Declan couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t speak. He saw the splintered wood of the balcony railing, and Sammi lying on the theater’s floor, but struggled to comprehend what had happened. He dropped to his knees, taken aback by the rawness of what lay in front of him. Sammi’s broken body wavered in his watery eyes while he fought to understand how this could possibly be.
When he found his voice, he answered her, with words that came out in tortured sobs. He told her he’d be her chosen. He told her that he’d always been her chosen. Holding her hand, his heart ached and he embraced the lock of hair that she’d offered him.
Emotions choked his words, and he wove his fingers around hers, locking them together, as he tried to soothe her pain. He brushed the blood away from her face, only to see more of it hemorrhage from the corner of her eye. His eyes darted quickly from her toes, to her chest, to her neck, assessing all that was wrong. Gulping at the air, he had to stop when the count of everything appearing to be broken overwhelmed him. One of her legs was turned outward in a way that was unnatural. Her left arm was pinned beneath her body, and she seemed unaware that she couldn’t move it. But what completely destroyed his hope that she might survive the fall was the metal shaft that protruded from her belly. Blood, bright red and pooling under her, pulsed through her coveralls. With its noticeable smell biting the salty air, he knew Sammi had already lost too much blood.
He carefully crept around the metal rod, trying to find a way to lift Sammi and free her. The cat’s ears went flat, and its eyes bulged: round and black. A furry arm swung outward, clawing at his hands, as if to warn him that he needed to be careful. Sammi’s screams turned to faint moans, and she groaned whenever he touched the injury. Each of her harrowed objections killed him a little inside.
“I don’t know what to do,” he finally cried to her, caressing her face. Her breathing grew shallow, and then seemed to stop for a moment before she coughed more blood from her lips. Declan saw how pale she’d become, and that her lips had turned gray, and a little blue.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” Sammi managed to say, and then she squeezed his hand. “Just be with me.” She took another breath, staring into his eyes. “Declan, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered. “I think… I might be okay now.”
At those words, Declan began to weep. The sound of her voice thinned to just a weak breath, and he knew that there was nothing he could do to save her. His heart broke as he felt Sammi drifting away.
Sammi’s face began to change. Her hair and her skin became brighter, drenched in colors he’d not seen before. Her eyes began to glow, reflecting yellow orbs that stared back at him, bright and intense. Sammi was smiling at him then; her expression was one of awe, and she gave his hand a weak squeeze. “Isn’t it amazing?” she said, her voice hoarse and strained.
Odd warmth grew across Declan’s back and shoulders, confusing him. From outside of the theater, he heard the Commune bells ringing, people cheering. He heard loud explosions of laughter, and singing, and celebrating. All around him, the theater was becoming brighter, more alive, saturated in colors that revealed a time lost so many centuries before. For the first time in Declan’s life, a sudden breeze swept over his face. A world of fog held no winds to move weather against the turn of their planet, but the gush of air pushed his skin and flowed through his hair. It was breathtaking. He watched Sammi slowly close, then open her eyes, seeming to marvel at the same things.
The yellow orbs in her eyes grew more intense, and he could see the magnificence of her color and beauty. Her eyes, her hair, her skin looked purer than at any other time in their lives. She gleamed with the sunshine raining down on their bodies, and Declan turned to face the End of Gray Skies. His eyes burned instantly from the direct sunlight, and he had to shut them. Even closed, he could still see echoes of the sun dancing in front of him. Absorbing the sun’s rays, he felt his skin warm like it had never done before.
“It’s amazing! Absolutely amazing, Sammi! Isn’t it?” he exclaimed, and squeezed her hand. When Sammi didn’t reply, Declan knew that she was gone. He threw his face to the sky, opened his eyes, and looked past the sun as a rush of anguish washed over him. He didn’t want to look at Sammi. He didn’t want to see her like that. A slow rumble grew somewhere deep inside of him. His body quivered as the emotions grew in his chest, then exploded in a scream full of anger and hurt.
