I. Angel

Peter was not dead.

Not really.

He would slide gently into Artemis’ bed and clutch his waist with his cold hands.  He would be reflected in the mirror, the same mirror that Artemis had unceremoniously heaved to the ground several days ago in a vain attempt to be free of his gaze.

But he was there, Artemis could feel him breathing down his neck.

This was Peter, and yet it wasn’t.

Everyone had told Artemis to move on.  He wanted to. Peter would have wanted him to.

Was he an angel, a ghost?  He would never say.

Artemis would cry, beg him to go away, to give him some peace.  But Peter would hush him softly and kiss him with bony teeth. He was here to help, he said.  He was here to help.

Then why did it hurt so much?

I.II

“Do you ever think about the future?”

Artemis blinks, his lips perched precariously on the mouth of his soda bottle.  Peter sits close by him, his elbows firmly pressed into his knees and his chin supported in his hands.  His eyes are twinkling, like a child when he discovers some fantastic new game.

It’s cute.  Artemis can’t help but smile.  “Not really,” he replies. “I like to live in the moment, experience things day by day.  All that jazz.”

Peter pulls back and frowns.  “That’s it?” he whines. “You don’t even think about it, not even a little, itty, bitty bit?”

His cheeks are puffed out in frustration and Artemis just can’t help but tease him a little more.  Of course he knows what Peter wants to hear, but there’s no harm in just dragging this out a little more, right?

“I guess…I think about it sometimes.  A tiny bit.”

Peter inches closer.  “And? What’s it like?”

Artemis tips his head to the side, his black, feather-like hair swaying before his blue eyes.  “You have to be more specific than that,” he replies, a grin playing at his lips.

Peter frowns and sighs.  “I mean…” His voice grows softer in what Artemis can only assume is embarrassment.  “I mean…am I in it? Your future?”

Artemis leans forward to kiss Peter on the nose.  “Of course you are, silly.”

“…Good.”

“Your face is bright red.”

“Augh, shut up.”

II. Exodus

It was yet another mercilessly hot day.  The cicadas chirped incessantly, their shrill cries a high pitched whine over the low hum of the tractor just outside.  Imagine that, a working tractor. Paul had been so happy to find it abandoned not too far from town. Everyone had sworn he would never get the scrap of metal and rust moving again, but somehow he had done it.  It was a good thing, too; at least now the crops could be managed more efficiently.

Artemis was still in bed, his limbs sprawled out across the rough, wool blanket.  It had been too hot to rest under the fabric itself; even now the sunlight was flooding in through the open window nearby, spilling over Artemis’ face and causing him to squint.  The flies were already buzzing about, their little black bodies flitting around his face. He swatted them away absentmindedly.

Peter was curled up by his side, as usual.  Artemis refused to look at him. Maybe if he didn’t make eye contact, he could pretend that he wasn’t there.

It’s nice out, Peter commented.

Artemis didn’t reply.

What will you do today?  You know what’s happening in the Dome.

Artemis shifted uncomfortably.  “…I don’t belong in the Dome anymore,” he replied quietly.  “It doesn’t concern me.”

Liar.

Peter or not, he really did know what Artemis was thinking.

Artemis sighed and abruptly rose from bed, fumbling into the dirty, once white shirt hung messily by it.  It was ironic, he thought. Just months ago he was wearing the shiny, ebony riot armor and cloak donned by all members of the Guard.  And now here he was, wearing nothing but used clothes and rags.

But out here, you took anything you could get.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass and golden wheat.  The fresh air never got old. It was hard to imagine it used to all be like this before the infection.  Before the toxins spilled from the mouths of the…the…

He was acutely aware of Peter watching him from the bed.

Artemis shook his head rapidly and pulled on his worn, black combat boots.  At least being out here was more invigorating than being trapped in the Dome.  Some days he was almost thankful Sterling had let him go.

He opened the door to his small shack and stepped outside.  Peter was breathing down his neck.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

He balled his hands into fists, aggressively trying to forget the feeling of hot air brushing the base of his black hair.

“Artemis.”

His blue eyes dropped to the petite woman hobbling towards him.  She was leaning on an oak cane for support; Artemis had fashioned it for her just last week.  She was surprisingly mobile, considering the missing leg. Artemis had to goad her for weeks before she even accepted his small gift for her.  She didn’t like being pitied. The leg was gone, and she was alive. If you asked nicely she would tell you all about the Rotter that had bitten it.

“Bridget,” Artemis replied, smiling lightly.  “Nice to see you up and about.”

