“Keep low, that’s the key. Keep your legs wide and your knees bent. Don’t just bend down because you have to be ready at all times in case you have to move to either side. Both hands ready so you can close on it like a trap. Here it comes!” I tossed the ball up into the air and a sharp crack echoed along the water as my bat sent it bounding across the deck. Micah bent down and his glove brushed the top of the ball before it rolled directly between his legs.
“Ugh...” I groaned as he happily ran after it. I swore he missed the ball on purpose just so he had an excuse to chase it around the metal field. I tried to explain to him that baseball was a great way to hone his hand-eye coordination, an easy means of learning focus and dedication while also having a reasonable amount of fun. But no, he was content to spend all day following that ball like a cat that always spits the mouse back out.
“Awful.”
“Just awful.”
“Poor form.”
“Just awful form.”
I turned to glare at the sentries. The two men were stretched out across a pair of lawn chairs, the one taking tobacco in the right side of his mouth from a pipe and blowing rings of smoke out the left while the other spat globs of chew into an empty can. Three rifles stood between them, each leaning against the other two so that the umbrella speared on their bayonets kept the sun off a bottle of whiskey. They never spoke loudly enough for Micah to hear them, but their heckling was beginning to grate on my nerves.
“Needs to get lower,” said the one.
“Much lower,” said the other.
Micah returned with the ball and was about to awkwardly lob it back to me when I said,
“Stop! Micah, we talked about this... always use proper throwing form.”
“Oh, right,” he apologized. His tongue popped out as he strained to remember the various components that together created the perfect throw. His back foot turned sideways for balance, his front toes pointed forward for direction, his fingers curled into bunny ears around the stitching as his arm swiveled up to forty-five degrees. He pointed his glove at my chest and hurled it with all the might his tiny body could muster.
“Great job, kiddo!” I cheered as I snatched the ball out of the air. He beamed at the praise and prepared himself for the next hit.
“Not the best throw,” said the one.
“I’ve seen much better,” said the other.
“Much too far to the left,” said the one.
“Awfully far to the left,” replied the other. I ground my teeth and then smiled at my brother.
“Alright, here comes the next one.” Another wooden crack, another series of wild bounces, and it hit the edge of his glove. “That’s alright, Micah,” I called after him as he raced away. “You did a good job of getting low on that one. You’ll get the next one!”
“He probably won’t get the next one,” said the one.
“Probably not,” said the other.
“Shouldn’t you two assholes be looking out for danger instead of insulting a six year old kid?” I snapped. One looked at the ramshackle storefronts on the left and the other looked across the river to the right.
“Clear,” said the one.
“Nothing to report,” said the other.
“This is far more interesting,” said the one.
“Awfully interesting in comparison,” replied the other.
“Right, in comparison.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could kill them. I could kill them both, dump their bodies in the river, and say a flock of ravenous seagulls carried them away. Or I could kill them, douse their bodies in whiskey, and make it look like a terrible smoking accident. Micah returned with the ball before I could decide. He threw it back and I readied my bat for a softer hit, determined for my brother to finally make a play. I tried convincing myself that it was for the joy of seeing him succeed, but I knew it was mostly an attempt to shut the sentries up. Micah looked set, his glove looked open and inviting, and so I hit it directly towards him, no movement, no decision-making required. He just had to let the ball bounce right into the palm of his hand. It was the perfect hit, he was in the perfect position--and then the ball struck a rivet protruding from the deck and leapt up to kiss him on the lips. He just stood there for a second, stunned that his favorite ball had betrayed him, and then he plopped himself down and howled with pain. I rushed to my brother’s side and tried to pull his hand away from his mouth.