Declan pulled Sammi’s hand up to his heart and leaned over, feathering her face with his lips. Her eyes still looked alive, reflecting the glimmers of sunlight. Instinct told him to close them, but he left them as they were. Even as the torture of her loss pained him, he knew that if there was any chance that Sammi could still see and feel the sunlight, he wanted her to have every precious moment of it.
8
As Declan prepared himself for Sammi’s rite of cleaning and passing, he wondered if he’d ever see Harold again. He thought it was doubtful, but decided that he’d end him if given the chance. Soon after Sammi’s tragic death, Harold had been found alone in his dwelling, blubbering that what had happened was an accident. There weren’t many who’d listen to him. Peter and Richie had abandoned their leader, with Richie pointing his scraggy, crooked finger and sobbing, telling everyone that Harold had pushed Sammi.
Many in the Commune were devastated by Sammi’s loss. Word quickly spread to other Communes about the death of the fair, red-haired girl. Sammi’s parents received condolences from Communes in their region, and even a few from across their territory. After all, Sammi was an anomaly, as Ms. Gilly had once put it. But to most, she was more than that: Sammi was a reminder of who they used to be, and was a symbol of who they might become again, one day.
Declan’s heart filled with a familiar ache when he saw the people gathering. He’d been invited to stand with Sammi’s mother and father, to help prepare her for the passing to the farming floor. It was ceremony; it was an honor. Ms. Gilly had been invited as well; she embraced him, wetted his cheek with her tears as she whispered how sorry she was that such an awful thing had happened. He nodded absently, looking past his teacher, holding back his emotion. The anger toward Harold and the hurt of losing Sammi consumed him, sat in him like a poison slowly releasing toxins that would destroy his soul.
Sammi’s body was brought to them in front of an ancient cleaning table. Soft, hollow sounds were made as her body was laid down on the metal slab. Her long locks of curly red hair hung over the steel edge like the ancient fabric from the movie theater chairs where he’d found her. The mortician emptied her coverall pockets, giving to Sammi’s mother and father the small candle that she’d shared with him in the theater. Declan fixed his eyes on the candle, lips trembling, and swallowed back the temptation to cry. His body shuddered, and he cursed the tears that wanted to come.
Ms. Gilly commented that the pinned lock of Sammi’s hair was missing from the front of her coveralls. Declan gripped his hand around the precious gift hidden in his palm. The sharp edge of the pin cut into his skin, but he didn’t care; he ignored the pain. Sammi had given him her lock of hair when she’d chosen him, and he’d never part with it. As Ms. Gilly and Sammi’s parents continued the ritual, he put it into his pocket and pressed it close to him.
Declan picked up the thin material of Sammi’s coverall zipper, and paused. Finding her dead eyes with his, he tried to understand how it could be that they’d gotten to this moment. Today was the day that they were supposed to have been joined; the day they were supposed to make love for the first time. She’d chosen him. Instead, it was the day that he would help prepare her for the farming floor; prepare her to feed the earthy loam and growth-beds, to freely give away the wealth of her body, the light of her soul. A sudden stubbornness turned inside him, and selfishness grew. But he didn’t act on it.
He pulled her front zipper down, exposing her body from her chin to her navel, while her parents removed the wrapped coverings from her feet. Ms. Gilly brought them the cleaning cloth and bowl, taking great care to not spill
the mix of water and decomp salts that would be used. When Sammi’s body was freed from all civil reminders, and was as it had been on the first day of her life, they were ready to begin.
Sammi’s mother and father looked upon their daughter’s naked body, their eyes moving over her broken leg, and then to what had killed their only child. They gripped one another, overcome by the sight in front of them, so Declan took the cleaning cloth in his hand and began to remove the blood from around the wound that had ended her life. The place where the metal post had entered Sammi’s body was a gnarled rip in her otherwise perfect skin.
