Day 7: Continued

Keeping my eyes peeled for giant, man eating human hybrids, the trek across the city became more difficult with the torrential rain fall. Mud seeped through the cracks of asphalt, suctioning the bottoms of my boots to the ground. Each step was a workout in itself. Thunder bashed overhead, making me duck down as if something were to hit me.

The city of the Old World was unique, buildings climbing sky high, as if trying to break through the atmosphere. Were these the buildings people tried to make their lives in? So..spaced apart, so far from one another? Where was the community?

I ran the index finger of my left hand against the glass of a building with a sign on it that read "Wellroad Enterprise." It was cold, black with the mirror image of myself looking back at me. I didn't see myself enough these days--not recognizing the small freckles that had popped up over this past summer, or the light silver scar that...--something jumped above the head of my reflection, disappearing before I had the chance to turn around. Without hesitation I aimed and fired, blowing out the window just below where the thing was. Before I knew it, I was running towards the valley of homes--somewhere that felt safest to me. My heart yearned to return to my real home, where there was no protection because there was nothing to run from. Nothing to hide from.

I rounded the corner of the last street before my feet hit grass. Actual Old World grass, as tall as I was but it gave me shelter. I hit the mucky ground, mud clinging to my jacket like honey to a spoon. Holding my breath, I tried not to move for fear of the tall grass giving away my hiding spot.

Foot step, foot step.

One

more

heavy

footstep

and...

I'm up and sprinting across the valley towards the nearest house. While I wasn't 100% sure whether or not someone was behind me before, I was sure then. I had no idea who or what was following me: human hybrid, monster, some sick.....thing left over from the Old World, chasing me down to assure that I and all of my kind got the Old World sickness and became one of them! Right as the front of my left boot hit the bottom step, someone grabbed my free leg and jerked it out from under me. I lost my balance, smashing my head against the corner of the red brick stairs.

'Or maybe they were white,' I thought,
'Blood is red.'

I felt myself slip into a peaceful darkness, like in calm sea waters I drifted down to the bottom of my mind, lying comfortably amongst my thoughts. None of which had anything to do with my capture. Only once did I feel a pang of worry--when I opened my eyes to find a...soldier? following my captor from atop the buildings. He saw that I saw him and for a brief second I could've swore that he smiled, placing a finger to his lips, shhhh'ing me as a mother would to calm a hyper child. 

I don't think my mind could handle it all because I felt the cold chill of the water rise up to greet my stressed mind with open arms, the icy tendrils of relief ran across my forehead as real as anything I'd ever felt.

"Sleep..." He shhhh'd once more.
And I did.
-Jemma

Day 7: A Surprise Find

This next morning was hell. I woke up alone, which was a surprise because I could've sworn I went to bed with Marco. After convincing myself I didn't dream some lonely, desperate dream, I proceeded to fill the waste bin next to my bed with vomit and almost all of the alcohol I drank from the night before.

So it wasn't a dream.

I dressed quickly, layering my clothes on thick with several of my thin sweaters along with a thick jacket I picked up on my solo adventures. Wind whistled through the walls and, as if signaling that my attire wasn't enough, I shivered. The walk down the concrete stairs to the bottom was long and creepy--the building was eerily silent, compared to other mornings where the chatter of the men eating and drinking was enough to wake the dead. Coming into the lobby, though, I instantly knew what had happened. Miss Angie was lying in the middle of the floor, tucked into a sleeping bag, eyes closed as if she really was just sleeping.
    "What's going on?" I asked, pausing at the bottom of the steps to catch several of the men standing around her crying. All looked up; some to quickly wipe away tears, others to tell me the story through their eyes. But  no one said a thing, they didn't have to. Miss Angie was dead. Her white hair covered her face like snow; there was something oddly peaceful in the way Pastor Johnson knelt down and slowly brushed it away, the way he ran his fingers over her eye lids afterword. Marco was on the other side of the room--without hesitation I made my way to him.