“Let me see, buddy,” I crooned, tugging gently on his arm. Tentatively, he allowed his hand to fall. His lip was quivering and a large red lump was already forming on his chin, but overall he was completely fine. “Oh that’s nothing,” I said, waving his concern away. He blinked back tears and stared at me, obviously unconvinced that his skull hadn’t been split in half. “You’ll be alright,” I promised. ‘Want to keep practicing?” He shook his head. “Want to go to the sick bay and let Mrs. Turner fuss over you and bring you breakfast?” He nodded his head and held out his arms to be carried. I rolled my eyes and hefted him up with a groan. He didn’t realize that he was rapidly becoming far too heavy to be lugged around like a backpack that never stops asking questions that nobody in the world had the answers to.
“He reacted quite slowly to that hop,” said the one.
“Awfully slowly,” said the other.
‘Almost as if he wanted to get hit in the face,” replied the one.
“Just so he could stop playing that awful game,” added the other. I flipped them off and carried my brother back into the Ascension’s comforting embrace.
“What a rude young man,” said the one, blowing a train of smoke rings into the air.
“An awfully rude young man,” agreed the other as he let a cheekful of tobacco ooze out of his mouth into the can.
“You’re an idiot, Phillip, the Hulk would absolutely crush Spiderman. How is that even in question?”
“Because,” Phillip replied around a mouthful of powdered eggs, “Spiderman is way too fast for the Hulk to catch, he could just swing around and kick the Hulk in the face until he eventually passes out and turns back into just some pansy ass scientist.” Connor scoffed and took a sip from his juice box.
“That’s retarded. How can you even think that a kick from Spiderman would hurt the Hulk?”
“You seem to forget that Spiderman also got crazy spider strength when he got all his other powers.”
“Oh yeah,” Connor scoffed again, “because if there’s one thing spiders are known for, it’s being ridiculously strong. That’s why the go around murdering tigers and rhinos all the time.”
“They’re strong relative to their size, dumbass.”
“I don’t know... I can’t even imagine how many spiders the Hulk has crushed in his lifetime.” Phillip buried his face in his hand and shook his head in frustration.
“Silas, help me out here. Wouldn’t Spiderman totally wear down and defeat the Hulk one on one?”
“What?” I asked, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the lunch line. “Oh... Well frankly, gentlemen, I don’t give a damn, because unlike you, I can read books without pictures in them.” Phillip waggled his fingers and tilted his head back in mock terror.
“My apologies, your highness, I didn’t realize that the colorful world of comic books was so beneath you.”
“Seriously?” Connor chimed in, “You’ve never been into superheroes, Silas?”
“The bastard fell out a fourth story window and is still here to lord his superior reading level over us,” Phillip laughed, “I think he knows all too much about superheroes.” I gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder and turned away from them again. “What the hell are you looking at?” Phillip asked, following my line of sight. “Ahh... He’s too busy stalking Gwen Stacey to care about Spiderman.”
I ignored him, though realizing that I had been staring an excessively long time, decided to focus on my breakfast instead. Even in a hairnet and splattered apron, Natalie still managed to look like an angel standing in a crowd of vagrants. Her smile brightened the morning of everyone who lingered long enough to receive a helping of oatmeal and she seemed genuinely happy to be performing one of the most hated duties on the ship. I was shocked my how infatuated with the girl I’d become. She had always been a convenient distraction from a mostly droning lifestyle, but since Pavel’s death, her compassion and dedication had become an indispensable sanctuary from the fear and loathing that otherwise greeted my presence. “Every rose has its thorns. Every rose has its thorns.”
I looked at my two best friends. Phillip was his usual, jovial self, but it was obvious that he was shaken. The jokes came with less conviction, his banter sounded almost rehearsed. He missed Pavel just as much as I did, but his tongue-in-cheek charisma refused to let it show. He was cracking though. Like a greek statue, his marbled shell was coming undone. I wasn’t sure if he blamed me, it wasn’t in his nature to point fingers, but paranoia is a cruel mistress, one that insisted Phillip was watching me closely.
