by Meg Elison
It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone. Threatening close and threatening far away felt different. She sat there with her back pressed to the wall, thinking about that. Knowing she would kill again, deciding what that would change in her. She flashed for one moment on the man dead in her bed, pulling the sheet up over his face.
She didn’t look out the window again.
CHAPTER 3
October
Fucking cold. Started trying on the winter gear I found. Got good wool socks and boots, a couple of sweaters and a ski parka filled with down. Nixed the one that fit me better—it was pink. Pink = girl. Any kindergartner knows that. Everything is baggy except the boots. Was so relieved that they fit I haven’t had them off in days. Had to strip off my compression vest and wash it. Standing there, topless and scrubbing this thing felt so strange. Me = not me. My breasts for the first time in ages. Washed them up with my hands and got lost in the sensuousness of it. My tattoo. Like returning to an old lover I left years ago. Can’t feel like myself. Finally put it back on when it dried. Felt better dressed. Not me = me. Me not now. Me then. Me new. Trimmed my hair again, not shaving it in this cold. Combed it and looked in the mirror. Too clean. Thought about it. Tried to stick some of the hair clippings to my face = doesn’t work at all. Used some makeup I found in one of the bathrooms with a sponge to give myself a five o’clock shadow. Not gonna fool anyone up close. Distance + hat = maybe?
Bitch, I am a man. Females. Talk too much. Quit crying. So emotional. Be a man. Man up. Nut up. Jump shot, gunshot, cum shot, money shot. Posing but not to be sexy. Scare me. Lean a little forward. Invade my space. Quit crying. Give you something to cry about.
Back to the map again today. Have to look seriously at staying here for the winter. Don’t want to try and fight my way through snow, but that’s a long time from now. Part of the problem = don’t know where I’m going. Or what the point is of going anywhere. Going north seems very safe, but only because of the exodus to the South. Colder still and up against the snow = keeps people away. Growing food if I ever get past raiding = all but impossible. Expiration date of body > expiration date of canned tuna. Know when I get there. Maybe just stay here.
December
Christmas used to be the best time. Didn’t celebrate it, but it cheered almost everyone up. People wore Christmas scrubs, and the whole hospital was decorated—almost as much as the stores. Miss Christmas movies and the baked goods. Shit. Baked goods. Fudge and cookies and Christmas cake. Chocolate everything. Rice Krispies treats. Nuts and rum balls and brittle and cinnamon rolls in the morning. Donuts. Lonely, lonesome, only, solo, alone.
Food holding out just fine, but it sure isn’t Christmas. Kill for two hours with a DVD player and a slice of cake. Five minutes of the Internet. Boredom is the killing thing. Haven’t read all the books here yet, but the day will come. Need more candles. Or a lantern. Something. These tea lights are almost gone. Don’t want to raid in the cold, but there’s no other way. Need more light.
Three days later and found = shit. 0 lanterns, 0 candles, 0 boxes of matches. Went as far as the house where the men were camped out. Lots of porn and food and good knives. Nothing for light, though. Exhausted, cold, desperately want a fire. A few of the houses = good wood piles.
December, almost January winter solstice? Days so short
Broke down and started lighting fires. Put out at dawn BUT burn all night = make a difference to my sense of well-being that cannot be overrated. Light from fire = incredible to read by, sound of the crackle = voice. Sleeping in front of it like an old dog. Last lighter is holding out, but have to find a replacement soon.
Place feels almost like home. Got everything set up for me. Putting the garbage out back and pissing outside. Way those guys trashed that house, they can’t have been meaning to stay.
At least they had each other.
Lone wolf. Lone ranger. Cowboy. Work alone. Great savior. Magic man. Got your magic right here. Don’t need anybody. Fine by me. Fine.
2 January
Somewhere around the first of the year. New Year’s, if anyone is keeping track. Clock, calendar, bullshit, bullshit time. Punch the clock. Time to think about things.
Haven’t seen a live dog or cat since the city. Remember seeing cats eating the dead. No dogs.
Everyone in the city had a stupid little pug or poodle or designer crossbreed. Saw none at all.
