We remained perfectly still and watched the animals sniff around the ground, little paws barely imprinting the ash and snow. The smaller of the two had fur as white as virgin clouds and when it stood up I could see a small grey spot of fur the shape of a distorted heart on its chest. Its mate, black fur and eyes like two drops of gelled seawater, nudged its nose against our feet before running back into the remains of the forest.
The white rabbit followed suit and before long Chelsea and I had fallen asleep, each holding what was left of the world in our tired hearts.
#
Fuzzy vision and I hear Chelsea’s voice. She’s sitting next to me and I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep in the living room. She stares straight ahead, as if entranced with the night sky. A splinter of moonlight splits her face diagonally. My hand finds its way to her lap and her fingers clasp onto mine, squeezing like she hasn’t seen me in months. Her head tilts, lips gently pressing against mine. She tastes like fresh honeydew. We kiss for what feels like hours, our bodies warm with desire.
“We should make dinner,” she says. “Are you hungry?”
I nod and place my lips on her head, the scent of old shampoo and daisies greeting my nostrils with eager flare. She stands up and smiles. “You stay here and relax. I’ll start dinner.”
I lift my legs to the other side of the couch and sigh. It’s only when I catch the outline of movement against darkness that I run into the kitchen and grab Chelsea by the hand. She doesn’t have to say a word, just runs to the bedroom and slams the door shut. We’ve been prepared for moments like these.
“What’s out there?” Her question is muffled by two inches of pine. I can hear voices outside of the walls, bodies scratching the exterior of the house. I reach into the hallway closet and pull one of the three guns resting on the top shelf. The metal is cold and all I can picture is my father teaching me how to duck hunt when I was a boy.
I rest my head against the bedroom door. “Stay in there and don’t move. I’m going to check out the front of the house.”
Hands and forehead drip with sweat as I peek out the peephole of the front door. I’m greeted with nothing but the violent swaying of vapid tree limbs and an everlasting gaze into the black of night. Silence breaks and my eyes burn with a quick flash of white light, fingers losing their grip on the gun. I fall to the ground and hear the banging against the door, each vivid thump pounding my spine. I close my eyes and remember that if whoever’s outside gets to me, they’ll get to Chelsea.
An ounce of strength finds its way into my hands and I’m pushing the door, holding it closed. The locks jingle with fright. I hear a long, winding screech and the force outside stops. I wait at least two full minutes with my heart beating as fast as a thousand horses before I stand up. My back slides against the door on the way up and part of me is surprised that it’s still upright. Chelsea walks slowly into the hallway and hugs me. I hold onto to her with one arm and keep the gun raised in the air with the other. “What was it?”
I shake my head and turn an eye to the peephole. A swash of black on the other side, an array of golden lights flickering in the sky. I push Chelsea away from the door and motion for her to leave the hallway. She takes tiny steps backwards until I can only see white-painted fingernails gripping the edge of the living room entrance. The locks are eased open. I’m careful to keep my fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun. The knob turns and a frosty chill sneaks into the house, the scent of sugar and ice.
I stand on the doorway, gun poised and ready for an attack. I turn my back to the night and see two streaks painted on the front door, a silver vein entwined with a splash of red in the shape of a distorted ‘V.’
The echoes of comfort fly away as I rush into the house and slam the door behind me.
#
The wool blanket wrapped around her, Chelsea sits silently on the couch in front of the living room window. “What if they come back? What if they break in here? What do we do?”
I’ve been holding the gun for almost two hours and I’m so tired that I fear my fingers are interwoven with the aged metal. The truth is that I don’t know what to do if someone breaks into the house. “I don’t know what to do,” I say. “It was just a threat, Chelsea.”