Connor was also acting strangely, though not in a way that hinted at repressed grief or emotional trauma. He had always been a stick of dynamite with a shorter fuse than most, a sarcastic bulldog that could survive on thrill alone. An impressive kill tally was tattooed on the side of his neck--red marks noting that the deed had been accomplished with his bare hands--and the mohawk that now jutted from his scalp made him look almost feral. The Connor I knew was a bloodthirsty predator, someone much different from the Connor who sat across from me now. The transformation had not been immediate, gradual enough to avoid detection until the discrepancies became severe. Savage joy had cooled to a harsh impatience, Good-natured barbs were now dipped in toxic insult. His brow permanently glistened with sweat, a handkerchief I had never seen before often appearing to dab at his nostrils. I resolved to sit him down and ask about his health when we both had time. The dull longing in his eyes was starting to worry me.
“Mr. Lindsbuck! Mr. Three Fingers!” Connor and Phillip both turned as Earnhardt marched up to our table, kevlar vest strapped tight and FAL hanging across his chest. His gas mask and scavenging pack were missing. “Suit up, boys, the captain just greenlit a patrol. Grab some extra ammo but otherwise keep it light, we shouldn’t be gone long. He headed off towards the top deck as Phillip and Connor shoveled the last of their lunches down their throats.
“What do you think is going on?” I asked.
“No idea,” Phillip replied, showering my tray with crumbs. “But I’m sure we’ll find out sooner rather than later.” They picked up their trays and hurried away.
“Hey!” I called after them. They froze and slowly turned around like children caught fleeing from a broken vase. “Do you think Earnhardt would let me tag along? Four pairs of eyes can see more than three, and you know you’d be glad for the extra gun if shit hits the fan.” Phillip and Connor exchanged a glance that expressed exactly how they felt about being alone with an armed Silas Connelly and Phillip replied,
“How about you go ask the captain. I’m pretty sure we don’t have the authority to just invite you out on a patrol, and you know Earnhardt would insist on getting his approval anyway.”
“Alright,” I said, grabbing my own tray before following them towards the door. I’d been dying for weeks to get off the ship, to do what I was trained to do. Captain Strevko had denied all my previous requests for assignment, citing “medical concerns” as his reasoning. My ribs had been fully healed for weeks, and with so much free time--I had also yet to be assigned a work detail due to “medical concerns”--strength and agility training had become my favored addiction. An emergency was exactly what I had been wishing for. All I needed was a situation so severe that Captain Strevko couldn’t refuse the help of one of his best, a chance to prove that I was both ready and capable enough to be back in the field.
I found him where he could always be found, on the bridge. The Ascension had not moved for years, couldn’t move anymore in fact, and yet, for some reason, the captain insisted on every console and instrument being cleaned and polished to a seaworthy sheen. Buttons and levers and switches and knobs cluttered almost every inch of available metal. Spotless windows looked down the shoreline and across the water. The center table was a battleground of local maps, scouting reports, ration lists, disciplinary forms, and random notes all vying for Captain Strevko’s attention. I waited in the open doorway until it was clear he wasn’t going to notice me organically and then knocked. He held up a finger, marked a pair of warehouses off one of his maps, and then motioned me forward.
“Somehow I knew I’d be seeing you, Silas. You’re here because I ordered a full sweep of the area, yes?”
“Yes,” I answered. “What’s the situation?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bately reported seeing a pack of haunters while taking a stroll along the river. It’s probably nothing, just a few of the things migrating through, but it’s always best to be sure of such things, yes?”
“I agree,” I said. “How many patrols are being deployed?”
“For now, three. Mr. Freemont led his men out in an immediate response, Mr. Kennedy is setting off any moment now, and I believe Mr. Earnhardt is currently mustering on the deck. Additionally, I have asked Terence to organize an emergency defensive force on the off chance that we are about to be attacked.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” I began. “I was wondering if you would consider--”
“Letting you accompany Mr. Earnhardt’s patrol on this assignment?” I nodded. “Silas…” he sighed, massaging his temples. “You already know what I am going to say.”
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“You could say yes…”
“No, I cannot.”
“Well why the hell not?” I snapped before I could stop myself. Captain Strevko glared at my across the table until I finally looked down at the floor.