Maybe they got the fever, too? Cats 1, dogs 0.
Seen no deer. This seems like the kind of place that would have deer, but there’s no trace of them. Seen birds, though. Thousands of birds. If I see geese when it warms up, going to try and shoot some. Fish in the lake. Coming this way = valley = should have seen cows, or smelled them. Didn’t, but maybe I just missed them? Raids = 0 rats. Bugs of all kinds, no rodents. Maybe plague = most mammals?
Probably twenty-five live men since the hospital. Mostly in groups. Three live women: that woman with the guys on Capp St. Jenna. Also me. News said women and children were much more susceptible to the disease, saw that with my own eyes. Didn’t put a number on it, but from the hospital = probably ten to one. Saw no children recover. Saw maybe one (?) woman get better before I got sick = Dr. Godey. Government started evacuating the ones that did get better. No live children born to women with the disease + children of uninfected women died within hours of birth = 0 kids. Lot of talk about that with the lab crowd.
Have to face the possibility that almost everyone in this country died. Haven’t seen military, police, or any aircraft in more than a year. No law = no government anywhere. No power, no water. Went to sleep and the world was dying >>> woke up and it was dead and gone.
Remember turning on my phone when I came to. Told me there was no network, no hospital Wi-Fi, and its battery was almost dead. Had about a thousand text messages. Scrolled through looking for one from my family, from Jack, but most of them made no sense. Questions = can’t answer. Last few texts from Twitter were awful. Suicide tweets >>> broad accusations = conspiracy and germ warfare. Fucking civil defense message system notified = martial law in effect = stay indoors. White House tweeted: everyone should remain calm, that help is on the way. My battery dead.
Still have it. Carrying a square chunk of glass and plastic = literally good for 00000. Don’t know why. Can’t leave it behind.
Remember living in San Francisco, the carnival feeling of FUCKING STOP FUCKING STOP THIS IS WORTHLESS.
Begin again.
Jack.
His name was John, but he was Jack to everybody but his mother. So pretentious. So silly. So much like me. Wish he was here with me. Wish I knew he lived through it. Maybe he’s out there somewhere in Texas, treating wounds. Jack = cowboy who lives forever.
Assume that a huge percentage of the population died off, then another percentage died off right after. People who were already too sick or injured to travel, people dying of injuries, infection, untreated cuts, and broken bones. Whatever women are left out there having dead babies are probably dying, too, from the fever, from lack of care and infection. Killed by the men who hold them, on whatever terms. Jenna made it through, though. Maybe not too many are dying, but I don’t think there are a lot of women left. Have enough injections for a thousand women. If I ever see any.
So is that the mission now? Angel of birth control, out to stop the crop of dead babies before it starts? Got the morning-after pill, but I doubt I’ll get to use it on anyone. Wish I could get some RU486. Have the tools to do a D&C if I meet anyone who needs to abort. Can implant an IUD, but passed them over at the university. Too risky without being able to sterilize. Guess this is what I can do. Can make it easier. Can’t fix it. Nobody can. Not that different from what I used to do. Every day I remember what Chicken said = nothing to do now but survive. Doing that now, but it’s not the only thing. Can’t be. Just gotten to the point where it feels too hard to keep trying. Every woman in labor says she can’t do it. Couldn’t stop what was happening, but I could make it easier. All the sa
me.
Still a midwife. Thing being born is the world. New, ugly baby world.
Mission, mission, mission impossible, so stupid, FOR WHAT? Have a purpose. Guess that is the reason to go on. Pathetic. Define me. Always did always will. I AM, I AM, I AM MY JOB. Punch in, punch out, sign your name. THUMBPRINT here. Your name, your name, your name. Spin straw into gold, bring babies back from the dead, arise from the morgue, and walk, but never tell, never tell, never tell, anything, nothing, and I am nobody. Nemo. Nothing. A name is what you have for other people. Have nothing, be nothing, call my name, what is the echo of silence.
Get a hold, get a hold, get a hold, right now. Find the center and hold. Hold.