    "Sleep well?" He asked, his dark circles making him look older than 21.
    "Why didn't you wake me up?!" I whispered but I let it be known that I was upset. He shook his head, his hair falling across his face. For once, he didn't push it back he just stared at the ground.
    "I didn't know what happened. I knew you'd have a hangover so I was going to go to the Quick-E Mart next door and see if they had a first aid kit. But I got outside only to find her...sprawled across the hotel steps...dead." He sat down, resting his head back against the wall. "I didn't want to come and wake you up like that. I didn't know how you'd react or you would've been the first person I told. I swear." Thunder cracked and lightning struck across the sky outside of giant glass hotel doors.

    "Well..." Pastor stepped towards Marco and myself. "I guess Marco told you?" I nodded. "We still have no idea how this could've happened. Did you hear her leave the floor last night?" Pastor Johnson sat across from but my head almost exploded.
    "Wait...what?" I scooted away from both of them, just slightly. "What do you mean how? Miss Angie was old," I chuckled nervously. "As sad as it is, it was her time." I shrugged. It wasn't that I didn't care, but I was just so use to losing people that I didn't allow myself to get as... devastated. Pastor looked confused.
    "Ah...Jemma, I don't know how to tell you this but, Miss Angie was murdered." Pastor said quietly, looking around to make sure he didn't draw attention to himself. I furrowed my brow together in frustration.
    "But...how? None of us could've done it. She...she was family to everyone. There has to be some other explanation. Our people aren't capable of something as....cold-blooded as--"
    "Jemma, we aren't the only ones here. There's a whole civilization of monsters out there." Marco said what the Pastor was too afraid to suggest. "A whole world of....things that got sick. Things that changed with the end of the Old--" I put my hand up, I'd heard the stories before. Mandy and I had exchanged back and forth our own little gossip we'd learned from the people in town and what she heard at school so I was very much up to date with the monsters of the Old World. I some times saw them--jumping from building to building, muted screams in the night, killing, pondering...disappearing. They were far from human, these....things, Marco had been right about that.
    "Typically they leave us alone. They're scared. So...why attack now?" As I said it, both Marco and Pastor averted their gaze. "What?! Something else you didn't tell me?" I shouted. Pastor stood up and excused all three of us, gripping his gun tight has he ushered us outside.
    "Jemma, these...things aren't afraid of us. They just haven't been able to find out where we've been staying when we come to resupply. They're night-dwellers. That's why we have a curfew here. And, if you ask me,  they're none too bright or they would've figured us out a long time ago." He shrugged, looking up to the dark clouds looming over-head. "We lose at least one person with every visit." He said it as if his words meant nothing.
    "Lose? Like...death? Lose like they just walk away and are never found? What kind of lose?" I demanded, squeezing my gun tighter. Pastor shook his head.
    "Some of both. Jemma, you have to understand, there was nothing we could do." He frowned.
    "You could've told the people! You could've told me." I urged. Maybe I was being dramatic but you can't just treat someone like your child then keep secrets as big as something like that.
    "And what, Jemma? Cause a riot on the island?" Marco stepped towards me and placed a hand on my gun strap. "Think about it: Pastor kept this secret for the well being of everyone on the island."
    "Did you know?" I looked up at him. He looked off for a second. That was all the answer I needed. I began to walk in the opposite direction of the hotel.
    "Where are you expecting to go?" Marco laughed, a smug smart-assed laughed that made me want to punch him right in the jaw.
    "Anywhere, Marco. From what I've just seen, our people aren't safe anywhere. So why should we run and hide from something the can get us where ever we go? I have an entire country to explore." I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. Pastor stepped past Marco.
    "Now, Jemma, you're just being silly. Come on. Lets get back in the building. It's getting ready to rain." He waved me in.
    "No. I'm going on a supplies run. I need....lady products." I rolled my eyes, turning around and running for as far and as long as I could. When I finally ran out of breath, I was on a street I had yet to explore.

Rx Drug Store, Manny's Dry Cleaning, a Jewish Temple, many places we didn't have back on the island. The few people of ours that were still religious had their own hut for Sunday worship. Neither my sister nor my mother were religious and, as for myself, I have no reason to believe so...I don't. I respect those that do, though. Who still have hope he'll come back. Those are truly strong people.

Not too far in the distance, maybe a couple blocks over, there was a skyscraper. As shiny and mirror-like as I remember; taller than it appeared from the island.
    "I've got to get up there." I spoke to myself while squinting to see the top. Unless I was seeing wrong, that building went straight up into the clouds. Tall enough for a good view of the Old World; it's vast rolling hills, small farms, maybe even Old World houses.