“I should have you lashed for insubordination,” he stated with deadly calm. “But I understand that this is a very stressful time for you. You feel trapped, yes? You feel like you are a prisoner in your own home?”
“Yes,” I answered quietly.
“I do not wish you to feel this way, Silas. I keep you here for your own safety, and for the safety of all those under my command. As a rational man, you must understand this. But I am also a rational man, and I know you must be given opportunities to prove that you are ready to be back in the field, yes?” I looked back up, hope tugging at the muscles underneath my face. “Mr. Pescelli is on sentry duty this evening and I am sure he would enjoy some company while the majority of our forces are away. Do you think you’re ready for such an assignment?”
“Do I think I’m ready to sit on my ass and watch other people go have all the fun? It’ll be tough but… yeah, I’m reasonably sure I could handle that.” A thin smile proved he understood that dissension had faded to my trademark sarcasm and he replied,
“Good. But if you are going to watch for threats, you will need a weapon to deal with any threats you might see, yes?” My finger twitched.
“I suppose so.” He ripped a sheet of paper from a nearby notebook and penned a quick order before signing the bottom.
“Give this to the quartermaster. I apologize that we do not have a rifle for you, but we have been running low on armaments since you abandoned three of our best in the field. However, your pistol will be returned to you.”
“You mean the one that you had no right to take from me in the first place?”
“Silas…” he warned.
“Sorry, sorry,” I replied quickly. “Months of angst is hard to shake off all at once.” He handed me the paper and went back to looking over his charts. I waited a bit longer and then made an unceremonious exit. Captain Strevko had a habit of never saying goodbye.
I found the quartermaster where he could always be found, in the armory. I always felt the word “armory” was a bit too official to be applied to such an unofficial place. Shipping crates filled with straw and packing peanuts were strewn around the room, many of them empty since their occupants were currently in use. At the front was the quartermaster’s workbench. An inward-facing lamp was positioned at each corner, ensuring his could clearly see every piece of every weapon no matter what angle he inspected from. Harsh rasps, like dying breaths through a gas mask, sounded with unconscious precision as his foot pumped the generator that kept his lamps alive.
“Whadya want, boy?” he barked, glowering at me through the disassembled barrel of a sawed-off
“I want my M1911 back,” I said, sliding the captain’s note across the workbench. He put down his brush and read the orders with one eye while the other continued checking the barrel for grime.
“Soyesay an sotis,” he said, scratching idly at the pockmarks that ravaged his face. “I mussamit,” he went on,” I’mna miss the lilbeauy.” My gun appeared from the back of his belt and he tossed it to me. I twirled the sidearm and then twirled it the opposite direction, testing the weight. The clip slid out with ease, showing off a fresh row of copper and brass. I slammed the rounds home and pulled the slide back to check that the breach was clear. I’d missed its reassuring weight against my palm.
“Thanks for taking good care of her,” I said as I rammed my inheritance back into its shoulder holster.
“Duneven mention it,” the quartermaster replied, twiddling a brush between his fingers. “Now gedahell outta my office. Someople aroun her avegot real work to be doin.” I gave him a two finger salute and left him to his work.
The sun hung low on the horizon as I stepped onto the deck. Any moment now its rope would finally break and it would plummet behind the skyline in an explosion of vibrant hues. Benny Kennedy’s perfectly curled mustache led his squad down the gangplank in a flurry of steel-toed boots and violent intent. I waved to David’s curly brown hair but he wasn’t looking.
“Silas!” Phillip motioned to me from where they were making their final preparations and I jogged over with a nod. Earnhardt looked at me long enough for it to matter and swallowed whatever he wanted to say with a glob of phlegm. “So,” Phillip asked, “Did the captain give you the green light?” I shook my head.
“He decided that menial work like hunting for intruders was below someone of my talents.”
“Oh really?” Phillip asked. “He put you on sentry duty didn’t he.”
“He most certainly did,” I sighed. “So if you hear something short and loud while you’re out there, it’s me blowing my brains out.” Phillip patted me on the shoulder and hefted his equipment.
