Ashes Upon the Wind

Sleep entangles me. Unable to arouse any desire to proceed with daily life. Daily? I don’t even remember what day it is, doesn’t even matter at this point. Dates, times, months, hell years aren’t relevant since the reset. The red light is dim outside, must be near dark. I shift to see the one thing that matters to me, my wife’s heart shaped locket, which always hangs in the small window above the foam and cardboard that is my bed. I sniff a good dose of ‘the mix’ and off again I go to the darkness and creation of any world I can lucidly fabricate.

Outside, the world is ash and cinder, bare bones and decayed flesh, scalped mountains, flayed trees, and red sky. In day it is a dark umber red, mean gusts of wind whip around the remains, regurgitating them. The night brings out the mutated animals and unhumans hunting under the maroon sky as green and silver auroras dance on the edge of the cosmos.

Day again. Why am I still alive? I force my eyes open. On the wall, my prize for not ending it all, the morning sun’s red beams entrance Anne’s locket in the window, left open to the hologram slide inside. I weep staring at the ghostly three-dimensional image of Anne and I at the mountain lake. I am sullen and joy filled all at once, remembering her smell and touch, the glisten of her eyes, her sweet breath, and how she quickly decayed before my eyes, in my arms, the sound of her flesh as it blows away. I lay there breathless, pillow soaked with tears and sweat, the sound of it heard in my memory remains, flapping like a bird. Frozen of fear and languish, I lay there, engrossed in the new sound my mind has created, memories of birds, leaves, book pages in the wind.

The wind? An acrid and toxic smell of outside life burns into my

nostrils, my surreality snaps to, I see my journal flapping in the breeze that has encroached my capsule. I pounce up only to the realization of pain in my gut and stiff limbs. I fall on the floor onto one knee which cracks sickeningly on the cement. Nevertheless, I absorb the blow, the rip of my gut wound and searing of my sinuses from the nuclear wind, to grab a prepared mass of Carbo Paste and Sliver threaded clothe to cover the hole which had formed in the wall adobe. I hold it there coughing and wheezing I reach over with my free hand to grab the Cryo spray to set the patch. I cannot reach the cannister, it’s mere inches away. Pivoting on my arse, I swing my legs up and round to kick the Cryo toward my hand and I then see my blood-soaked knee, glass shards and debris in it. I spray the patch, and all is well, for now. I lay there for a few moments before I get up, to treat my irradiated knee and check my exposure levels.

Slowly chewing on a refresh bar, I stare at my swollen wound sprouting the dark blue jagged lines of veins. In my feverish state it seems like I witness them move through my skin, cutting a new path like the Colorado river through the Grand Canyon. It’s been a day and a half since the breach, I struggle to contain the infection on my knee. The radiation contamination has reached my brain, I know I am not making correct decisions but I still press forward with my plan to trek to the nearby hospital in hopes of some iodine and a device to reduce the radiation.

As I enter all that has happened in the journal, my hands cramp up on the small pencil stub. Sweat rolls down my forehead, I brush it off only to come away with hair. If I cannot get treatment, it will be nearly over for me. In my pack, by the door, I dig out a near depleted jar of calendula salve and various types of cloth I have collected. I wrap my arms, knees, and face like a mummy, cover my thighs and calves with carboard and duct tape, then I apply the salve to my upper face and fingers. Outside it is midday, the winds have diminished and are blowing in from the sea which will greatly reduce the incoming radiation. I peel off the tape from my door and exit my makeshift hostel for the first time in many months. The noxious air punches my throat. I close the door and curse. I had forgotten the damp cloth I use to cover my mouth a nose, protecting myself from breathing in the killing air.

Now properly clothed, I am out in the world, most of the debris is now gone, buildings have corroded, one has crumbled and fallen across the road a few blocks up, in way of my path to the hospital. This makes sense now, a month or longer ago I heard a loud boom one evening and thought nothing of it, for I was withered away on ‘the mix’. I now stand at the base of a ten-foot jagged section of the downed building; it will be far more difficult to circumvent this, I will have to climb the rubble.

I survey a safe trajectory when a loud bark comes from my side. I jerk and bring up my hands in defense, feeling as if the animal was right there, however the deranged nuclear mutt was at the corner, chained to a pole, it’s face burnt and whelped up with radiation, it’s hair mostly all gone, bloody drool streaming out of its lipless mouth, gnarling teeth and lidless eyes. I instantly feel sorry for him, what owner would have chained their dog to a pole? It surely could not have been here since the beginning, before the blast, that has been at least a year, perhaps longer. No, surely not. Then it hits me, this is an alarm, this dog was placed there within weeks of the present by someone, to alert them of intruders and prey. The dog barks again and I bolt upward climbing as fast as I can, block by crumbling block. I then realize I had been taking parkour before the attack, and it has instinctually kicked in. I jump and careen up the debris expertly. Now at the summit, I look down at two radiated unhumans slowly climbing after me, and one on the ground pointing a shotgun my way. Fire erupts from the muzzle and dive over the edge as shot hits my foot. I land on my hands on a steal beam and catapult sideways to plant and jump an alternate direction, before the pain hits me, I am on the street, crouched and ready. Nothing and no one are there. I run, with an increased stagger to the hospital at the next corner. I climb over the hood of a crashed Lincoln and into the broken glass door to make my way upstairs.

Into the dark hallway, I have found a crutch and some rebar for a weapon. I slowly approach one of the surgical rooms and find it in good repair, after entering, I lock and block the door. With the rebar, I pry open a medical cabinet, pull out gauze, sutures and medicines into a tray and head to a gurney. After much work, I have applied the radiation medicine and repaired my now blackened knee and lacerated foot. I sit up on the gurney, taking in ringers’ solution and drinking much needed water. My face and hands are badly burned, my left eye has crusted over, I have a splitting headache. I can only see mere inches in front of me, I hold Anne’s locket close to my right eye, focus on the details, trying to see the image of the hologram, barely able to read the inscription. I hobble over to a cabinet, opening a few drawers, the sight of an ophthalmoscope headband brings a rare smile. Turning to make my way back to the gurney, my bad foot tangles in the IV line and I fall, hitting my head on the open drawer.

I lie there in a pool of blood with gurgled breathing. Through the scope I cherish the locket image of myself and Anne, lamenting for this to be different, for us to be back at the lake, to be together, to have both died at the same time, holding one another, as the winds of time swept us away. I am very tired and fight with all I have, holding up my hand, so I can continue to look at Anne’s locket. I turn it to read the inscription. “Forever and a day, my love will stay”.

I cry blood.

My breath is caught in my throat.

I die.

Finally.