She gave herself the luxury of a few days of madness. They were dark and deep and held in them the wreck of the entirety of civilization. It crumbles in the individual as it does in the world. There are battles and accidents; there are collapses and plagues. There is silence only when one side wins or everyone has died.
March, around equinox
Time to go. Winter spun out forever. Ate everything in the house down to the last box of stale graham crackers. Saved a few cans of soup and baby food for my pack before only the stuff I hate was left. Read every book in that neighborhood. Put on all the weight I can, and my biceps look so developed = wish I could go sleeveless to show everyone how manly I am. Remember the first lady used to have those incredible arms. Past that. Too big, too round for a sleeveless dress.
Mannish. Perfect.
Bathed and slept. Rigged up a kind of holster system out of bed sheets. Hope to do better in a place where guns were a bigger deal. Know guns are cleaned out of every store, but maybe some leather holsters are still there. Cut my hair and brushed my beard on again. Early spring = tulips already out by the lake. Got the motorcycle out, oiled it up everywhere the pieces move, filled the gas tank and strapped a gas container to the back. Out in the driveway = can see it.
Place has been great. Holds part of me, now and always. Only had to kill. Didn’t have to. Did. Can’t think about that. Glad I waited through the winter. Feel strong and ready to travel. Picked out a route that I think won’t be too hard.
May
Exhausted. Wasted. Sick. Tired. Raining = nonstop. Seen no one for months. Rode the bike until I ran out of gas and couldn’t find any anywhere. Walked for miles and miles, had to raid new shoes twice. Haven’t been dry since I left the lake house. Haven’t eaten in two days = got an upper respiratory infection, won’t die. I live, you die, short lifespan, motherfucker I outlive you. I win. In a barn now, as dry as I can get, taking antibiotics and drinking rainwater. Last entry is fucking sickening. Was so sunny side, sure it was going to be a picnic out here. Hate everything. Can barely breathe. Going to sleep as long as I can and see if I can get better. Aspirin. Gun in my hand.
Don’t know how many days it’s been. Fever is gone = woke up starving and dehydrated. Drank all the water I could, but had to go raiding for something to eat. Old farmhouse next to this barn had a can of peeled tomatoes under the stairs of the cellar = delicious. Have a rash and a raging yeast infection = fucking antibiotics, but bug is dead. Need a water filter. Water = probably how I got sick.
Map = I’m in Bumblefuck Nowhere, East Oregon. All scrub out here. Billion birds of prey, but I don’t think they’re having a lot of luck besides lizards. Sat out in the sun for an hour, stacking up rocks like they teach Boy Scouts to do, except don’t know the code. She went thattaway. Tracker and tracked.
Walking for days. Wake up, walk all day. Eat what there is to eat. Lie down in the open, and pass out at dusk. Haven’t seen a predator or a squirrel. Only the carrion birds and bugs. Not worried about an animal. Can’t give a shit about people. Too tired.
Walked for two weeks. Very hungry. Came to a road and followed it, probability be damned. Ran into a gas station, not cleaned out. Sat on the floor and ate about sixty-four Handi-Snacks and drank a gallon of some sugary shit that still had a seal on it. Packed up all the jerky and chips and dried apricots my bag would hold. Gave myself another haircut in the bathroom after pulling a dead man off the toilet. Used his body to prop the door open. For light. Everything stinks, but at least I’m not starving anymore. The road signs say there’s a town up ahead. Going for it.
June
Town = McDermitt, apparently. Sort of a town. There’s an airport. Thought very seriously about trying to fly a plane. Terrible idea = die if I did it. But very tempting. Staying in a saloon. Eating a lot of nuts and pretzels = haven’t had good luck. Try houses later this week and see if I can scare up something better.
Turned down a lot of dented cans. Not worth getting sick over. Found dried soup mix, some MREs, and a lot of green beans. It’ll do. In one of the houses, found a note painted on the wall, in huge letters somebody did with a brush.
