God seemed to help her. His wings had started out small and then grew and grew. Now they were so big he could wrap them around her and then some. She liked the feeling of them against her skin. They were so soft and light.

  One of those crazies had gotten to her mom one night when she went out looking for supplies. She cam
e back with bite marks on her arm. They thought she would be okay since it was the mist that was dangerous. But within days blue veins were winding through her light brown skin. The scales came in next and kept growing until they covered her all of her neck and worked their way to her face. They covered her arms, too. She would make a funny gluck-gluck sound between sentences like she was trying to swallow or catch her breath. After a while she got a crazed look in her eyes like the others. Daddy had had to fight hard to keep her under control.

  One night it got so bad, her father told Adrianne to go to her room and to not come out no matter what she heard. The next morning her mother was gone. He told her that her mom had died in the night. He didn’t look her in the eyes for weeks after that. Adrianne knew what he’d done. She didn’t blame him, though. He loved her mom. He loved her too much to let her be like that.

  The nubs pushed and pulled and squeezed past her shoulder blades in the night. She sweated with pain as the nubs emerged through her skin. She twisted and turned and screamed. It was so cold, now that winter had finally come. She could see smoke clouds steaming out her mouth as she threw off her sweater and the thin arms covered with feathers painfully stretched out of her back. Her dad wanted her to be normal. How could she let him see that the mist had worked its magic on her, too? The orange morning warmed her cold sweat, and her wings were fully outside of her body. The feathers were light and the color of ivory. She stretched them to their full expanse. They had started out so small. It took only a few hours for them to grow as wide as she was tall.

  She didn’t greet her Dad when he got home. She hid in her room with only the kitten to keep her company. A knock on her door. He didn’t wait for her to say come in. He just did. His wings brushed against the door frame. They were not like hers. They were bigger, and his feathers were gray with speckles of black splashed everywhere. He held her metal bowl with dinner in it. He sat down next to her without saying a word. He handed her the bowl and folded his legs and looked off into the distance.

  A big broken window in her room faced the city, so they could watch the darkness fall as the sun went down. By squinting, Adrianne could almost pretend that the city was still alive and that there were people in the buildings — working late and calling for Chinese food, or packing up and getting ready to go home, or getting dressed for a night out. You know, living and doing what folks used to do in the city. The illusion faded and reality slipped through. Those were broken buildings out there. Lights came on because some automatic generators were still working. That wouldn’t last for much longer. The city was an empty urban shadow. A ghost.

  Her bowl was warm and smelled good. There was some rice and beans in it and a spicy sauce her dad was good at making. She tepidly spooned some into her mouth. The gravy was salty-sweet against her tongue. She felt every grain of rice. She closed her eyes and absorbed herself in the moment.

  “So they came in, huh?” he said. Adrianne winced. The food in her mouth turned to mush. She didn’t want to eat any more. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead.

  “No need to be ashamed, baby,” he whispered. “It just means you take after your ol’ man.”

  This made Adrianne smile, though a tear rolled down her cheek before she could catch it.

  “Why is this happening?” she asked. “Why are we changing like this?”

  He sat in the quiet for a while as he thought how to answer.

  “I think somewhere out there someone touched a button that they shouldn’t a’ touched. I don’t know who and I don’t know where, but that’s what I think happened.”

  “Why would someone do something like that?”

  “Baby,” he said and sighed deep, “There are people that just don’t care. They do what they want, when they want. Other folks just don’t figure into their equations.”

  He swallowed and leaned in and put his head on hers. She put down her bowl and found a place under his chin to rest her forehead. She could smell his smell. It was her Daddy’s smell. A sweet musky scent that filled her nose and made her feel safe.

  “Before all this, my biggest problem was finding a job,” he said. “I looked and looked and there was always someone more qualified. Someone with more education. Someone better. I beat those streets like they had done something to me to find work. A black man never stood a chance in this city. They fixed it so that we always got a raw deal. Then all of this happened and none of that mattered anymore. Now all I want to do is protect you.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead again.

  “I want you to have a future,” he said wiping away the flow from his nose and eyes. “All I want is for you to be all right. And these here wings, that’s just what happened. Maybe they’ll be the only thing that’ll happen to you. And that’s alright. I’ve seen things out there, baby girl … people twisted into all kinds of shapes …”

  He touched her on the head and said, “I’m sorry for the world I’m leaving you. … You gotta be strong now, gotta be stronger than strong.”