“I could say the same, sleepyhead,” she teased.  She tucked her curly, black hair behind her ears.  “Sorry to bother you so early, but I need help with something.”

Artemis blinked.  “With what?”

Bridget glanced about nervously, as though she was afraid someone would overhear.  She edged closer to Artemis. “…Refugees. Waiting outside the village.” Her voice was a whisper.

“From the Dome?” Artemis asked in the same hushed tone.

She nodded gravely.  “You need to talk to them.  Now.”

The group was much larger than Artemis had expected.  Twenty, maybe thirty men, women, and children, with their belongings packed in suitcases and bags and whatever they possibly could have gotten their hands on fast enough.  Their haste was evident in their appearance; dirty clothes, bare feet, the dark stubble that signified the development of beards. The children were shivering with fear and clung to their parents as Artemis approached, their eyes wide.  One of them pointed up and made a comment about how “scary that man’s face looks.” The mother flushed with embarrassment and scolded the child, but never once did she dare to look Artemis in the eye.

Back in the Dome the scars had been a source of pride.  A medal showcasing his bravery. But now he could feel the shame crawling up his spine.

I’m sorry.  It was my fault.

“Stop talking,” Artemis murmured under his breath.

A thin man walked up to him, wringing the fabric of his much too large shirt nervously in his hands.  He hesitantly made eye contact with Artemis, raising one shivering finger to adjust his cracked glasses.

“A-Are you…in charge here?” he stammered.

“No,” Artemis admitted.  “But no one really is…”  The man appeared a bit distressed by his answer, and he quickly continued to speak.  “What are you here for? I heard you came from the Dome.”

“W-We did,” the man replied quietly.  “We thought everything would be okay…with Sterling and all.  She was going to make it all better…you know?”

Artemis jaw was clenched tight.  “I’m very aware.”

“But she went too far this time!” the man cried, his voice abruptly rising in pitch.  “There’s….there’s no way any sane human would…”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Artemis said, raising his hands in an attempt to calm the man.  “What do you mean? What did she do?”

“She made us leave.  She made us all leave.”

Artemis turned to face the source of the voice.  It was the mother from before. She nervously met his gaze.

“More will be coming soon,” she explained quietly.

“Tell me what happened,” Artemis gently coaxed.

She squeezed her child’s hand.  “…She’s forcing everyone who was close to anyone who became infected to leave the Dome.”

A kick in the chest.  “What?”

“She’s going to make a new city, she said.  Everything will be better, if all connections to the undead are gone.”  The woman sounded like she was about to cry.

Artemis’ body was trembling.  “She’s gone mad,” he breathed.

“There will be more of us,” the man piped up again.  “I hope you have enough room here…”

We don’t, we don’t even have enough supplies for us now.  But Artemis couldn’t speak. His throat was dry, like a cotton swab had been shoved down it forcefully.

He had loved a man who was a Rotter.

It was unfair.

Peter was hissing.

II.II

“Artemisss….don’t be a party pooper…”

Peter’s breath reeks of alcohol and Artemis sighs, adjusting his arm to better support his intoxicated boyfriend.  Peter drags his feet stubbornly across the pavement, whining all the while, only ceasing when Artemis finally gets fed up enough to carry him on his back.

“Why are we going home…I didn’t even drink that much,” Peter slurs, nestling his head in Artemis’ black hair.

“You are a living, breathing contradiction,” Artemis mutters in response.

It is pitch black now and the city is quiet, the only sounds piercing the blanket of night being the breathing of the two men.  Artemis’ shoes click on the sidewalk. The streetlights are flickering, their illumination dancing, providing the only source of guidance in the darkened city.

Peter is quiet for a while, his arms resting comfortably around Artemis’ neck.

“…Artemis.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Peter’s drunk, he probably won’t even remember what he’s saying, but his voice is so sweet that Artemis can’t help but blush.

“I love you, too.”

“I want to kisssss youuu….”

Artemis laughs.  “Calm down there, tiger.  You need to rest.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Nooo…but I love youuu…”

“I love you, too.”

III. Tears

Peter was clawing at the bedsheets.  He had been doing so for hours. He kept gargling and whimpering and making all sorts of animalistic sounds, none of which made any sense.  They were mere fragments, the ravings of a monster, a ghost. Whatever he was now.

Artemis knew it was because they were both upset.

More refugees had come.  Hordes of them. The whole village tried their best to make them comfortable, to offer them shelter and goods.  Every person who came from the Dome had a story.

