The Ones Who Remember

She'd forgotten him, and in that he'd lost everything.

“Get away from me!” She screamed, writhing against his athletic arms as he secured her ties to a seat. He had to move quickly if this was going to work. As he tightened the last knot her eyes twitched between his face and the iodine sky. Three days ago she at least remembered his face, but now? He was lucky if she noticed he was breathing.

A shrill whistle pierced the air of the burnt down city, marked by a new streak of red smoke in the sky.

“Shhh. It will be over soon.” He covered her mouth against her wide eyed objections. He was lucky the windows had been blown out, it was going to be rough enough without having to worry about shattered glass. At his touch her eyes rolled back as her breathing returned to normal, just as his own spiked. A boom in the distance marked another bomb, vibrating the metal shell around them. They sent two? Why the hell would they use two? He set his jaw as he counted, letting each number pass as another silent prayer. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

And then it came.

The ground rolled toward them like a giant rippling wave of pavement and ruin. With a crack the van launched up in the air. He held an arm around Eres’ frail form and another around one of the seats, feeling a jolt as it landed again. The steel frame cracked against his skull just as he was tossed against the steering wheel. Eres shouted curses as they were thrown around inside the old car like bull riders at a rodeo. It pitched again and again, his muscles stretched thin as he fought the shifting momentum.

And then, like an untimely death, stillness came. The van settled onto its side as the rumbling of crumbled stones and red dust faded into the distance.

Throbbing pain flooded his head from where the impact had been, but instead of checking he rushed over to Eres, pulling her up. She moaned, fresh blood dripping from her head and lip. It was a rough take, but far from life threatening. Far from the nightmare she already had to deal with. All things considered, they should celebrate that they weren't buried under two dozen feet of debris.

“You okay?” He asked.

Her eyes rolled around like billiards on the table, spittle dripped from her mouth.

“Ten more miles till we reach the cure, love. We’re already halfway through south county if you can believe it.” He shielded his brassy eyes with rough fingers, straining to make out the street between the collapsed buildings.

She didn’t respond, and he knew better than to expect her to. But he owed it to her to talk, at least a little. It would make all this easier.

It was early morning, the winds not yet fierce, the sky grasping to that lovely shade of yellow, and red smoky streaks hung about wherever their rockets had flown. He took a deep breath from behind his mask, dust caked across the front in a way that filtered intentions of safety more than anything else.

Every morning had been the same for the week since he left their shelter. He packed their bedding, checked her restraints, and prayed that no one would find them.

He chuckled, he didn’t need to check the ropes, not really. If there was anything years of fishing with his father had taught him it was how to tie a knot. And how to wait. Two things that came in handy more often than he felt comfortable admitting.

He pulled her creaky cot out of his poor excuse for a bunker, almost laughing at the sight. How did they make it out unscathed? The large van, once the pride and joy of a dead stranger, was now round on every side, like someone had rolled it into a giant steel and plastic burrito. Minutes before the streets had been filled with roofless walls and decrepid buildings. Now the entire town, its history, its people and its passions were little more than a leveled pile of bricks and sheetrock.

He took one more look at the van. They should be dead. Something he found himself saying daily at this point. Somedays he wondered if he ever should have left their shelter, risking everything for the cure. He shot a nervous look at Eres' vacant face. She was calm, almost serene, washing a sense of peace back over him. He would do it all again in a heartbeat, something he was beginning to think were running in short supply.

He always thought it would be bombs, or famine or nukes that got them in the end. But the invaders didn’t have to try nearly that hard. After the fanatics, after all the shelters and food shortages, the only thing they had to target was their memory. Signals from their satellites fuzzed your brainwaves and poof, you forgot everything. Cars crashed, people starved, and friends attacked each other. Of course they still used the bombs, though he could never understand why, and he wasn’t interested in understanding them. They were animals. Monsters who wanted what he already had.

His bones groaned as he laid her against a fresh pile of debris. Raw skin crept around her wrists and ankles where the ropes held tight. Something more severe sat under the rope across her chest, her favorite blue fringed blouse now covered in a wetness he didn’t need to investigate.