Dried blood, scaly and brown, stained Sammi’s fair skin like an affront to something pure. As he touched the cleaning cloth to her belly, the blood thinned until the stains were gone. He heard the trickling sound of water, and watched as wispy trails of sallow red flowed along her pale legs to the end of the table. The water and blood would be carried to the Commune’s waste-recycler, where it would join the thousands of words he’d written during his short life, trapped forever in the gravelly ash and sandy filters. From his coverall pocket, he felt the outline of the writing stone she’d given him, and in that moment, he decided that he would never write another word.
When her wound was cleaned, Declan moved to brush Sammi’s hair, while her parents cleaned her fingers and nails. He pulled the hairbrush though her long red curls, watching as Ms. Gilly wiped away any remains of that awful day from Sammi’s face.
At times he had to stop. At times he thought he couldn’t continue. But Ms. Gilly consoled him, and helped to keep him going. For the next hour, they cleaned every part of Sammi’s body until all the filth from their gray world was gone.
When the rite of cleaning concluded, those attending said their final goodbyes, leaving Declan to be alone with Sammi. Before going to the theater, she’d shared with her family that she’d chosen Declan; and as her chosen, it was his responsibility to see her through the passing, through what would be Sammi’s final moments in their shared form. At once, the emotion he’d been holding back welled up beyond what he could keep inside. He took Sammi’s naked body into his arms. Her skin was cold and lifeless, but he held her firmly, as sorrow tumbled from his lips, spilled from his eyes onto her bare skin. He’d cried until his body ached, and only when he felt the warm touch of the mortician’s hand upon his shoulder did he finally lay Sammi back onto the table. He kissed her, then: first her eyes, after gently closing them, and then her lips, for a final time. He told her that he loved her, and thanked her for choosing him, and then he reminded her that choosing meant forever.
******
Days after Sammi’s cleaning and passing, the End of Gray Skies had already begun to reverse itself. But for a week, or maybe more, the world had been normal. The sun dwarfed the Earth, rising in the mornings and falling in the evenings. The clouds lifted back to the sky, crossing an endless blue sea, as if the centuries of fog had been forgotten. Children ran, untethered and fearless, shrieking and playing, and were called to come inside only when the daylight faded.
Declan tried to share in the miracle. He even forced himself outside, favoring the sunset over the sunrise. Yet, standing as the sun disappeared on the horizon, and with a twinge in his heart, his mind always went to Sammi, and their last moments together.
Sammi Sunshine, he thought to himself as he walked alone around the Commune. He passed the theater a dozen or more times, with no longer any need for the morse lines, but still he couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes from the painted markings. On occasion, he’d bring with him a protein cracker or two, and feed a few of the feral cats that trusted his company. Some days, he tried not to cry while the cats purred and ran figure eights around his legs. And some days, he even tried to smile. But most days, he just tried to live and imagine his life without her.
Then came a day of heavy rain, and the sun threw colorful rainbows over their Commune. Afterward, a thick fog rolled in from the ocean and settled for the night, bringing back the salty stench for them to choke on. It was a sign, a small sign, and people had already begun to talk. Declan ignored much of what was said, uncertain of whether he wanted to care, or not. He saw the rainstorm, though. Everyone did. The storm turned the sky black and spat green lightning streaks that cut through the farthest reaches of the looming darkness. The salty air expanded in violent throes, hammering thunder down on them and pushing acrid winds that nearly turned over every part of their Commune. It was unlike anything they’d seen or heard.
The first screams about the heavy fogs returning caught Declan’s attention. He listened as the leaders in the Commune tried to explain away the failed End of Gray Skies, but they were mere words, meaningless, and senseless to ponder, given that the life he’d yearned for was already over. Standing outside their Commune building, Declan stood alone, watching the thickness of the fog invade the skies. Clouds as tall as mountains lowered themselves to rest, like loved ones coming together for a long stay.
“Sammi Sunshine,” he said aloud to anyone who could hear his voice. He said it again and again until every hint of the sunlight had disappeared from the face of the earth. The VAC-Machines had failed to turn their world back to its former self, but Declan found he didn’t care after all. It mattered nothing to him that the sunshine was gone. His sunshine had left him already, that day in the theater.