This man had his guns taken away and was upset.  This woman had a brother who had been infected. This little girl had been frightened because the army was wandering the streets with their black armor and machine guns.  And then more people who had loved a Rotter once, who had kissed them when they were alive, who had held them.

It was too much.  Bridget had been kind enough to gently tell Artemis to go home, to rest after such a hard day.  She had seen him shaking.

But now what was he to do?

Artemis sighed, rolling onto his side.  Peter was still tearing the blanket with his sharp, boney fingers.  Artemis lacked the energy to snap at him at the moment.

Even though this wasn’t entirely Peter, he must have known what had happened.  He had turned, he had attacked Artemis. And then he hadn’t been like the rest of the Rotters, he could speak, he could think, and the REO was all too happy to get their hands on him.  They had threatened him, what else could he have done? Peter had traveled with Artemis under gunpoint, under the impression that he would be freed once he completed a mission. What mission?

Now that he thought about it, Artemis realized quite shockingly that neither of them knew what they had been in for.  Travel to Dome 7. That was the only instruction. Neither of them could have known what awaited them there, that the machine to spread the cure for humanity was wasting away in a dejected auditorium.  ...Neither of them could have known Peter was the cure himself.

Neither of them could have known that in the end it would be Artemis’ duty to hook him up, to squeeze the remaining “life” or whatever the Rotters had flowing in their veins out of him.

He killed Peter.  That was what it came down to.

Artemis shifted in the bed, gazing silently at his slim, pale hands.

It’s an awful thing, to have your love ripped from you twice.  It’s even worse when it was your fault. And now here he was, haunted by a ghost he just couldn’t shake.

You did this.

Peter’s voice was chilling.

“…I know.”

Peter gripped Artemis’s shoulder.  Artemis buried his face in his stiff pillow.

You can still do something.  You’ve been thinking about it.

No reply.

There’s enough of you now.  You could do it.

“I know.”

I’ll be here for you.

“I know.”

III.II

“Congratulations, Agent Green.”

Artemis continues to stare firmly at the ground, wringing his hands nervously.  His feet tap on the white tiled floor, and if he even hears what General Amelia Sterling just said he does not reply.

Sterling furrows her brow and takes a seat next to him.

“Agent Green.”  Her voice is firm.

She reaches out a hand and Artemis jerks away from her sharply, as though her touch is fire.  For a moment Sterling’s face twitches into something unrecognizable and she curls her fingers into a fist.  For just a moment she wishes to do harm to this silly young boy who is suffering from something as ridiculous as heartbreak, but she hurriedly recomposes herself.

“You did what you had to do,” she says calmly.  “You did the right thing.”

“…Did I?” Artemis whispers.  He can taste the bitter tang of dried blood on his cracked lips.  A wave of nausea surges through his body. “He…didn’t deserve that.  I-I didn’t know…I…If I had known, I wouldn’t have done it, y’know? I would have done the right thing.”  He’s rambling now, he knows he is, but he can’t stop. “I-I would have tried to help him! I would have run away, I-“

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

Sterling grabs Artemis’ thin wrist in the blink of an eye, and he quickly turns his face away from her before she can grab his chin with her free hand.

“Listen to me, Green.  You did what every good agent should.  You followed your orders.”

“I…didn’t want to…,” Artemis gasps.  His throat is hot and he just wishes Sterling would leave him be so he could cry in peace.  “I want him back.”

Sterling slowly releases Artemis’ wrist and he buries his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Green,” she says quietly.  “But you must move past the dead. You are alive.  Things will be better now.”

He feels a cool touch on his shoulder.  A familiar voice sings sweetly in his ears.

I’m still here, darling.

IV. March

To be fair, it wasn’t Artemis who spoke the idea aloud first.

It was all Paul’s doing.

Of course he had attended the village meeting in a drunken stupor, his face flushed from alcohol, his beer belly sloshing about.  “We should jus’ march in and kill ‘er!” he bellowed. “All of us!”

He was shoved back to his seat, his words immediately dismissed as the ramblings of a poor, poor fool.  But then one of the refugees chimed in.

“That’s a good idea.”

This ignited the conversation like a fuse.  There were shouts of disbelief – “this is a stupid plan, you’re all fools!” – countered by some silent nods of the head.  Gradually those silent nods turned into the humble beginnings of a plan.

Dome 0 was already about to burst.  The refugees explained that they had heard whispered rumors about the rise of an underground rebellion.  It was only a matter of time, they said. We could help. She needs to be stopped, we have to help.

Peter was so happy.

This is what you wanted, Artemis.  It’s what we wanted.

Artemis felt the buzz of excitement in his bones.

