by K. M. Gibson
She never saw things the same way again.
The first root in the cliff creaked and small pieces of dry dirt crumbled from the side. There were few places to grab onto and use to climb, so she did so very carefully.
When she first saw the rift, this enormous precipice, she considered backtracking and finding another way around. Uncertain of how long it would take, she had made the final decision to climb the steep hill anyway. It mocked her by threatening her survival. She did not have the option to back down from that fight.
Once she situated her footing, she reached up for the next root. She was trying to take another step when the dirt beneath her feet gave way. She flailed to grab onto the roots at her sides. When it finally registered that she was fucking falling she was eating dirt and slowly slipping down the face of the hill, only handfuls of errant roots to hold onto. Her arms were spread to wide and she kicked wildly to find purchase, but the roots slipped between her sweaty palms before she realized she would probably die, if not in the fall, certainly in the aftermath.
The world twirled before her knee clipped something hard. She flipped like a coin and landed in a heap at the foot of the incline. The wind was kicked out of her lungs, her arm went completely numb for a moment before tingling, then her body ached with shock. Pain faded in and she kicked out with her good leg uncontrollably, like that would ward off the hurt and work the air back into her lungs that hurt so fucking much.
A few agonizing minutes had her breathing back to normal. All of her still hurt like hell, but she could at least think. She swore aloud before rolling over—
—and shrieking bloody murder. She fell down again, wailing wildly. Panic had her by the throat. It took her a moment to realize that something was very, very wrong. “No, no, no, no,” she begged to someone, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. She started to whine the words as she looked over her shoulder at her bloody, twisted kneecap.
“NO! NO! NO!” She looked skyward and was about to holler as loud as she could for help, but the scream caught in her throat before it let fly. No one to help. And even if there was someone…
Come back HERE!
She beat her fists on the ground and sobbed into it. She was dead. This is where it ended. She’d die of exposure or infection or starvation. No way to get out of this. Deadly virus? Mob of cannibals? Handled. Fifteen-foot climb? Demise.
“Fuck it! Fuck!” she cried, clawing at the dirt. She closed her eyes and begged and prayed. When she opened them again and looked, the damage was still there.
It must have been half an hour or so before she dared move. Grabbing onto the roots within her reach she pulled herself slowly into a sitting position, being sure not to disturb her knee. It was dislocated, likely broken, and blood continued to ooze down her leg. What chance did she have?
Cries passed her lips quietly. Her hands surrounded her knee in a protective bubble. She knew she had to set the joint back into place, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As soon as her hands got close she tore them away forcefully. Her mind would sooner let her die than override its fear of agony.
She sat leaning against the cliff for an hour, trying to get close to her injury, but failing to do so. Her pale skin had been bathed entirely in red. If she could reset her knee, then she could treat the wound and stop the bleeding completely, but it was so hard, so hard…
The months had brought summer, and with it longer days. She had many more hours of travelling time, but sitting at the bottom of the cliff had drained most of them, and the sun was setting. She could not sit there disabled through the night, however, or she would surely die.
The night she escaped Fort McMurray came back. Fear clung to her, a cold sweat. It was a film playing inside her head: she could see the grotesque faces of the insane, the dead body in the corner store, the gas station where she lost a part of her humanity.
Eyes filled with tears, she looked to the orange sky as she remembered. Death was always so near to her, but this moment was different: it clutched her life in its bony hands, and was slowly drawing her away now. How many times had she wanted to die? How many times had she thwarted it? She would accept her fate, whatever it was, and either remain to remember, or leave to join those she had lost. Those she had lost…
His face again. He was so handsome, so close. Seeing him always gave her a feeling that kept her going. A warmth so deep, it was reviving.
Closing her eyes, she took in deep, shuddering breaths until they evened out. She undid the belt on her shorts and pulled it away gently, trying not to disturb her knee. She folded the belt in half and stuffed it between her teeth, biting hard. There was another stone planted in the ground, and she shifted herself gently towards it, resting her foot upon it. Careful, careful. She shimmied her shoulders down, angling herself comfortably between the stone and the steep hill behind her. That leg? It’s not mine. Someone esle’s. You need to fix it. She closed her eyes, and in the darkness she could see him looking at her on the platform like she was the only one in the world.
She reached for her knee and wrenched it sideways.
It slipped from her fingers.
She screamed through her clenched teeth. Gasping wildly, she shifted her grip and pulled again. There was an awkward click as the cap slipped back into place. She gave a guttural scream as a final stab of pain sliced up her leg before it dissipated into nothing but an odd, numbing sensation.
She relaxed her jaw and the belt slowly slipped from between her teeth. Her breathing started to even out again. The memory soothed her, taking away the strain and the pain. All she could see and feel was him. Death would have no place here; she would continue on. That was what she promised herself. Promised him.