It took 20 minutes to get to the building and an hour and a half to climb the flights and flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I regretted even leaving my hotel room. But the view was well worth it--to the back side of the building was rows and rows of Old World houses, it was bittersweet in the sense that they would never be filled with families ever again. Families laughing over dinner together or lovers embracing after a long day of work or school.

Part of me stopped and wondered: had those homes ever been looted for supplies?

-Jemma

  

Day 6: I Didn't Die

Roaming these streets make me want to cry. Seeing the lives the people of the Old World had built for themselves. Imagining thousands upon thousands of people everyday roaming these same streets I did today; with children, working, searching for meaning in the world. Except...they weren't. Well, they aren't any more.

I think that's about the saddest thing in the world.

I just about jumped out of my skin when someone knocked at my door.
    "Pastor Johnson said no ones allowed on this floor." I called out, pulling the covers up over my chest. But the door opened anyway. Marco. I'd not seen him since he abandoned me after the bunny incident. I don't know if it was the sight of my weak stomach or just me being weak in general that made him leave like he did but I didn't realize just how mad I was until I saw his face. "Get out..." The only thing I could get out before he was on his knees beside my bed apologizing.
    "I shouldn't have left." The room grew tense, quiet. He took both of my hands in his; they were warm, not cold and clammy like mine. "I'm sorry." He whispered, stomach against the edge of the bed, my knees touching either side of his chest.
    "I..." I started, but stopped as his lamp flickered out leaving us in almost complete darkness--besides my oil lamp on the other side of the room. His breathing was heavy, his breath smelled of peppermint and a hint of peaches. This made me smile, his love for Old World food. It was only until he pulled out a bottle of peach flavored vodka that I understood. The way he looked...so desperate. He was drunk. I pulled away.
    "No, I swear I just sipped it. I swear. I brought for you. Taste it." And I could see the truth in his eyes, the care. The finding of something lost, precious. And I realized what he was asking.
    "No. I can't. I've seen what kind of people drink this stuff. What it turns them into. They become mean. Men, they become monsters and women...whores. I will not be someone I don't recognize." I crossed my arms to show that I would not be moved on the matter. Instead of insisting, like I expected, Marco climbed on to the bed with me, rubbing dust off of the knees of his pants.
    "Well, Miss Recognition," he joked, "What do you do?" When he saw the disgusted look on my face, he panicked. "No, no, no. God, I can't win tonight. I meant, like, in your spare time. Hobbies, whatever." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his out-grown hair. His left hand. Still wearing his wedding ring. Not that it mattered to me.
    "I raise my sister. We sing, we write, we look at the stars, at the city." I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment, talking about myself with a grown man. Talking of childish things to someone who's been around, who's grown up, who's loved before. While my only loves have ever been my mother and my sister and a world I just couldn't quite touch. But he looked like he wanted to delve into the deepest parts of me. The gleam in his eyes, the way his thumb stroked my hand, the way his attention never left me, the way he laughed when I was being funny or corny, the tears that he blinked away when I talked about Mom; the tears that were no doubt for his lost love.