His fingers went to adjust his foil helmet out of habit, the worn leather clasp something he was particularly proud of. Even he didn’t expect the foil to work, but in the end it was the one thing that made the difference between life and death. Between remembering and forgetting everything. Even the ones you love.

But instead of the clasp all his fingers found was open air.

He shot back to the van, crashing into the seats as he stumbled through the open windshield. A small, crumpled piece of tin foil with a leather strip lay in a crushed pile on the floor. He snatched it up, pulling it back apart, dropping his heart into his stomach. A two inch gash marked where his head hit the wall. He patched it with tape in an instant and smashed it back on his pounding head, his mind racing.

It had only been off for a minute, that wouldn’t make a difference right?

His hand started shaking, a rogue tear forming in his eye. They were so close, why now? After everything they'd made it through, would it really end like this?

Eres would know what to do. She always did.

He took a deep breath and looked over at her, sitting there with a smile on a glazed over face, a brass locket dangling lifeless around her neck. There was no doubt, she’d be dead without him. He had to do this. They were close enough that they could still make it before it set in. And he could be cured just like she could. He had to hold onto that. It would work.

When he slipped back out to the ruined street he tried distracting himself by humming one of the old bar songs, its bouncing rhythym keeping him positive as he checked on Eres. Her helmet was loose, as always. He tightened it, avoiding the ache forming in his chest. If only she’d worn it like he did none of this would have happened. She’d still remember him, and they could wait out the genocide in the caves near Riverwest like they’d planned. But of course not, she was stubborn as a mule, doing the opposite of anything he told her to. Usually it was for the better.

Smooth, coffee colored eyes stared back at the sky with an unblinking resignation. She was as beautiful as ever, the reddish hue of her skin and perfectly arched nose almost what caught him in the first place. Or at least that’s what people thought. But those were nothing compared to her stubborn wit, the way she picked and prodded at his triggers till they burst into colors. It was how she talked like she was cast in an old movie, and how she winked whenever she thought she was being witty. He still couldn’t believe she chose him, not when Ben Abbot had her in his sights. But now Ben was dead like everyone else from Riverwest. And now he was blessed to pull the last thing that mattered through shattered streets.

A hot wind blew rogue strands of hair out of her bun, laying them against sightless eyes. He brushed them off, tying them back, marveling at how the brown was winning the war against streaks of blond she’d dyed. Even like this she could take his breath away. God she was something.

Their fire was small enough to heat the small pot of mint tea. Smokeless of course. He used to not risk even that much, but today was a special day. They were so close, if his charting was right they’d reach the beacon by nightfall. She’d be healed, and they could go back to surviving. Together.

“I never understood why you liked mint so much.” He said, mixing the last of their sugar with the steamy liquid, “Its like drinking toothpaste, and there isn’t even caffeine to make it worthwhile.” He laughed to himself, “Not that what I said ever changed your mind.”

“I’m late… I’m going to miss the song, and the candles…” She said, tugging at the ropes.

He took out a tin spoon, dipping it in the tea and blowing steam from the top, “Drink up.”

He held the back of her head, pouring the spoonful into her open mouth, letting it dribble down the sides of her smooth cheeks and onto her favorite blouse.

“Ah! I’m sorry, let me get that!” He cursed, using the patched edge of his shirt to soak up the driblets around her mouth.

“There we go. Now, all you have to do is relax, we will be there in no—“ He hacked, drops of blood disappearing into the red floor.

She didn’t move, and he didn’t bother to finish his sentence, a subtle chill working its way up his spine. One he pushed down before it had a chance to reach his sense of alarm.

He took the edges of the stretcher in his calloused hands, throwing a makeshift harness over his broad shoulders. Curtain rods and bicycle parts were screwed together in a way she’d be proud of, another one of his handy inventions. Even so, the bicycle wheels he’d salvaged fell off yesterday, leaving his wife’s feet dragging along the ground, each step biting more bits from the heels of her boots. Not that it would bother her, she stopped feeling pain a few days ago. One of the few blessings that came with the sickness.