“Well, in that case, we’ll have some extra fun just for you.”
“Enough jabbering, ladies,” Earnhardt snapped. “Time to move. I want a tight formation out there. Make sure there’s one in the chamber, keep your head on a swivel, check your corners, and remember: you see something move, you put it down hard.” He crossed the deck at a brisk pace with his squad close behind.
“Hey, Connor!” He turned but continued walking backwards. “Good hunting.” He flashed me a savage grin and racked the slide of his shotgun. And then they were gone, swallowed by the same city that had devoured my best friend. Occasionally I was pained by how little I thought about Kroffman. Yes, his passing had left a scar, but it was papercut next to the gaping wound of Pavel’s absence. Right then, however, watching Earnhardt walk with the same aged cockiness I remembered, shouting for the two boys at his heels to shut up and focus, I couldn’t help but take a moment to let my shame sink in. If I had listened to him, if I’d marked the building as occupied and walked away--all I had to do was walk away--I would only have one death on my conscious instead of two.
A sharp whistle knocked my thoughts off course and, instead of arriving at the gates of self-hatred and despair, I found myself wondering why I was standing in the middle of an empty deck. Sampson Pescelli was at the sentry post, relaxing across one of the lawn chairs with legs crossed and boots left empty off to the side.
“Come have a seat, Silas,” he said. “You can stare awkwardly into the distance just as well from up here.” I took his advice and climbed the set of metal rungs that had been soldered to the shipping container’s side. He gestured towards the empty chair but I ignored him, choosing instead to sit on the edge and let my legs dangle. He fished a silver case from the inside pocket of his pea coat and pulled out a cigarette with his teeth. “Want one?” he asked, lighting the end and taking a breath.
“You know those things will give you cancer, right?” I asked as I stared awkwardly into the distance just as well as I had from the deck. He laughed and blew a cloud of smoke in my direction.
“I’d be the happiest man alive if I survived long enough to die of cancer.” I chuckled and looked back so he knew his efforts were appreciated.
I liked Sampson. He was a short, vascular man with olive skin and a strong stock of hair that was almost as black as mine. And though I avoided him whenever possible for a very obvious reason, he always made me smile when our paths happened to cross. He was one of the Ascension’s caretakers, a much less glamorous role than scavenging, but one that was no less necessary. His calloused hands were among those that kept the hull in good enough shape to avoid leaks, held the endless hordes of vermin and mold at bay, and fixed practically everything that needed fixing.
“I’ve never actually known someone who died of cancer,” I said.
“That’s because we finally found the cure for it.”
“Nearly every person on Earth dying and then most of what’s left killing each other off?” I asked incredulously. He winked and blew smoke through his nostrils.
“Worked quite well now didn’t it?”
“Do you think we ever would have cured cancer?” I asked.
“Probably,” he replied with a shrug. “We left polio without any legs to stand on, kicked smallpox to the curb, trapped malaria in a net, and I’m pretty sure we had AIDS on the ropes. The good thing about humans, Silas, is that we are unbelievably good at solving problems. The bad thing about humans is that we’re lazy as shit and only solve a problem once it starts bothering people who aren’t used to being bothered.”
“Didn’t FDR have polio? Why wasn’t that dealt with immediately?” He sucked in the last of his first cigarette and lit up a second.
“One, FDR contracted polio much earlier in his life. Two, the man became president during the Great Depression and stayed president long enough to backhand Hitler across the mouth, which means he was king of being bothered. Three, I was referring to right before the world went to hell, when science had finally caught up to disease.”
“Except the one disease that mattered,” I added with a pessimistic smirk.
“That’s the best part about nature,” he replied. “It’s always interesting because nothing is on top forever, only so long as it can avoid being killed by something else. I bet cancer feels a lot like the neanderthals did after we swept into Europe and messed up their collective day.”
“What the hell are you even talking about anymore?” I laughed.