Sometime during our conversation, he began sipping on the peach vodka. I did to, it felt natural--it's cold mouth to my own. I shivered but was immediately surrounded by a calming warmth. I felt like I was glowing from the inside, like I was almost weightless. I felt amazing. Before I knew it, the room was silent, as if he'd just came in all over again. I couldn't help but laugh, putting the bottle to my lips once again and making a face as the bitterness of the alcohol hit the back of my tongue. When I set the empty bottle on the floor, Marco looked impressed. I stared him up and down, unable to think of anything else to say except:
    "You're grown, you know." I gasped suddenly, covering my mouth. "I am so sorry...what I meant was--"
    "So?" He looked offended, staring off towards my oil lamp. "Mae was just a year older than you." If I hadn't just said the stupidest thing in the world, I wouldn't have heard him. But I was dumbfounded, speechless.
    "Look...I'm sorry. I just...I've never been with anyone. Excuse me if I'm a little put off by the idea. The horror stories of people like you. Who lose the ones they love and are never the same. Or the people who just...fall out of love? How do you do that? How does anyone deal with that?" As I said it, I realize I no longer sounded like myself. I sounded grown, more mature than I'd ever felt since turning 18.
    "Easy. You marry who's chosen for you. Who you'll mesh with best. Whoever's the likely candidate to take your seed, have your baby. It doesn't mean you hate them, but it doesn't mean you have to love them either." He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his jacket. Christ, how much did he bring? "There are people who don't get a choice, Jemma. Who didn't have a swarm of ladies knocking at his door." It was in that moment that I realize just how hard this "New World" was. Not just on him, but on everyone. Him, Mom, Miss Angie, my sister. My heart hurt. How many people had been forced together in this world just to keep the human race going? In that how Mom got with Dad? Whoever he was. Would that be how Mandy would have to live?
    "Why are you here then?" I asked, moving to him as he laid back on my pillows, looking up to the mirrored ceiling. 

    "Because you've got to keep hope, Jemma. Broken people are better together than alone." He sighed, closing his eyes, wrapping an arm around and under me.
    "I'm not alone." I yawned, nuzzling against his chest. It felt strange but...comfortable, the protection. It reminded me of Mom. Dead Mom. Then is dawned on me:

I am alone. We all are.
-Jemma

Day 4: The Buddy System

Pastor Johnson has agreed to let us go venturing, so long as we use the "buddy system." He said children that went to school in the Old Times frequently used this system at a young age to prevent wandering, time wasting, or getting lost on the way to places like the school restroom. It sounded helpful to him so he was enforcing it upon us. Pastor Johnson laid claim on Miss Angie while everyone else paired up. I looked around to find myself completely alone, our group ended up uneven.
    "Here..." Pastor Johnson moved forward.
    "No." Marco stepped up, waving Pastor back to Miss Angie. "She can be with us. A young girl like her shouldn't be left unattended, nor should a beautiful older woman like Miss Angie!" He charmed. Miss Angie blushed, gripping the curve of her walking stick harder to lean up and kiss Marco's cheek.
    "You're a sweet boy, Marco. You look after that little girl!" The smile she gave Marco was so sincere it made my heart break.
    "Oh, I intend to." He replied, only loud enough for me to hear as I passed by.

Together, guns facing forward but pointed towards the ground, we walked the streets of the Old World. Marco remained quiet and, despite the pounding of my own heart, the rest of the world did also. I was nervous, panicked, every little movement stopping me in my place.
    "Oh my God!" I screamed, seeing a small black figure out of the corner of my eye. Without thinking I cocked my gun and fired in the direction of the thing. BOOM! The gun went off, blood splattered every where, and the world was silent again. Marco mumbled something and laughed. It was only until the ringing in my ears stopped that I noticed what I killed.
    "It was a bunny." Marco laughed again.
    "I know what it was, you idiot!" I cried, covering my face as warm tears streaked down my cheeks. Once Marco saw me crying, he straightened up and moved towards me. "No...just...stay there." I leaned over the side of a rusty, parked car and cried so hard I threw up. Marco stepped to me again. "No...just back the fuck off, Marco. Seriously." I continued to cry alone; I could hear his steps fading as he left me. When I finally regained my composure, I wiped my mouth and continued my explorations.

So much for the buddy system.
-Jemma

Day 3: The Sickness & a New World Adventure

Pastor Johnson said the sickness was avoidable. He told me that after Mom passed. He said the people of the Old World were fat and lazy, couldn't take their eyes off of their phones and computers for five seconds. On the island, we don't have fat people. We don't have big people, unless they're pregnant, which is seldom. And no technology, really. All we have is what our government controls and that isn't much. But apparently the people of the Old World had a lot; phones that can write what you say, touch-screen computers, games without controllers. I'm not sure why people had a need for those things but it kept them pretty busy. So busy they didn't noticed their kids playing with the sick or the dead in the street, so busy they didn't notice the signs the Old World government told them to look for with the sickness, so busy they didn't notice they were dying.