He started the lone walk out of town with a grunt. Much of it was quiet save Eres’ boots dragging behind him and the sound of his heavy steps against the dry ground. The rush of the coming wind picked up amber dust, whipping it into small devils that circled and taunted him. He ignored the ache in his shoulders, instead focusing on the pleasant shade of the sun through the smog or the funny patterns of dust thrown about by people’s feet.

“Remember when Ben asked you to dance right after I did?” He said, passing a pile of torn papers caught on some rebar. Her breathing was hard to hear over his footsteps. “And you told him he could have the dance. I was furious, stomping about like a raging bull during the whole song. But then, like the great dove of peace herself you flew over and told me that was your last dance with anyone but me. I never wanted to kiss you so hard.”

“Where’s daddy?” She said, voice fainter than a few minutes before. “I want to go home.”

“Soon enough, love.”

She groaned, twisting against the restraints as he kept walking. He clenched his teeth and tried to sing an old bar song in his head to drown her out. He’d long stopped crying. That was for the saddest thing, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

__________________



“… It had expired a year before but you insisted, gave me three weeks of diarrhea but you didn’t feel a thing. You and that iron stoma—” He stopped midstep, his yellow eyes drawn up from his feet for the first time in hours. His chapped lips opened without a sound as his eyes fell on the town, just peeking over the dirt spit road. A dozen picture perfect houses crested a red, dusty hill, picket fences stained with mildew from years of watering. The national flag waved high above, filling his chest with a pride he’d nearly forgotten.

“You’ll never guess what I just found.” He couldn’t stop smiling, the light creases in his strong cheeks aching under the old expression.

She was quiet, not bothering to waste breath. Good, he thought, save it for your recovery.

He followed the footsteps through the red dirt, each step faster and lighter than the last, every crunch of the sand like the drumbeats of victory.

Until his feet began to slow as if on their own, like on their first date when he forgot his wallet. He stared at them in disbelief, then back to the town.

A town?

What were they doing here?

The thought flashed in his mind like a flare. Doing here? Of course they were… they were… damn it what had they come for? His back hurt. A lot.

He pulled something soft yet heavy off of his shoulders and set it on the ground. That was better.

With a yelp he jumped back, why was there a body on the ground? He crept closer, letting his eyes run on her hair pulled back into a bun, a rusted locket around her neck. She was beautiful. Why would someone tie her up?

He checked her pulse, but she was cold and empty as his cooler in the summertime. Probably dead for hours. He pulled the locket off, clicking it open.

A couple, young and too in love, stared back at him.

Where was Eres? She would know what to do right now. He touched his head out of instinct, leather straps tight. Too tight to be comfortable.

He took off his helmet, turning it over in his blistered hands “What in the world is this?” Foil flashed in the fading sunlight, a large tear crossing where his forehead would have been.

What an odd thing.

He dropped it on the ground next to the stiff body. He had to get away from here. He didn’t like dead things, not since his sister pranked him with that dead lizard.

With a sigh he sat down in the dust, rubbing the sores across his shoulders. Where did these come from? And where was his bed? He would love to sleep right now.

Two people, human people, approached him. They seemed fuzzy, and nothing like the pictures. Why had he been so scared of them? A small tear escaped his eye, falling down his cheek and into the red earth. The closer they came the more he felt like he’d lost something.

Eres would know.





A man in a blue uniform nudged the kneeling martian with a rifle, still grasping a rusted locket in white knuckled hands. The reddish creature swayed before mumbling in a language he couldn’t understand.

“I told you it would work.” The man said, adjusting an electronic instrument on his wrist, “A rumor was really all it took. They’ll come straight to you.”

“I owe you a drink.” Said a lean woman in a blue uniform, writing something on a holopad. “How many have come today?”

“Over a hundred.”

“Then it’s worth repeating. I’ll tell headquarters to make the same rumor near the other cities. And of course I’ll give you some credit.”

“Thank you m’lady.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“See you on the U.S.S. Lincoln?”

She nodded.

The woman walked back into her ship just as the man cocked his rifle and pointed it at the small, red tinged creature sitting in front of him, its eyes as soft and wet as his tea stained shirt.