She throws the blanket to the floor, fuzzy red clashing with the vomit-colored carpet. She starts shouting and after a few minutes I can only close my eyes as a response. When she calms down, she picks up the blanket and tosses it on the couch. She’s wearing tight grey sweatpants that make her legs look like knives. Before she can leave the room I pull her into me so close that she’s lifted off the ground. One deep kiss and her hands are tugging at the back of my head, slender fingers pulling brown hair.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I say. “I love you. I would have rather died four months ago than know there’d be a day I’d have to live without you.”
The subtle twinkle in the cavernous green of her eyes is all I need right now. She holds my hand, palms sticking together with a millimeter of sweat. Chelsea’s head eases into my chest and her eyelids open and close to the rhythm of my breaths.
“Whoever they are,” I say, “will never get past me. Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”
She presses her lips against my cheek and leaves the room. “You can’t sit there all night. You need some sleep.”
“I know. I’m going to sit up for a little while.”
Her footsteps into the kitchen are soft murmurs against the pink lightning storm raging outside. Cherry slices of light break through the darkness, each one shining long enough to see the outlines of every remaining star adorning the night sky. If I close my eyes the peculiar drone beyond the living room window will fill my head. Each note is like code, informing who’s left in the world that the earth is evolving into something different. I can only imagine what lies beyond the balcony. And I can only imagine who left their markings on our front door. We haven’t seen signs of life since the trek into the mountains nearly four months ago.
I sit up and walk through the kitchen. I haven’t eaten all day and have no desire to do so now. Chelsea and I are sick of eating canned food three times a day but we both know that luck was on our side when we found a stockpile of food and bottled water in the cabinets and cupboard.
A supple ginger glow spills out of the bedroom. It makes my shadow look like a hunchback, my head and arms bent forward. My fingers slide against the wall, squishy steps on the bedroom carpet as I view the striking silhouette of Chelsea’s body. She squeaks out a small “hello” with a seductive smile. She was blessed with the curves of a tattooed angel and a voice that could make a man cry.
“Come to bed,” she says.
Pretty soon my clothes are on the floor and I forget that the world has ended.
#
I wake up alone in bed, the leftover scent of sex and lavender floating above my bare body. Chelsea was never one for sleeping in. When we first lived together, she’d wake up much earlier than me and go out for a run or make breakfast. I guess she’s still in the habit even though night has eroded most of the light of every cold morning.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and put on jeans and a t-shirt. My hoodie slouches over my shoulder as I head into the kitchen and see Chelsea sitting silently at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. She looks up and a tiny smile curls at the bottom of her face, a sliver of delight amidst light freckles. Her head bows back to the newspaper and after a minute I realize that I haven’t watched the news on television or read a magazine or newspaper since the sun’s rays first carved through comet dust.
Chelsea flips a page and lifts her head to me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I run fingers alongside parts of her matted curls, crunching the hardened hair from day-old hairspray. She looks as beautiful as she did the night before.
I lean in and see that she’s reading The Great Falls Tribune from March 6, 2015. She can see the inquisitive look on my face, probably the way my eyebrows flare
against the pale skin of my forehead. “I haven’t read anything since we got here,” she says. “I just want to feel like the world is alive and breathing again.” She raises the newspaper, her eyes scanning words that mean nothing now.
I nod and sit next to her, easing into the pine chair and taking a deep breath. My body wants breakfast but my mind needs fresh air. “I’m going to take a quick walk outside. Do you want to come?”
“Do you think it’s safe?” She frowns.
“I think we’ll be okay.”
She folds the newspaper and zips up her sweatshirt. I can tell she’s not wearing a bra; nipples poke through two thin layers of cloth. She reaches out for my hand and I hold onto it as we walk out of the kitchen and through the front door. The markings on the door behind us, neither of us mention their creation or what they mean. We follow the small trail around the house leading up to the edge of the property, the balcony just above us. Only a small amount of light provides guidance to the end of the trail. We look over the side, cerulean mist circling above the rocks, the last breaths of a dissolving stream. Chelsea squeezes my arm, her slender fingers tightening around muscle and fabric. “We’ll go inside in a few minutes,” I tell her.