Once the sun was up, the Old World became more intimidating. In the dark you couldn't see the streets upon streets upon streets. How did people navigate this place?! I'm so use to being on the island where everything is just....there. But here, the Old World is open. Finding Wal-Mart was easy for Pastor Johnson, I guess because he's been here before. If I had to walk through by myself, however, I most definitely would have gotten lost. Turns out Wal-Mart was a pretty useful place, back then and now. They had some canned food, not much, though.
    "This is canned fruit." Pastor Johnson showed me. The can was yellow and orange with brightly colored fruit in a syrup-y looking juice. A hand reached between us and jerked the can out of Pastor Johnson's hand. It was Marco, a widower who lived across from Mandy and me, and he popped open the can before either of us could say anything.
    "Oh wow...that's sweet." Marco gasped for air, passing the can of fruit to me. "Here, try it." He wiped his mouth. I looked to Pastor Johnson for some notion of anger. He laughed and nodded for me to go ahead. I pressed the cold can against my lips and let the chill fruit slide down my throat. It was tender to the bite but still had the firmness of a freshly picked...what was that? It was soft, kind of tangy.
    "It's a peach." Marco said, watching my eyes investigate the outside of the can for some answer as to what this amazing new discovery was. He smiled, a side ways, dimpled smile as I handed the can to Pastor Johnson.
    "No. You keep it. It's your first can of food from the Old World, enjoy it!" Pastor Johnson insisted. I squealed with joy but quickly silenced myself at the sight of Ol' Miss Angie sitting on the floor, holding her stomach.
    "Miss Angie..." I said loudly, handing her the fruit can. "Look what we found! Here, eat some." She didn't hesitate. I knew the hunger pains she was having, feels like someone is in your stomach, raking at your insides. It looked like it helped her a little, I hope so anyway. She has a handicapped daughter at home and if  Miss Angie doesn't return, who'll feed her? Who'll watch after her?

What's going to happen if I don't return? Will there be someone to take care of Mandy?
-Jemma

Day 2: Boat Ride & First Impression of the Old World

Thick fog covered the water around us and obscured our vision for the first 30 or so minutes of the ride to the Old World. I almost regretted leaving my wind breaker with Mandy because my skin goose pimpled in the cold night breeze. Not like it would've helped much anyway. There was a big rip on the back of the left arm from where Mom had found it stuck under a pile of wood in the Old World during her first trip there. She was sick of me freezing my butt off on the way to the school house so she grabbed it. When she did, because she didn't realize how fragile it was, it ripped. Not bad, just a 3 or 4 inch long tear, easily fixable. The only problem was: I never stopped wearing the thing! I loved it so much. It was the deepest shade of purple I'd ever seen and my mother had gotten it for me so I didn't want to let her effort go to waste.

Right when I was about to curl into a ball to keep myself warm, Ol' Miss Angie--our elderly next door neighbor--placed an extra blanket around my shoulders. I could feel her body heat under the blanket, she'd been using it as a cushion to sit on.
    "I'll be fine. I'll have enough yarn from this visit to make blankets for the whole town." She smiled to herself, squinting through her thick bottle-cap glasses up at the moon. Through the fog, it glowed brighter than any of the towns street lights. I wondered what it looked like from the tops of the Old World buildings. Some of them are tall, I know because I've seen them from where we live. Mom left behind telescopes for Mandy and me, and sometimes--when I knew everyone was asleep--I'd point them all towards the city, towards different areas. Towards homes, stores, the beach shore, towards those shiny mirror buildings. They can say what they want about the Old World, about the monsters left there, but no one can deny it's beauty.

Without realizing it, I fell asleep leaning against Miss Angie's leg. She woke me up when we hit the shore of the Old World. A city stretched over us, some of it with small vines growing up it's sides, some of it untouched. Our party leader, Pastor Johnson, handed everyone their guns and plenty of ammo to keep us busy for the next couple of weeks. He said to check the local "Wal-Mart" for any other supplies we needed, but to go in pairs if we decided to go tonight. No one volunteered when I asked if they wanted to come with me so I gave up and followed everyone to the hotel for the night.