  He got quiet. She wanted to ask about what he had seen. She wanted to know what more might happen to her body and what more had happened to his. She knew he didn’t have the answers, so she said nothing.

  “Tomorrow I’ll take you with me on a food run,” he said to her surprise.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. You got wings now. You might as well learn how to use ’em. I’ll teach you and then you’ll come with me.”

  She swallowed.

  “But Daddy, what if I can’t fly? Mine might not work as good as yours.”

  “There’s only one way to find out now, isn’t there?” he said.

  She touched her dad’s hand, and then he said, “You should eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

  11.

  Adrianne followed her father down the stairwell and through the barricades to the fourth floor. She hadn’t been down there since they’d moved into the building. The floor was empty, with only a few unadorned columns to fill the vacancy. The glass from the windows had mostly fallen out, like in the rest of the building, so that the wind flowed freely through, almost as if they were outside. And yet, even with its vacantness, there was something less lonely about the fourth floor. Since no one had ever lived or worked on it, it was as if nothing bad had happened there. It seemed only unfinished, still waiting for the workmen to come.

  Her father stood by a window and stretched out his wings. He waved them back and forth, then up and down. Adrianne, awed by his wondrously surreal beauty, remained still — watching. He motioned for Adrianne to join him. She stepped up to the window frame and stretched open her wings. Hers weren’t as wide as his. But she did as he did, waving her wings back and forth, then up and down.

  “Flying isn’t flying exactly,” he said. “It’s coasting. You have to catch the wind in such a way to let the air lift you. It’s a trick. Follow me and do as I do. I won’t let you fall.”

  Adrianne was worried, though. She’d seen him fly many times. He had to know what he was talking about, she thought. He jumped out the window. Her eyes followed him as he swooped and coasted. An eternity seemed to pass before he returned to the window and gestured for her to come while fluttering his wings. She glanced at the street below and her stomach sank.

  “Don’t look down,” he said. “Just dive out. Don’t worry. I gotcha.”

  Adrianne, with her eyelids shut so tight that all she saw was hazy red darkness, jumped. The wind rushed against her face and body as if she were on an out-of-control carnival ride. Her arms swung violently, waving like crazy. Her eyes opened, and her heart panicked as the ground grew nearer.

  “Stretch out your wings and feel the air!” she heard her father shout.

  The pavement was closing in when the strong arms of her father grabbed and pulled her up.

  “Feel the air!” he said, in a not very calm way.

  Her thin third and fourth arms shakily stretched out. She felt a sudden lift as the wind gathered beneath her wings a
nd picked her up like a giant spatula. The air became hard and real as if it were a solid thing like her father’s arms. Adrianne went higher and higher. Her dad had let her loose long ago. She was flying.

  “Good, good. Now you’re getting the hang of it,” he cried. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” He smiled and waved his wings.

  Her father darted away. Adrianne followed. The wind dragged at her wings, making it difficult to control her direction and speed. Her father lingered for short moments as she struggled to catch up. When she drew near, he flew on — forcing her to fly harder and to be stronger. It was working. With every moment there was an increase in her coordination until she too was coasting, side by side with her dad.

  They soared together above the large main street that divided the caverns of the midtown in two. Adrianne had not seen this much of the city in a long time. Broken glass, smashed-up buildings, and overturned cars crowding the streets and sidewalks. Blackened scars from the intense out-of-control fires that had burned themselves out, charcoal-marked the streets and sidewalks. In the silence and stillness, only the birds moved among the ruins, unharmed by the mist. The remains of several military drones lay crushed and broken on the ground. Adrianne remembered watching them shooting at the crazies and hitting normals instead, back in the days when they thought the disease had a military solution. Now, her dad guided her to a roof where they could set down. She stood next to him, the whole city spread out before them. The river beyond was black against the purple-gray sky, and smoke floated off the water. Adrianne felt a sudden chill.

  “Every time I come out here I’m amazed at how messed up the world is. It will never be the same again,” he said. It was hard to tell what he meant by that. He didn’t exactly seem sad while saying it. He put his arm around her shoulder and asked, “How ya doing, Adrianne?”