Ardor

Eight: A Tangle of Secrets In a Forest of Lies

Everything looks as if some gigantic, enraged toddler stomped through, intent on mass destruction. The skyline is missing a few extra buildings, the world a few more people. The smell of death-riddled flesh is light in the air; the winter cold has kept the smell down to a minimum but there's only so much a light frost can cover.

It's beautiful out; that clear, free moment before sunset when the sky is pale and bright. I take a deep breath, feeling guilty for enjoying the view, because beneath the pretty picture lie bodies and death and destruction. When I exhale my breath leaves cloudy white traces in the air, reminding me just how cold it is outside. With a shudder I stuff my hands into my pockets.

Beside me Kobe scans our surroundings. I can tell he's trying not to look so relieved, but he's not doing a very good job. "Why'd we leave?" He mutters, as if to himself. "Well if I recall correctly, I was just following you, stupid," I say. We both just stare out at everything, not looking at each other. "I'd say that makes you pretty stupid too." I shrug.

"I know we shouldn't go back, but if this is the end I don't want to spend all my time cooped up in a bunker that looks like something out of a horror movie," Kobe says. Seems to me like he's both the brains and the brains of this operation. I guess that makes me the goofy sidekick. Yeah...no, probably just the sidekick part. "Fair enough. Honestly I don't really give a crap about anything right now. Lead the way," I say, motioning onward with a flick of my wrist. Kobe hikes his backpack farther up on his shoulders as if preparing for a dramatic movie-like hike through the horrific remains of our hometown.

"Which way are we headed?" I ask when he doesn't move right away. "Um," is the reassuring reply. "You forgot, didn't you," I say, a small, victorious sneer crossing over my lips. Sidekick, no--human GPS, yes.

"I remember. Follow me, buddy."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay bud."

"Rhys, I will not hesitate to beat you over the head with my backpack."

"Got it."

The journey back is considerably shorter, for whatever reason. I can't help but wonder what happened to everyone in the makeshift camp. Only bad things come to mind, so I try to focus on the bleeding colors of the sky. As the sun sinks down the horizon it leaves brilliant streaks of various shades of orange and pink and purple. The clouds remind me of cotton candy, which makes my stomach growl. My tongue yearns for sweet, empty carbs and it occurs to me I haven't eaten since my little bout of 'sickness', which is probably the longest I've gone without food.

My stomach growls again, protesting against my lack of nourishment. I resist as long as possible--currently the very thought of food is distinctly appalling--but Kobe eventually gets tired of listening to the pitiful moans of my empty digestive tract and insists we stop to eat. Sitting on a slab of concrete that was probably once a really cool, expensive building, we eat slowly. "You know, I've always wanted to go to Glasgow," I say thoughtfully, still staring up at the refreshing sky. "Wanted? As in past tense?" Kobe asks around a mouthful of God-knows-what. "Well I hardly think it matters anymore." He doesn't push me any further.

We finish our 'meal' (really just some assorted jerky, warm sports drinks, and whatever else we could find in our bags and shove into our mouths) in total silence. In the distance I can hear birds calling out, but their song carries a different tune than it used to; they sing fearfully to each other, calling out like worried soldiers on a battlefield, trying to make sure the others are still alive. After allowing our weary bodies a few more moments of rest I stand to clean up what little mess is left.

"We can't sit for five minutes?" Kobe whines, still sitting. I turn and glower as hard as I can. With a groans he gets to his feet and shuffles after me. The roads are shattered like sheets of black glass, so making any headway is a slow process. I clamber over fallen buildings, chunks of treacherous concrete, and avoid stepping on as much glass as possible.

Our neighborhood is now in sight. I would run, but I'd rather not fall into a gaping hole and I'm way too tired. Kobe starts walking faster, unaware of my sluggish pace, and I find myself speeding up to a light jog just to keep up with him. At first I'm just annoyed by his quick pace, but it doesn't take me long to realize the reason behind it. The big suburb is completely empty. There's nothing there, no sings of life--animal or human--except for a few lone birds trailing against the stark blue sky.

When we reach our cul-de-sac Kobe stops running and does a slow scan of his surroundings, fingers thoroughly entangled in his dark locks. "What the hell? How do that many people just disappear?" His voice is raw with distress, eyes wide with panic. Crap. We were so stupid to leave the bunker. So stupid to leave here in the first place. What's wrong with us? Oh, right; we're freaking teenage boys not forty year old survival experts.

The most pressure that we're accustomed to is meaningless now; schoolwork, social status, raging hormones, and girls used to be the center of our worries.

Was that paper due today?

I'm so unpopular.

Dude, look at that acne.

She's the hottest girl in school; look at that body.

The world is a cruel place, my fifteen year old mind a limited resource, my instincts dull from the lifelong comforts of modern American culture. My past life can't help me now, and neither can my present one.
But I'm not completely alone I have stories, although the words that slip off my tongue are all farces. But they are also just small tangle of secrets in a forest of lies. I know someday it'll all catch up with me, but right now my old facades are the only reason I'm alive. They can keep me going, keep me breathing. That's really all that matters.

If I can live without being alive for a short time, I will have the rest of my life to unravel the ratty mess that I've become.

There's a pulse on my wrist but my heart isn't beating.

And finally, finally. When I get to that place when the world stops shaking and I can stop running, the lies will untangle. The forest will thin, a road will unfold. A road out of here; perhaps to Glasgow, perhaps to hell, perhaps right back to the beginning, where I started before this mess.