It was very quickly decided that Artemis would lead them.  He had had the most training, after all. He also had the biggest grudge.  His only condition for being leader was that he be the one to kill Sterling.  He wanted her blood on his hands alone.

So the group marched; men and women alike, guns and pitchforks and dull blades in their hands.  Artemis couldn’t help but imagine how much grander and imposing they would have seemed if they were on horseback.  But the horses were dead. Most of the animals were still gone.

So they walked.

The landscape had not yet recovered.  The ground was but dirt and grass, with the occasional sprouting of poppies.  It was comfort to see more vibrant life budding in the harsh environment choked by weeds and rocks.  It would have been more of a comfort if the flowers didn’t look like so many small blood drops.

As they trudged along they passed more human settlements.  The inhabitants silently merged into their lines until their group was far larger than it had been before.  By the time they reached the guard towers by Dome 0, Artemis figured they had to have at least two hundred rebels marching.  It had taken a week. They were hungry, thirsty, fatigued. But once the black, pointed wires encircling the watchtowers emerged it was as if they were all charged with vitality.

He had almost forgotten how imposing the Dome itself was.  A huge, clear structure that reached for the heavens, holding skyscrapers and factories within its strong embrace.  So pristine, so precise.

It made Artemis sick.

The insurgents marched towards the white towers by the entrance to the Dome, their eyes trained to the red sky.  The first guard barely spoke before one of the rebels fired. A perfect shot. He fell from his post wordlessly.

That was when the shouting started.  The roar of gunshots followed. Artemis felt himself running, his body acting without thinking.  This was familiar; the gunfire, the tang of blood, the saltiness of sweat. This is what he had been trained to do.

He pushed himself through the chaos, charging through the entrance to the Dome.  The rebels followed, chanting and waving their weapons. Sterling’s guard gathered quickly, their black gear and armaments glinting under the relentless rays of the sun.  The rebels were immediately upon them, overwhelming them with their numbers rather than their lackluster fighting skills.

In the back of his mind Artemis recalled one of the rebels mentioning before how an underground organization had been protesting Sterling’s rule.  There had been rumors that they might stage an armed rebellion, as well.

But when it came down to it, they were alone.  There were no reinforcements. If they had truly lurked in the underbelly of the Dome like the rebels said, then they had failed to appear.  It was sadly typical of most humans, Artemis supposed. To claim something they didn’t have the courage to do.

The guards were throwing grenades now, tossing them without any concern for the buildings and innocent civilians nearby.  There was screaming, crying, and the barks of commanders and rebels alike. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, singeing Artemis’ nostrils.

But this was not what he was here for.

He confidently made his way to the largest building within the Dome, a white castle-like structure made of stone and metal.  An amalgamation. Sterling always did have a taste for the dramatic.

IV.II

“Dishonorably discharged.”

That was what Sterling had said.  All because Artemis raised a good point, argued for what was right.

It had started with taking away weaponry.  The people had not been pleased; after all, it was guns and blades that had saved them when the Rotters walked the earth.  But they were gone, so Artemis could understand how taking away such violent arms might encourage the start of some peace. But Sterling wanted more.  She wanted subjugation, absolute and blind obedience.

So here Artemis is, traveling outside the Dome for only the second time.  His parcel is perched on his shoulder, holding only one change of clothes and food and water to last for three days.  Perhaps more, if he rations it. Hopefully it doesn’t take that long to find a settlement. People had flooded outside the Domes after the Rotters were gone, all too glad to free themselves from the suffocating atmosphere of the cities.

The landscape still has not recovered.

Sand for as far as the eye can see.  Some plants stubbornly peek their way through, dotting the ground with greens, blues, and reds.  No trees, though. They just need more time, Artemis figures. The sky is still tinged blood red.  Somewhere amongst the expanse of sand and rocks are more Domes, more human settlements. Or at least that was what he has been told.  Perhaps it’s all just an elaborate lie, maybe they are truly all alone…

You didn’t take enough food.

Artemis nearly stops in his tracks, taken off guard by the voice in his ear.

Peter.  He has been following him for months now.  Or is it really him?  A ghost of him, a specter?  Something he has left behind?

Whatever it is, it sounds like him and it makes Artemis’ heart ache.

“I…I’ll be okay,” he replies weakly.  “If I need to, I’ll find something to hunt.  I’m sure something will be out here now.”

His explanation hangs unspoken in the hot air.  Now that the Rotters are gone.

If you’re sure.

