Hazeline

Tyken stepped onto the balcony, taking in the morning sunlight. As usual, the sky was undercast.

Tyken couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the earth through the haze, as he had often seen during the storms of his youth. Now, storms didn’t even blow across the land, despite the fact that this city had once be renowned for them.

According to the locals, it had once been known as Cargo, said with an odd accent. At least, that’s what he had been told when he arrived. Now, only a handful of residents remained behind, providing a temporary respite for the rare travelers that passed through on their way to the east, to the Network. Travelers like Tyken had once been.

Sighing, Tyken stepped back inside for something to eat. As he walked, he idly played with the half-heart locket in his fingers. It was the only personal item he kept on him, and one with which he would never part. He had already lost one half of his true heart, and he would not relinquish the only piece of Jordan that remained.

A few diminutive people huddled in a corner of the kitchen when Tyken arrived, sitting on black chairs with spider-like legs. The strangers stopped whispering as he approached, studying him with nervous eyes.

“Oh, don’t frighten the newcomers, Tyken,” a rough, guttural voice sounded from around the corner, “you’re only the second human they’ve seen in weeks!” A petite man with a thin frame that seemed to contradict his gravelly tone popped his head into the room, then strode forward with a plate of peanut butter sandwiches.

Tyken chuckled as he saw the twinkle in the little man’s eyes. George had taken him in just a few short years ago, and in that time Tyken learned that the man’s optimism could not be stymied, even in the face of certain, inevitable doom.

“Here,” he said more quietly, turning back to the small group in the corner. “These are for you.”

Eyes seemed to bulge out of sockets when they looked down at the platter in front of them.

“Are…” the tallest one began to whisper, though she was only stood a half-head above George himself, “are… you sure?”

“Yes,” George said, smiling. “They’re yours. No strings attached. And I have more ingredients in the back, if you’d like more once you’re done with those.”

With careful hands, the woman reached out and delicately picked up a sandwich, holding it as reverently as she might a newborn child. She slowly pulled the sandwich to her lips, still in obvious disbelief that someone in this wretched place still gave freely to others.

After her first bite, with a look of pure contentedness on her face, she turned to her companions and nodded slowly to the others. It was only then, when they each reached out their hands in turn, that Tyken noticed this was not a group of short people; they were a group of children. The woman, the matriarch of the group, looked not much older than Tyken. But the other four members were all clearly younger than sixteen. The smallest member, a young boy who turned to the corner to enjoy his newfound feast, couldn’t be more than ten years old.

Ten, Tyken thought with a chill. So young. So innocent. He has known nothing but the haze.

Of course, the latter could be said of Tyken.

His father claimed to remember a time before the brownish-yellow haze covered the ground, but that had always seemed like a stretch to Tyken. By the time Tyken was twelve, the hazeline was already taller than most buildings outside of major cities, and it had only risen since then.

Now, thirty years later, the haze had enveloped the whole earth, leaving only the tallest of places out of reach — places like the 99th floor of this nameless tower that rose perhaps 50 feet about the hazeline.

George approached Tyken, the smile gone from his lips.

“You know what this group means,” the short man said with a downcast look.

“Yes,” Tyken whispered in response, “I’ll go get my gear.”

“You don’t have to go, Ty,” George quickly said. “We can try to wait a little while longer, perhaps see if another care package arrives and —”

“George,” Tyken said, placing his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders, cutting him off, “we both know that no one is sending any more supplies. It’s already been months since the last welfare crew came, and the pilot said he didn’t know when someone would be able to bring more.”

“I know, I know,” George said apologetically, looking at his feet as he spoke, “but I still feel bad asking you to scavenge down there. It’s dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than starvation,” Tyken retorted, cracking a smile despite the grim nature of their discussion. George looked up and let his own smile reform, a gleam returning to his eyes. With a gentle pat on George’s shoulders and a nod to the matriarch of the new group, Tyken turned and left the room to gather what he needed for the descent into the haze.

An hour or so later, Tyken clipped into the pulley rig, which could slowly lower him down the ground below, and stepped into the empty elevator shaft. Spinning around to face George, he raised a thickly gloved hand to his forehead in a clumsy salute. George returned the gesture, making sure to stand as tall as his diminutive stature would allow in order give the proper air of confidence to the children peeking in from the hallway behind. Tyken rolled his eyes through his mask, smiling to himself. George couldn’t help but try to impress others.