Apparently a lot has changed since Pastor Johnson last visited the Old World. He said this hotel we're staying in is getting worse with each trip. He has deemed the top two floors too dangerous for sleeping, so we get our pick of rooms on any of the other eight floors. Other than Miss Angie and me, it's all men, so we get a whole floor designated to ourselves. Whether it's me and her on one floor, or on separate floors, no man is allowed there with us. Pastor Johnson made that rule more for me than for Miss Angie. He pulled me to the side and told me so.
    "You're...growing up. You're a very beautiful young lady. Though I trust our people, sometimes men...make bad decisions. Women do too, don't get me wrong. But men can be...monsters and with the way things get when times are tough, they sometimes get desperate. So, here's some extra ammo from my pack." He handed me a little pink fanny pack. "Now you wear this all the time. If you feel like someone or something is coming after you or that someone's going to hurt you, don't you hesitate to load that gun and blow someone's fucking head off." I took the pack of ammo and wrapped it around my waist. The way he said it was funny but I didn't dare laugh because I knew he was serious. Pastor Johnson helped raise my sister and me so I know he only cusses when he's being straight.

I picked the eighth floor as my own, climbing in bed right as the sky began to light up. In every other room on the floor, there's mold growing through the ceiling. I'm glad I listened and stayed away from the top two floors. The only room where the mold is unnoticeable is the master suite on the eighth floor. It has wall to wall mirrors, even ceiling mirrors. I'm not exactly sure what you'd need a mirror on the ceiling for but I imagine it's a girl thing.

We were each handed a can of disinfectant Pastor Johnson got from the check-in desk in the lobby of the hotel to sanitize our beds and sheets with. He said he doesn't want us getting the sickness. I knew he felt bad talking about it because he looked away when he talked about a woman, after the last trip, getting sick from an unsanitary bed and dying on the ride back.

Needless to say, I sanitized the bed as best I could before climbing in it and drifting off into a deep, uneventful sleep.
-Jemma

Day 1: Leaving the Island

I tugged my ripped windbreaker over Mandy's frail body.
    "Now, when it's cold outside like it is today, I want you to double layer your clothes and wear this jacket. You got me?" I looked her dead in the eyes. My hands shook as I gripped the zipper and slowly pulled it up, trying to avoid catching her soft, blond hair in the track. She looked back at me, just as serious and as scared.
    "You don't have to go. You can stay here. You don't know what's out there! What if you don't find food? What if you have to travel to find anything worth while?" She said with a quiver in her voice.
    "Then I'll do it, Mandy." I held her to me by the shoulders, pressing her head against my chest, trying to force the nervousness out of me and her.
    "It's not safe, Jemma!" She jerked away, roughly wiping at the tears that had began to streak her dirty face. Her bright green eyes made me want to remind her how our mother use to call her Mandy-Cat as a toddler. Those eyes and the fact that she use to meow every time someone went to take her picture was why mom loved her so much. But she wouldn't remember our mother that way and she wouldn't want to be reminded of her at a time like this. Especially since leaving the island is what killed mom in the first place.

They said there are monsters out there, the people left in the Old World. The only people that stayed behind when the sickness came through our area were the sick, the hard-headed, and the poor folk. Of course, we're all poor now. That's why our government (or what's left of it) is asking that at least one parent from each family leave to travel back to the Old World for food and other resources. They say, if we're lucky, we may be able to pick up other non-essential items. For Christmas. Mandy doesn't remember that either. We stopped celebrating it once our former "governor" came into office. He was a cold man and didn't approve of bringing any thing else that would create more trash on the island.
   "We have very limited space, as is!" He said, slamming his fist down on the public conference table when a parent tried to counter him. "It is a waste of time, it is a waste of gas, and it is a waste of space. I will discuss this silliness no longer!" And that was that. When we first came here, we had Christmas. We had all of the holidays. New Years, Valentines Day. We had fireworks for the 4th of July, eggs for Easter. We made every thing we needed to celebrate. But I guess because we celebrated so much, we didn't pay attention to our resources and slowly things began to run out. Chocolate, eggs, paper, black powder. The governor put a ban on unnecessarily cutting down trees and that pretty much killed Christmas for everyone. We had no gifts so the Tree Ban ended the holiday season permanently.

Tonight, after our final meal with the town, we hopped on 12 individual motorboats and, using what was left of our gas, we left the island. All or nothing.

God I hope we find something out there...
-Jemma