I can read fear in the words lost somewhere between her eyes, unease flowing in her weary blood. A sniff of air and I know that the world doesn’t smell the same without leaves and trees and animals. I used to work in the city and every day cursed the bustle of metro life. As I take a few steps to the edge of the rocks, I realize that I’d give my own soul to be lying in the apartment bed with Chelsea, a concert of blaring traffic on the streets outside.
The rocks sturdy beneath my boots, I edge further until a blanket of mist wraps around my legs. Chelsea stays behind, standing with her arms crossed, eyes now two slits of green. When we first found the house the sounds of crashing waves below us put our minds at ease, as if our destructive present was offset by an inkling of normality. We noticed the waters of the rivers start to evaporate only a month ago. Everyday the fog rising from the base of the mountain grows thicker and it’s only a matter of time before yet another aspect of our world fades into nothing.
It’s amazing to think that we haven’t seen the sun in months yet the surface the earth hasn’t frozen over. I know it’s somewhere behind the blanket of obsidian, afraid to shower its old world with healthy streams of light.
Chelsea calls out to me, the trickling of her squeaky voice reaching me as I find my last step on the rocks. A gigantic breath of misty air and my lungs soothe with a comfortable taste. It’s all I needed this morning. I walk back to the trail and Chelsea pulls my hand until we’re pacing on the dirt. “I don’t like it out here,” she says.
“Neither do I.”
Before we reach the house, I look back to the lifeless woods surrounding the trail. A path of fire shoots across the horizon like a scarlet laser, piercing a constellation of stars. Chelsea puts a hand over her mouth and looks at me. We stand in awe for a few minutes, the next comet shooting across a coverlet of cobalt green, its tail withering into tiny sparks and silent explosions. I hold Chelsea’s hand in mine, squeezing her fingers with each flare. The only sounds I can hear are the purrs of the remaining stars and our disparate breaths.
We walk into the house and close the front door behind us, the dead of silence greeting us with open arms. Chelsea removes her sweatshirt and tosses it to the floor. I stand behind her and rub her arms, trying to warm her skin with just my fingertips. My lips find the back of her neck, giving her a few quick kisses before she pulls away. She turns around and smiles, returning the kisses with her own.
“I love you,” she says. “Every day I wake up and think I’m dreaming. I think I’m in a recurring nightmare.”
“Me too.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, Chelsea. All I’m thinking about is staying alive.”
She sighs and shoves her hands into her front jean pockets. “I have a horrible feeling that this isn’t the right place for us to be.”
I close my eyes, trying to funnel the warmth from my heart into the rest of my body. “We should be dead right now. We’re lucky that we’re here. We’re lucky that we’re both breathing, sleeping, eating and spending time together.”
“I know. I’ll just never get used to this place.”
A shiver slithers up my legs and creeps into my spine. Cold dominates the room, a swoop of electric frost sticking to the windows. I look outside and the lightshow has ended, the night skies just an infinite coverlet of black.
#
Los Angeles was buried under a mile-high wave of water. Planes fell from the sky like birds hunted on a crisp autumn day. We were lucky enough to be on the road after visiting Chelsea’s parents in Salt Lake City. We kept driving north until we couldn’t hear the screams anymore, the chilling voices of a dying race. I can’t remember the last time we saw the sun, the last time I sat outside with a smile.
#
The radio stopped broadcasting noise three weeks ago. Until then, I’d spend every morning scrolling through the frequencies, eager to hear even the most subtle of human voices. The FM stations were mostly all static, a few transmitting barebones silence. Chelsea would sit next to me, biting her fingernails and hoping to hear any signs of life beyond our own private world.
What startled us even more than the lack of existence was on the AM frequencies: each station played the same odd hum that fell from the stars. Its drone almost hypnotic, we sat close to each other as I fumbled through each frequency, the only sounds sneaking from the speakers making our skin crawl with terrible delight. I didn’t want to know what the sounds meant, didn’t want to decode the throbbing waves recoiling on each side of my brain.