“May God protect you until you transcend,” George said, turning his hand from a salute into a raised fist with the thumb tucked under the index finger, the sign of his faith. Transcendentalists like George believed that everyone would eventually transcend from a mortal human into an immortal being who could breath the haze and travel the skies. Sighing, Tyken did the same, despite having no religious inclinations himself. He would let himself show the sign to George, though, if only to give the man courage.

Tyken released his fist and, grabbing the large box above his head, pressed down the large red button to engage the pulleys. With a quiet groan, the mechanical system lurched into motion, lowering him down to the ground floor below. Within just a few stories, he entered the haze.

As he descended, he thought on his childhood, learning about how the haze. It had appeared without warning, pouring out of a solitary crack in the ground in a place they now called Death Valley, the name likely resulting from the emergence of the haze itself. Of course, in the early years, the haze wasn’t deadly, or at least no more deadly than any other pollutant. The Death Valley origin must have followed the arrival of the monsters.

Suddenly, Tyken’s feet struck hard stone, snapping him back to the present. He instinctively released the button, preventing the machinery from pushing him all the way into the ground. Then, unclipping his carabiner, he quietly stepped out of the elevator shaft and into the hazy streets of Cargo.

Down here on the ground, the haze felt less like mere smog and more like a thick blanket of oppressive darkness, blocking out nearly all of the light from the sun shining far above in the sky. When Tyken had first wandered these streets, aimlessly, without any particular destination, George had found him. He had brought Tyken to the tower, one of the few still tall enough to break through the hazeline. The sunlight had saved him that day, saved him from the emptiness that consumed his soul, the emptiness of loss, of a life without purpose.

If only Jordan had survived long enough to see the sky.

Tyken turned and walked east, or at least the direction he thought was east. To the east was a lake, and as long as he knew where the lake was, he could find his way through the maze of crumbling towers and battered building back to his refuge, the last place where he felt any sort of peace.

The haze felt thick around him, thicker than usual. Through his masked head, he thought he heard scratching on either side of him, but despite looking around, he couldn’t see anyone — or anything. He continued onward, knowing that he couldn’t rely on his sense of hearing through the fabric that protected him from the haze.

While the haze was breathable, it wasn’t healthy; one could tell that just by looking at it. Tyken thought anyone could go their whole life breathing it in without any side effects beyond the occasional cough, and he had been right, for a time. He had traveled hundreds of miles on foot through the haze, breathing it in, all the way from the Pacific Ocean to this place, far to the east. He had traveled in search of the Network, the colony that lived above the haze, and Jordan had traveled with him, breathing in the same air, taking the same steps, living the same, simple life.

Unfortunately, the haze took Jordan's last breath just days before reaching Cargo.

Tyken stopped, reaching his gloved hand to the half-heart that hung around his neck. He tried to stop tears from welling in his eyes as memories came back to him of a happier time. Just he and Jordan, traveling the haze, conquering the world. He clung tightly to his last remnant of his lost companion, closing his eyes against the pain. Then he breathed out deeply, releasing the pendant from his grip. Today was not about mourning; today was about finding food for the family above.

His eyes opened, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

A group of humanoid figures stood in the haze, their pale, flaking flesh pulled tight across emaciated bodies. They surrounded him in a motionless group, completely blocking any exit. Their heads were all cocked to one side or another as they gawked at him with faceless expressions. Or rather, they gawked at him without faces.

Tyken had never seen a monster up close before, but now, frozen in shock, he could see why they were considered the things of nightmares. In place of a face, these monsters had a blackened, hollow cavity. Staring at the approaching monster, Tyken thought he could see small divots where the eyes, nose, and mouth should be.

Tyken looked down into the monster’s outstretched hand, and his heart nearly stopped again.

There, wrapped around the monster’s spindly fingers, was a golden chain with a half-heart pendant hanging from the end. Jordan’s pendant. His other half.

It dangled lazily in the haze, just inches from Tyken’s face. He removed his mask to get a better look, stunned at the sight, not even noticing the second monster approach from behind until its hands were already gripping his skull.

The second monster began to squeeze. Pain surged through Tyken’s head, flashing white across his eyes, and causing him to scream. He knew his life was about to end.

Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. Tyken fell to his knees, vision swimming as he clung to his own half-heart. With blurred sight, he saw the first monster kneel before him, reaching its hand toward his.

Tyken released his grip, letting his half swing out. The two halves snapped together, completing the heart-shaped locket. Two halves of a whole, together at last.

The kneeling monster leaned forward as he looked up into the black, empty cavity of a face. Suddenly, its inverted shape seemed to make sense, and he knew this was how it had to end. Quietly, Tyken closed his eyes and let the blackness consume him, and he transcended.