******
The day after Declan turned eighteen, he decided to leave the safety of his home. He left the familiar sounds, smells, and routines of his Commune and ventured outside, in search of answers to the questions that occupied his mind. He wanted to know what had really happened to the VAC-Machines, and what the mysterious numbers were on the thick card of parchment that had been found in his mother’s satchel. He wanted to know about his mother and sister, too. But there was more: Sammi’s memory drove him to leave.
His father objected, saying that while life in the Commune wasn’t ideal, it was key to their survival. His father promised to find the truth about what had happened to Declan’s mother and sister. He said that the answers couldn’t be found at a VAC-Machine, but that they were within the Commune, the leadership, the executive floors.
But Declan also explained that he wanted to leave behind the pain of Sammi’s death. At that, his father just shook his head; he already knew the pain that Declan felt, but also knew that leaving wouldn’t make it go away. In his heart, Declan supposed he understood that Sammi’s death would be with him forever, and he wondered if, maybe, it needed to be.
Declan said his goodbyes, and left his father and his Commune, stopping once to hug Ms. Gilly, and to touch Andie’s head. The classroom had never seemed so small and distantly insignificant than it did during that final visit.
Declan followed the dotted morse line that led to the black sand beaches. Anticipation grew with the roar of crashing waves. His feet slipped in the loose sand, but he regained his footing, and settled in for a long trek. He felt compelled to go to the VAC-Machine. He needed to be near it, to touch it. He needed to learn of its ancient secrets, and he had to try to discover why all of the VAC-Machines had failed in the End of Gray Skies.
As Declan traveled, he kept the sounds of breaking waves to his right. Tall, brown grasses sprouted from the sand on the path he’d chosen, draping against his legs and helping to guide him while he walked. When he was hungry, he ate what little food he carried with him. When he was thirsty, he drank some of the water he’d stowed on his back.
When the sounds of Outsiders approached, he dug a shallow hole in the sands. He was absent most emotions, but he wasn’t immune to fear. Declan lay flat on his belly, quiet and still, hidden from the footsteps that passed a few hands from him. Salt burned the abrasions atop his fingers and stung the skin under his torn nails. Coarse sands reached every part of him, but the grainy wet discomfort was a simple annoyance compared to what the Outsiders might do to him.
As sands passed under his feet, and with every kilometer traveled, Declan wondered if the Outsiders had a
lready found Harold, already killed him. Although Harold had been thrown out of the Commune, exiled for what happened to Sammi, Declan’s gut told him that Harold was still alive. For the first time since setting foot on the sandy beaches, Declan questioned whether he’d really left his Commune to find the VAC-Machine. He thought, instead, that maybe he’d left his home to find Harold. He sighed, afraid of his admission, and then decided to leave it alone.
On his coveralls, Declan wore the lock of Sammi’s hair. He touched it from time to time, as a reminder of why he’d decided to make this journey. It was a reminder to find the answers that he hoped would honor her memory.
******
Gripping the lock of red hair pinned to his chest, Declan spoke to her in a voice he no longer recognized.
“I’ve found it, Sammi. I’m here.”
The giant VAC-Machine was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. His breath was lost to him in his wonderment at the size of it. There were no electronic photographs, no descriptions, and no classroom history lessons that could have prepared him for what his eyes saw. The veil of fog that covered the world lifted, separated, and all but disappeared from around the monstrous machine before him. He could see a thousand hands in every direction.
To his left, the silvery beast of metal stretched farther than his eyes could see, interrupting the lands, cutting deeply into them, spewing vented steel-gray and white smoke. To his right, the machine reached deep into the expansive ocean waters, where waves rolled around it, ignoring it as it disappeared beneath the surface. Above him, the machine seemed to stretch endlessly, and for a moment, he thought that he glimpsed blue skies. The fog from which he emerged stayed just behind him, as though a barrier were preventing it from touching the VAC-Machine.
Endure: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2 (Caustic) Page 9