Hesitantly, she bent her knee, testing out the joint. A significant ache resounded as would a gong, but she could move. Reaching into her pack, she grabbed her bottle and poured water over her knee, ridding the wound of dirt and washing away the blood. She had recently salvaged a half-empty tube of antiseptic, just barely before its expiration date, and she rubbed a generous amount of it over the gash. It stung terribly, but it made her press harder. The wound was small, and even though she could have done with some stitches, she was hopeful that the disinfectant would be enough to keep it from getting worse. Taking a torn shirt she had in the pack, she wrapped it around her knee and tied a firm knot.
With utter care Catherine built a haphazard campsite, limping from place to place, watching each step she took, very aware that one misstep and she could hurt herself terribly again. She went without food and slept as soon as the essentials were taken care of. There was no pain, no nightmares, but one face on an empty train platform.
As morning broke, she cleared camp quickly and checked her wound. It had stopped bleeding long before, but she kept the wrap on it to keep it clean. It was impossible for her to walk properly, or very fast, for that matter. The sun had been up for roughly twenty minutes before she faced the cliff again. The Cliff. It stood vigilant. Challenged her.
With him lingering in her mind, Catherine approached the face of it, grasped the roots, and began her climb once again.
She awoke as if she was simply resting her eyes the entire night. Instead of opening them to the rising sun, she saw a sea of black and smelled faint pine. She lifted her head, momentarily forgetting where she was. Her eyes fell upon the man’s face. She lost her breath. Discovering him all over again was no less awe-inspiring as it was the day before.
This was the most serene she had ever seen them. He always looked so hard, so defensive, yet in his sleep everything was smooth, a sheet of silk. His mouth was parted slightly, his breathing even, slow.
She was about to stand and break camp, but she rested her head back on his chest again, letting her head rise and fall with him. Harmonious. This was what life was supposed to be, that much she knew. She briefly smiled again.
While lying there, she checked his wrap. A little blood stained the rag, but it needed no cleaning. She replaced his shi
rt and jacket, smoothing them incessantly. It was with reluctance that she left his side and began to pack the area. She layered him with blankets and newspaper. He would need it, for it would be a long day, there would be no stopping.
She broke through the trees after a few hours and came across an open field covered in a perfect sheet of snow. Where her boots plunged through, the tarp smoothed it out. She cleared the field much quicker than she thought she would; she’d been so used to rationing so thinly that the granola bars she’d eaten from his bag fuelled her beyond comparison. She had to slow to manoeuvre the tarp carefully through the copse, but she pulled harder and stepped farther, feeling capable enough to take on anything. In reality, she was starving and her old injury was making her knee burn, but the euphoria that engulfed her drove her on, making everything else insignificant.
The man took in a sharp bout of breath. She stopped abruptly and looked back over her shoulder. He put a hand to his chest and turned his head slowly from left to right. Bewilderment struck and she had to consciously relax her clenched fists to let the rope drop.
She rounded the tarp. He pitched himself on his elbows and she knelt at his side. She had to swallow first before speaking. “How do you feel?”
He squinted up at her, his face clearing like clouds drifting back to unveil the sun. “I thought I imagined you,” he said quietly.
She let out her breath in a sharp, shaky laugh the moment he spoke. It was like granite and honey. In the four years that they stood at the LRT station, she only heard his voice on a handful of occasions. She had nearly replied, “So did I,” but held herself back, unsure of the weight her words might have. He didn’t remember her. He couldn’t. She was not a part of his life as he was hers. Not once did she approach him or make herself known to him. He showed no sign of recognizing her, anyway, not a girl from long ago who might have fallen for him. And all of those things kept her from going further, no matter how much she wanted to.
“I’m taking you back to my settlement,” she explained. “I have supplies there. I can treat that wound.”
His eyes shot down to his stomach. He touched it lightly and grimaced.
“How did that happen?” she asked uncertainly, her eyes flickering between his face and his belly.
He looked directly into her eyes, considering her. “Someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“He was alone. Afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said firmly, yet softly, shaking her head. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.”
She began to rock on her heels and study the ground before her, clenching and stretching her fingers. After a moment, she stood and situated the rein back on her hips. “We can make it there in a day, but we have to travel by night.”
“Is it safe?”
“It should be. Just difficult.”
They travelled in silence for a while, although she thought of something to ask every second step. There was so much she wanted to ask him, to know of him. Eventually, as the sun approached the horizon, she collected every last bit of courage she had and said: “You look familiar.”
There was no reply. She looked over her shoulder and saw his head hanging to the side. Unconscious. Perhaps he was never meant to hear her.
Even she hadn’t fainted in the last couple of years. He looked well-nourished and otherwise healthy. Maybe it was blood loss. Luckily his wound wasn’t deep, and the bleeding was slowing. There was the chance, however, that the internal damage was extensive. The thought made her pull harder.
The sun had dipped below the horizon slightly earlier than it had the day before. Before she had left the cabin, she had looked over the calendar she had etched on the wall, making sure the dates she checked off were accurate. She determined on the day she left that the date was December 18th. It had been three days since then, which made it December 21st. The anniversary of the earthquake and the winter solstice. The longest night of the year.