“Nothing,” he said wistfully. “I double majored in engineering and anthropology in college, and since I spend almost every waking moment putting one of those degrees to good use, I make sure to have fun with the other whenever I get a chance.” The conversation died out (apparently much like the neanderthals had) and I focused on checking every inch of the shoreline for signs of movement. The drab grey buildings were just as dead as they had always been. Sampson’s lighter clicked a third time.
“Silas, don’t let me smoke another one after this, I promised my wife I’d leave the rest of the pack for her.”
“My god,” I said, turning to shake my head in disappointment. “Does every single person on this ship but me smoke?”
“Basically yes,” he replied, blowing another cloud into my face.
“Captain Strevko doesn’t,” I shot back.
“Not in front of his subordinates he doesn’t. But that’s not his fault, everyone in the Russian Federation smokes.”
“But he’s not in the Russian Federation anymore.”
Sampson laughed and gave me a knowing wink, “Tell that to Captain Strevko.”
“Speaking of,” I chirped. “I saw your wife a couple days ago. Is she okay? She looked very unhappy.” He laughed hard enough to make his chair squeak before replying.
“Miranda always looks unhappy, Silas. Well, except when she’s with me. She’s just always had a pouty, hard-to-please demeanor, even in college when she always wore summer dresses and high-heeled shoes. None of the guys, especially me, had the courage to talk to her because we were afraid she would rip our arms off and beat us to death with them.”
“Well then how did you get to know her well enough to marry her?” He looked out across the city with a goofy smile on his face.
“She told me that if she caught me staring at her one more time without asking her out she’d have me arrested for stalking.”
“Oh my… How did that first date go?” Sampson cringed and took a reassuring drag on his cigarette.
“That’s a story I’ll let her tell you herself. Actually, why don’t you come have dinner with us one night in our compartment? She’s been pestering me to ask you how you’ve been since the surgery and you could hear all the awful, gory details of how unsmooth I used to be.”
“Used to be?”
“Watch it,” he growled. “Natalie will be there too if she’s not busy. You know my daughter, right?” I froze. My lungs filled with sand, and for a terrifying moment I was sure this entire emergency had been set up just so he could spend a couple hours alone with me and his rifle.
“Yes,” I finally responded. “I went to school with her.”
“Oh that’s right. I forgot you were in the same class. Well, anyway, she’ll probably be there too.” Despite his casual tone, I turned more towards the city, away from his eyes that I was still sure could see through my clothes to the bite marks his daughter had left on my shoulder and hips.
“Does Natalie share her mother’s habit of only looking happy when she’s with someone special?” I asked against my better judgment.
“Oh no,” he scoffed. “That girl was born a smiley ray of sunshine and never looked back. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I saw her frown.”
“Oh,” I replied, feeling decidedly unspecial.
We devolved into silence long enough for my back to start aching and the sun to start dipping as we went about our assigned task. To me, sentry duty had always seemed like nothing more than an enormous tease. You could see the cityscape, you were required to stare at it, to take in every collapsed, decrepit detail just in case something happened to crawl out and try to cut a bright red hello across your throat. But you can’t touch it. You can’t feel the uneven pavement beneath your feet or flinch as pebbles topple from rooftops. Out there, where every breath shakes like a pair of loaded dice, where you can hide from your inner demons in a tangled labyrinth of very real ones, I’m home. But just as with any home, I had responsibilities that tore me away from it. Well, I had one responsibility. I thought back to the wall Pavel and I had seen from the ferris wheel. It had been such a shocking thing, a towering monument that put the surrounding skyscrapers to shame.
“Have you ever seen a giant wall?”
“Excuse me?” Sampson asked, his hand whipping out of the cigarette box.
“Have you ever seen a giant wall?” I repeated. “About a half day’s march west of here you can see a giant wall cutting through downtown in the distance and I was wondering if you’ve ever seen it.”
“I… I don’t get off the ship much, Silas. But let me get this straight, you’re saying that there is a huge wall that can be seen from miles around?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“That’s impossible,” he asserted. “I didn’t see anything about the government building a wall, and I read the paper every morning and watched the news every night until all the paper boys were murdered for their bikes and all the tv stations went dead.”
