They stayed until dawn, making sure that there were no more humanoids and that the power that had occupied Community, and its people was truly dead. Overnight, the vines had grown brittle and by daybreak, most had crumpled to the ground. One of the silos, Walker House, had collapsed, leaving a large sinkhole in its wake.

After a considerable walk, Gray, Doris and Gramps stopped at the ramshackle barn beside the road. The vine there, was dead, too. Gray retrieved the backpack he’d left there and placed Gramps’s skull inside. Then, he collected what remained of mother’s and gently laid it inside. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, and they were on their way.

The deep purple sky had paled in the east and Gray relished the warmth as the sun breached the horizon. Red-golden light spotlighted the land, casting heavy shadows on the terrain.

Unbeknownst to him, Gray’s breathing had softened since staring toward the sun. He was at ease. It was incredibly beautiful. This early in the day it did not hurt his eyes to stare directly into the fiery mass.

“Never look right at the sun, honey.”

He could almost hear his mother speaking those words as if she were standing beside him.

“But at sunrise it’s okay…isn’t it, mother?” he whispered.

He cocked his head and listened to the world around him. Then he removed the backpack from his shoulder. Gray could only carry it upon one because even at their loosest setting, the straps could not accommodate his size. Sliding the zipper down, he looked inside.

“Oh good, there you are,” he said to the skulls. “Just making sure you didn’t tumble out.”

Gray again stared eastward, sighing as he studied the sun once more. “I’ve stopped to watch the sun,” he announced. “Just because, you never know when you might see it again.”

Growing from a sliver, the sun inched farther away from the horizon. If he studied it closely, Gray could actually see it rising. Its light penetrated him, providing not a physical warmth, but a spiritual one. “I wish you could see it mother…it reminds me of standing on the bulkhead on the bay…holding on to the railing. I remember…ice cream, I think. Ice cream and watching the sun set.” Gray removed the backpack and held it up over his head with his good arm extended. “Can you see?”

Suddenly feeling quite foolish, he whispered, “Of course you can’t.” He lowered the backpack and returned it to his shoulder.

Gray turned his eyes toward the dark westerly sky. He searched but could find no stars dotting its nothingness. Meager clouds, that appeared as pale gray ghosts, drifted by, carried by a lazy breeze. To Gray it seemed as though someone had covered the earth with a thick black quilt. Some evil, intent on snuffing out life.

He pondered this thought and noted that the sun-blazoned grass seemed the color of blood and he wondered how much the world’s people had spilt in their fight for survival in this strange and treacherous landscape.

“Much,” he said, answering his own internal question. Gray understood that before his journey was over, he could very well shed a good deal of his own.

*********

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He remembered the Machine placing him in this dark place. Dark, and cool, it was. It felt nice, after all he’d been through, which was much, although he could no longer remember the details. Just cloudy little puffs of cotton lolling around his mind, softly bumping off one another. But, in his mind’s eye, when he tried to access the puffs and view the memory within, it just dissolved in his hands.

Watley could no longer feel limbs, really. He wasn’t even sure he had any left. Yet, when he tried to move, he found he was able to, albeit slowly, in a rhythmic sort of squirming. In fact, it helped him to think of…what was it called…a worm, and how they moved in the dirt. And so, in this manner, he managed to slink to a hole in the…trailer…yes, the tractor trailer. He tested beyond the hole and determined that there was a drop. He decided to move forward anyway; he didn’t think he’d get injured from a fall, not in this form.

Watley fell to what felt like pavement, or was it blacktop? One of them. He could no longer see like before; things came in shadowy, phantom-like shapes, others in tiny splashes of light. He did still possess hearing, though and what he heard was the voices of people. Lots of people. Then the sound of laughter came to him, and…vehicles.

An inner calling compelled him to get going and so, he abandoned those noises and squirmed across the pavement. When his path was blocked, he stretched himself along this barrier until he found a way inside, then squeezed in and pulled the rest of him through. More darkness flooded around him now, and beneath him was a cool dampness. Dirt and grass.

Dirt, yes.

Good…dirt.

When he found a comfortable spot, he gathered himself into a mound and just lay there in the damp night. He didn’t mind when things crawled over him or dug into him. He felt good, except for the pain in his head, right near the top. It had started a while back, as just a slight, numbing sensation. Over time it progressed to an irritating itchiness and now it sort of felt like something pressing against his skull from the inside.

The chilled grass felt good, though. And so too, did the damp earth beneath him, all around him…inside him. He could finally relax and just lay there…and forget.

At some point, Watley wasn’t sure if he’d closed his eyes or just lost his vision. When he attempted to look around, he concluded that it was the latter. But that was okay, he still had the sounds to keep him company and the damp, dark earth.

Eventually, the sounds too, left him; just distant recollections echoing in his head. He tried to remember what each had been called but he’d lost their names. He didn’t mind. Simply lying here was so enjoyable.

Watey felt himself slipping, his mind wandering away from his body, floating off to somewhere distant. Somewhere where he could forget who he was. Forget everything. He could no longer see or hear or taste or feel. He drifted to a place dark…and damp…and cool.

Dirt…yes.

Good…

You did good…

And then, when Watley was gone and all that remained was a mound of dark, damp, black earth, a tiny stem emerged in the night. Under the starry heavens, the leaves unraveled and revealed a tiny, blue flower.