Peter’s chilling hand brushes Artemis’ own and he pulls away sharply, startled.  The specter…no, Peter, looks so hurt that the pang of guilt is overwhelming.

“I’m sorry…,” Artemis mutters.  “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

He continues along, all too aware that the first time he ventured outside the Dome was with Peter in tow.  Now it’s happening again, albeit in a more twisted form.

The universe certainly has its own perverted sense of humor.

V. Silver

Amelia Sterling had always been strong.  There was a reason why she was the head of the REO, why she took the lead in hunting Rotters.

Even now she was an imposing figure; a tall, well poised woman with sleek, greying hair and a military uniform decorated with silver, polished buttons.

Artemis had admired her once.  It felt like a very long time ago.

He glared at her as they paced around one another, their guns trained firmly at the other’s chest.  It was like some morbid dance; if one looked away for even a moment, the other would not hesitate.

“You’re as slippery as an eel, aren’t you, Green?” Sterling quipped, cocking her head to the side.

Artemis did not reply.  He knew there was nowhere else to run now.  They had chased each other up to the roof of the building, and now the only way out was a perilous fall to the ground.  Cries and shouts echoed through the Dome. The fires were still burning.

“I should have expected you of all people to do this,” Sterling continued.  Her voice was calm, as if she was having a casual chat about the weather. “You always were a strong one.”

“Shut up.”

Peter was standing close to Artemis’ side, flexing his skeletal fingers.

“It’s a shame we don’t see eye-to-eye.  We made a great team, back in the day.”

Artemis’ hands were shaking.  Peter held them to steady his aim.  “I…I can’t believe what you’ve done,” Artemis muttered.  “People don’t deserve to be punished just because they were close to the infected.  It’s madness.”

“It’s what has to be done,” Sterling countered, her voice rising in pitch.

“You’re a fool!” Artemis spat.  “Do I deserve to be hurt because of Peter, then?”

Artemis.

“Yes.”  Sterling’s answer was immediate.

“Just because I loved him?”

Artemis.

“Ah, yes, love.  Is that what you were thinking of when you killed-“

The gunshot came quickly.

V.II

The village is not as small as Artemis expected.  It stretches for at least a mile and is composed of a variety of little, grey, wooden huts, each with their own little mailboxes sloppily painted unnaturally bright colors.  There’s actually a small farm in the village square, which pleasantly surprises Artemis. There are cabbages and carrots and tomatoes and he swears he has never seen so many vegetables in his life.  Paul, the resident farmer, is awfully happy with himself.

“It’s all thanks to irrigation,” he says, his chest puffing out in pride.  “Without irrigation, we could never farm in this sand.”

The people are nice and warm, and immediately welcome with Artemis with open arms.  They give him a home and food and tell him to make himself comfortable. The hut is one room, with just a kitchen and a bedroom, but it feels like the most wonderful thing in the world.

Peter likes it, too.  He rolls about on the bed and sings sweetly to Artemis and it takes all his effort to ignore him.  

It’s like old times, Peter coos.  You and me.

Artemis doesn’t want to admit it, but it really is.  All that’s missing are their assortment of framed pictures.  Peter always had insisted on taking photos when they were together.

He had been such a sap.  Always smiling, always laughing.  So endearing and sweet.

He misses him.

I’m right here.

He buries his face in his hands and weeps.

Stop crying…I’m right here.  I’m here.

VI. Fall

It happened very quickly.

Artemis was falling.  He could feel the cool air whipping at his cheek, hear the hum of it in its ears.  His vision was going white and then black and then white again. The wound was throbbing.  His body felt like it was burning.

The fall was rather peaceful.  The only sounds were Artemis’ own strangled breathing and the hum of the wind brushing against his ears.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, like some sort of fleeting memory, he could hear the dim cries of the rebels.

Had they won?  Had they lost? Could it really be all for naught?

God, he couldn’t think.  He was so, so tired.

Peter outstretched his arms and wrapped his cold hands around Artemis’ waist.  His worries seemed to float away. Who cared if the rebellion fell? He was here with Peter, so everything was alright.

It’s all okay now.  Come with me.

Artemis closed his eyes.

VI.II

It’s hard to wake up some days.  The pressure of the world is overwhelming, crushing down on Artemis’ toned shoulders.

He wraps himself in his rough blanket and buries his head underneath his pillow, trying to ignore the breathing echoing in his ears.

You could always come with me.  We can be together again. You can be happy.

Happy.

Such an emotion was something he could not afford anymore.

“Someday I’ll be with you again,” he whispers.  “I promise.”

When?  When?

“…Someday.”