The Message of Carter
The Year of the Dying
As Scribed by the Unnamed Midwife
Have gone to California
Taking RT 101 South through SF to LA
The baby is alive and with me
Follow us if you can
More signs on the way
Carter
Stared at that for a long time. The baby is alive. With me. Alive. Carter. WTF Carter? What if he left with a newborn in the short interim between birth and death? What if he didn’t know?
What if he actually has a live baby?
Upstairs = wreck of a bloody birth, but no body. Crusty scissors on the floor. Everything soaked with blood gone black. The baby is alive and with me. Ok.
Kitchen was bare except for a can of water chestnuts and another of beets. Packed up both and kept moving. Meet Carter = follow him? Take care of the baby? Figure me out?
Don’t know.
Late June
Barely got away that time. Met some people out in the road in McDermitt. I came around the corner, and there they were, with hardly a second to react. Hands = free = on my guns = always.
Fully dressed and dirty. Five men crouching in the street. Two women on leashes stood, staring.
Never forget it as long as I live. As dirty as rescue dogs. Same look in the eye.
“What the fuck?” One man popped up, pulling a gun at his hip. She was just as fast, and she had one on him.
A taller man stood up with a machete pulled out smoothly from a strap at his back. “Hey now. Hey now.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” she said loudly. She stared at the leashed women. One was about forty, topless and with a bad implant job. The other was in her twenties, naked, with scabby knees.
The tall guy stepped up to block her view of them. “Neither do we, stranger. Just passing through.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Though, I’ll trade if you guys can be cool.”
The tall one put his machete back in its sheath and stepped up with his hand extended like he was gonna sell her a car. “I’m Aaron. These guys are Jimmy, Ethan, Manny, and Chuck.” They nodded to her. She looked around. White. Black. Asian. The rainbow fucking coalition. All bigger than me. One or two guns, lots of knives. One baseball bat that she could see. She sank inside.
She shouldn’t have offered to trade.
Too many. Shouldn’t be here, and this is too many.
“I’m Carl.”
“Carl. What have you got to trade?” Aaron smiled a little and advanced on her.
She put her hand out and waited for Manny to holster his gun. She put hers away slowly. “Food. Medicine. A little booze. Stale cigarettes. Medical attention if any of you guys need it.”
“Guns?” That was from Manny.
She shook her head. “Just mine. Guns are hard to find these days. I know where there’s a bunch of antibiotics and basic medical supplies, though.”
The men exchanged a glance. Aaron spoke first. “What have you got?”
“Penicillin. Ampicillin. Erythromycin. Good stuff. Plus a wound-care kit.” She waited a beat and watched their faces. “Codeine. Morphine. Fentanyl. Hard stuff.�
�� She had more of it than she would ever use before it expired. She saw a few perk up at the mention of the opiates.
“And what do you want?”
“Your girls.” She said it flatly, without hesitation. They knew what she wanted. They weren’t showing anything else.
Ethan whined at Aaron. “Let him have the old one. Fucking Roxanne. Not Melissa.”
Roxanne, the older one, blanched.
Chains. Fuck me sideways. Jenna was one thing. I can’t walk away from this. Too many of them.
Not a hero.
“I want both. Half an hour each, private. For that, you get a selection of everything.”
Aaron smiled a little. “Both is too much. You only need one to get the job done.”
She smiled back at him. “Maybe for you. But I haven’t seen a girl in a long while. I want both. You’ll get them back in one piece.”
Ethan again. “Shit, we can find our own drugs. We did before, and this skinny fuck did. We don’t need this.”
“Well, if you’re not interested, I’ll be going.” She shouldered up her bag and made as if to leave.
Aaron took one more step. She was tense all over and trying not to show it. “You alone?”
“Nah.” She said it lightly, trying not to sound scared. “The other guys are back at the base, looking out. We just don’t have any women.”
“You gonna bring the other guys to the party?” He was watching her very closely.
Secure. Totally secure. A little selfish.
“No, fuck them. I don’t want a gang bang.”
“Why don’t you ditch them and come with us then. We could use another armed man. And we’ve got two girls. You’re a good search man, obviously. You’ve got medical skills?” His eyebrows went up.