“No,” I said. “The government didn’t build it, it’s much more recent.”
“Silas, are you feeling alright?” Sampson asked, swinging his legs off the side of his chair. “Because as a professional engineer, I’m having a very hard time believe that anyone in this modern, shitty world could collect the materials, let alone hire the manpower, to build anything close to what you’re describing.” He reached out to feel my temperature. “Silas? Silas, have you been drinking enough water lately? Silas? Are you even listening to--” I leapt up and wrapped a hand around his mouth. Sampson struggled, his eyes popping open, until I pointed to the alley between a fishing supply store and a donut shop and he saw what I had been watching throughout his rambled concern.
Six of them stepped over a pile of masonry and gazed at the ship in awe. Milky white eyes blinked and they tugged on one another’s ragged clothing as they pointed out parts of the Ascension they found most impressive. They knew we were there, Sampson and I were standing atop a shipping container in the middle of the deck after all, but they didn’t seem to care.
“How the hell did they slip past our patrols?” Sampson hissed when I took my hand away.
“It’s not hard to avoid people you know are looking for you,” I replied. They were completely at ease, their flaking arms crossed and their weight balanced on a favorite leg. They looked more like tourists than invaders.
“Why aren’t they armed?” Sampson asked, unable to grasp what was unbearably obvious.
“Because they aren’t here to pillage our homes and rape our women,” I said as I patted him on the back. Sampson needed to calm down. They weren’t carrying any supplies, which meant they had a base of operations, which meant they were part of a group large enough to defend a stockpile, which meant that if Sampson panicked and opened fire it could start an incident we were ill-prepared to deal with. We’d been engaged in several wars since I joined the scavengers, but never against haunters, and certainly never against anyone who walked up to our ship and immediately began telling each other how pretty it was.
“Wait a second…” I breathed. Something had caught my eye. One of the haunters stood several paces away from the others, and though it was difficult to tell because of his blank white eyes, I swore he was looking right at me. But I wasn’t focused on his eyes, my attention was instead enslaved by his hat, his dark blue hat with the NY logo, the same hat that had heralded the deaths of my squadmates. He waved to me. I waved back to him. And then they walked away, back down the shadowed alley between the fishing supply store and the donut shop, back into the city I was still banned from entering, to wherever they too called home.
The moment they disappeared, Sampson grabbed his rifle and started down the metal rungs.
“I’m going to go report whatever the hell just happened to Strevko. You stay here and keep an eye out in case those things come back, okay?” I continued staring at the spot where he had been standing.
“Silas!”
“What? Oh, yeah, I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Make sure you do,” he warned before running off towards the main hatch. My head was reeling. I did believe in coincidence, but not like this, not on this grand and yet specific of a scale. Had they followed me? Had they tracked me down? Were they actually the ones responsible for the deaths I still carried like a chain around my neck? I sat back down on the edge of the shipping container and tried to think of what I could possibly do next.
And then strands of black hair tickled my cheek. I turned, already knowing who was sitting next to me. She was tall for a girl, slender but not thin, wearing an embroidered white dress that reached from her knees up to her slender neck. Her skin was so pale that a web of veins could be seen spreading out from her spine. Her eyes were blank, endless voids that devoured light, blacker than the darkest night. I couldn’t stop looking at her, memorizing every detail of the girl who had saved my life multiple times.
“Thank you,” I said. She smiled and pulled a stray thread from my shirt.
“You’re welcome,” she said a moment before she leaned in and kissed me.
Her lips felt like ice and tasted like tears. As they pressed against my own, I felt her sucking the warmth from my body. My soul thrashed, begging me to pull away, but when I did, I longed for her to kiss me again. Glowing tendrils slithered down her chin towards her heart and I heard it beating weakly until I realized I hadn’t breathed since our contact broke. She turned away and gazed across the water to the west.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because,” she sighed. “I want to go home.”