I switched the dial back to FM and felt an abnormal comfort with the resonance of static.
I haven’t looked at the radio since. I sit with a plastic cup filled with vodka and warm cranberry juice, staring at the dusty shelves around the basement, each adorned with cans and cans of vegetables, fruit and beans. I know that at some point down the road we’re going to run out of food, but my mind hasn’t thought that far ahead into our future. I don’t want to know what’s going to happen the day we need to leave the house to find food and water.
Chelsea jogs down the stairs, her boots clicking against aged wood. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to sit somewhere for a bit where there were no windows.”
“Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you come upstairs and eat with me?”
I force a smile and finish my drink, crumbling the paper cup and tossing it to the floor. It lands next to a lawnmower covered with grime. I follow Chelsea up the steps, closing the basement door behind me and locking it.
We eat a mix of baked beans and creamed corn, each of us filling our glasses with one of the many bottles of wine that were hidden away in the kitchen cabinets. Chelsea’s cheeks fill with red spots and I know that she was drinking while she cooked dinner. Her eyes are watery, broken emeralds shimmering with a thin layer of tears. I don’t ask if she’s okay. I finish my plate and split it in half, paper snapping us out of our quiet trances.
Chelsea still at the table, I leave and open another bottle of wine. A big gulp flowing down my throat, I head into the living room, plopping down on the couch like I’ve worked a twelve-hour day. Long sips and long gazes before I’m lost somewhere in the fuzzy confines of slumber.
#
Chelsea’s scream floats from the corners of a dream world, clouds hiding urgency. My eyes open to the reality of her desperate pleas and before I realize it I’m on my feet and running into the kitchen. Chilly air flows freely from the broken kitchen window, angora curtains shifting from side to side in a violent motion.
Chelsea is huddled in the corner, hair draped over her face like she’s hiding from the outside world. I grab her by the arm and pull until she’s running behind me. We run into the bedroom and slam the door. “Stay in here. I’m goin
g back out there.”
I pull the closet door open and snatch the gun on the shelf, clicking the safety off and glaring at Chelsea before leaving her. She reaches for the shotgun under the bed and crawls into the corner of the room. It all happens in slow motion. I ease my steps from the hallway into the kitchen, careful to not let my boots squeak against the wooden floor.
The gun aimed in front of me, I swing into the kitchen and see a black figure hop from behind the table and into the living room. My breaths panicked and heavy, I follow it until the shadow disappears. All I can see is a figure draped in black, not an inch of skin peeking from its clothing. A quick burst of red and I’m on the floor, pain wriggling the nerves in my face, gun thrown too many feet away from me. Through hazy vision, its legs scuttle past me and I hear the breaking of glass.
I roll over and onto my feet and hurry into the kitchen, leaving the gun on the carpeted floor behind me. Nothing but the hurried stream of air sliding against my face, I lean over the sink and look out the broken window, careful not to scrape my chest on the battered glass. The night whistles with uncertain glee, the intruder long gone by now. The blood dripping from my nose leaks into my mouth and it tastes like tinfoil.
I knock twice on the bedroom door, Chelsea barely opening it. I see a bit of dirty blonde hair, fingernails digging into the door. “Stay in here,” I say. “I need to board up the kitchen window.” I can’t hear what she says before I turn the knob to me and pull with all of my force.
Two markings are engraved into the kitchen table. A silver streak crosses a longer stripe of red, making an upside-down ‘V.’ I shudder and force myself to walk away.
The basement is darker than the skies outside. I stumble down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. Fumbling through the trash on the floor next to the generator, I find a piece of wood much larger than the size of the window. I don’t have time to keep searching so I throw it by the bottom of the stairs and find the toolbox we keep on top of the refrigerator. Another crash upstairs, not nearly as loud as the one before. A gunshot rings and blows past the silence of the basement. I let out a muffled scream, the moan of a frightened child.
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