She shot a glance over her shoulder and held it there for a while. She would see the night through.
It was a cold winter day, and Catherine was ill. The doctor ordered bed rest. Most of her professors had given her resources to keep up in her studies while she was sick at home, yet there she was at the station, waiting.
She stood shivering, her arms wrapped around her chest, her head hung and her mouth open, gulping up air like it was in short supply. Her head swam and she could barely stand. She staggered backward to the bench and slumped onto it. Another drove of people came down the escalators. She gripped the sides of her head to keep her brain from falling out. Without looking up, she was sure that at the very back of the crowd, he would be there.
When she glanced, she saw him before she saw anything else. He wore a scarf and a hat with his usual winter outfit. He was such a welcome sight. She looked away quickly when he came to the bottom of the escalators. Shivers took her, and she closed her eyes to keep her world from spinning out of control.
Other sound faded as she listened to him walk across the platform in front of her. He stopped abruptly; there was a shuffle. “Are you all right?”
Her heart nearly stopped. She didn’t open her eyes right away, but if anyone had seen her face, they would have said she had just heard the voice of someone long dead. She raised her head and opened her eyes.
He was talking to a woman who he had just bumped into. He touched her arms gingerly and she smiled up at him as she regained her balance. She said some words, but Catherine couldn’t hear them, or wouldn’t allow herself to. The woman walked away; the man looked over his shoulder after her. Catherine averted her gaze quickly, to avoid being discovered. It wasn’t influenza that was vicious in her chest now, clawing at her lungs. Now she knew why people called it green. It was the feel of it. She imagined herself being bumped into instead of that woman and invented the feel of his hands on her shoulders.
As the southbound train arrived and swallowed him whole, She rose and made for the surface world again, and despite everything, she smiled. His voice, a tonic. For the next two weeks, she arrived every morning to see him, and every day she felt better.
*
The sky was darkening by the minute, but she trudged through the snow relentlessly, the tarp feeling lighter and lighter as they inched closer to the cabin. The memory had her blushing. Her infatuation with him ran so deep that the sound of his voice was something she clung to for years.
“Why are you out here all by yourself?” he said, frightening her. She hesitated out of surprise, but she kept going, trying not to miss her step.
“What do you mean?”
“How did you end up out here of all places? How have you managed?”
“I was in Fort McMurray after the disaster, but I had to leave.”
She heard him shift, possibly to look back at her. “Why?”
“You don’t know? They started eating people.”
“My God.”
“Is that where you were going?”
“No. I thought it was empty, though.”
“There’s some there still. A lot of people left south. A lot more died.”
An unearthed tree loomed ahead. She wove through the bush and carefully rounded it. Obstruction cleared, she asked, “Where did you come from?”
“Far away. Wood Buffalo National Park.”
“Up north?”
“Yes. There’s an entire research lab there. It was built once the park was shut down to the public, and we were shipped up there right after. Just before the earthquakes. It was a federal project. We were all commissioned to be there for only three months. We’ve been isolated ever since.”
“Everyone was isolated. I’m still not entirely sure how it all happened.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “It was a chain reaction, starting in Yellowstone. Massive earthquakes. Tidal waves all around the Pacific rim.”
Her old professor was obsessed with the end of the world, about death deserving. Human self-destruction…a
lot of students had dropped that class. Just too ridiculous.
Atlantis. On a global scale.
“Wouldn’t the volcano in Yellowstone have blown debris into the atmosphere?” she asked.
“They would have, but by some miracle there were no eruptions. We think the tectonic plates were shifted quicker than molten rock could be expelled. It started with the water main in a geothermal plant nearby. When it burst, water flooded the ground thousands of metres down. Then…”
“How do you know all of this?”
“It was the last contact we received from Edmonton.”
Of course she knew that it had hit home. Of course she knew everyone she had ever known had died. But to hear someone say it out loud, to have it finalized in such a way…
She fought to keep her voice even. “Are there other places? Are there other people that survived?”
“I’m sure there are.”
“In a way, I hope not.”
Silence settled again while she turned it over in her mind. It was over. Even though she knew deep down that the world as she knew it was dead, part of her felt comfortable in not knowing for sure. Hope was always following her everywhere.
She suddenly stopped in her tracks. There was a peculiar weight on her chest, like she was scraping out her own cavity. There was a scalpel slicing lines in her heart. Tears started to roll down her face and her lower lip quivered uncontrollably. A hand went to her face and she let herself fall to her knees. Cries became wails, a sound so full of depression and agony that hearing them made her cry harder. The man reached up from the tarp and gently touched her back. When she felt his fingers brush her coat, her cries softened and slowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“How do you feel?”
That was what she had asked him when he first woke. This soothed her somehow. “I’m okay.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood once again, fitting the rope to her hips. She pulled him along, her brow furrowed against the hurt. I will not fall now, she thought. Not when I have him here.