“…wake up, Blythe, wake…” I can’t. There’s a heavy weight on my eyelids, heavier than lost sleep. A pressure forces my eyes to the back of their sockets, paralyzed – dead. Every movement – every twitch of the eye – takes too much effort. I feel exhausted again already.
Slowly – painfully – I open my eyes to the bright blue sky. Everything is blurry, hazy. I’m tempted to just fall right back asleep.
“Blythe, you’re awake, so get up already,” Wasyl again. “We’re running out of time.” If I had the energy to, I would’ve been so jealous of his smooth voice.
“Leave me alone,” I rasp. Then, after a few moments of silence – careful not to get my hopes up – I ask, “Water?”
“No.” He cuts me off. I almost chuckle at our desperate state. Wasyl grips my shoulder. It only hurts because his fingers and my shoulder are so bony, not because he is strong. It’s hard to imagine a few weeks ago, we were strong. It only took a few weeks to melt our muscle right off. We’re barely tendons anymore.
It’s only been a few weeks, right?
Suddenly Wasyl squeezes my shoulder so hard I yelp. “Get up,” he growls. I get up. We’re both irritated and annoyed at this point.
I want to apologize, I really do, but no sound comes out. I feel like I might pass out any moment – my vision starts to flash black, like the old televisions back in the day. And I guess Wasyl understands, because I see his lips part, ready to say something to comfort me even though I don’t need it, I don’t want to admit I need it, but he never gets the chance to speak. Something echoes inside the hull, the sound bouncing off the dark, smoldering walls, traveling up to the surface where we are. But by the time it reaches us, it’s nothing intelligible. Just sound.
Still, it’s enough to make both of us feel sick.
“Think the door gave?”
Wasyl shakes his head. “No.”
He’s right. We both set those bolts in place. But that was weeks ago, when we were still strong.
My mind involuntarily creeps back down to the hold of the vessel, down into the sweltering darkness, down towards the bodies half burnt with sun and oil that tried to face the sewer that surrounds us. Their dying, choked breaths still haunt me. I can still remember them gasping for breath with their withered throats. Most of them should’ve taken their last by now.
“Who’s there?” My lips give in to fear, spattering blood with each word. Silence responds.
The noise grows louder, like creaking metallic joints coupled with irregular shuffling sounds. Wasyl acts like he’s not disturbed, but even I can tell he’s more antsy than usual. Preparing myself, I take a ragged breath, and step out to the hall. Wasyl takes a step towards me, and we both stare into the dark of the hold. We should hear them, but we don’t. When we see them, we know why.
Dried, rubbery skin stretches around their skeletal frames. Their teeth and bones protrude unnaturally against the bone just underneath their skin, and I can see their laced veins that struggle to pump blood bulge over foreheads and wrists and knees. And swollen, white tongues hang from parted mouths that inch towards us with malice and desperation.
They should be dead. Maybe they are. My body only runs after the zombies fling themselves from shelves, from the floor, from the ceiling – and like a jaguar stalking its prey, they have us surrounded.
Run. The only thought that flashes through my mind as my heart crashes against my ribs, every ounce of my body registering that I must move faster than I am now; I push my legs, urging them to go faster – and they do. My feet barely skim the floor as I dash towards the light. They won’t go into sunlight. They can’t. It would scorch the last remnants of their life if they do.
I hear a crash, and I know it’s Wasyl. And just like that they are on him like ants, their fingers tearing at him, their mouths trying to form that one word we’re all looking for.
Water.
But just then I hear it, the sound of blades cutting against the air as the craft begins to hover over the open deck. The chopper is here.
When my feet hit the untainted deck, my relief is cut all too short. A barricade of bullets sparks just in front of me, so close I can feel the wind they generate blow me back. I shield my eyes from the debris, and I hear the command of the generals to drop. My lips kiss the scalding deck beneath me as I struggle to watch the approach of black boots and the barrel of the rifles.
“Stay down.”
I do.
“Name?”
I answer him. He laughs at my excuse for a voice.
“Two years, wasn’t it?”
I nod.
“Reason?”
Unlawful Assembly.
I feel his boot slam into my back as he unloads the chopper. Rations. Food. Water. Nothing more.
They leave them in the center of the deck, then climb back inside the craft.
“See you in six months, kid.”
Slowly – painfully – I open my eyes to the bright blue sky. Everything is blurry, hazy. I’m tempted to just fall right back asleep.
“Blythe, you’re awake, so get up already,” Wasyl again. “We’re running out of time.” If I had the energy to, I would’ve been so jealous of his smooth voice.
“Leave me alone,” I rasp. Then, after a few moments of silence – careful not to get my hopes up – I ask, “Water?”
“No.” He cuts me off. I almost chuckle at our desperate state. Wasyl grips my shoulder. It only hurts because his fingers and my shoulder are so bony, not because he is strong. It’s hard to imagine a few weeks ago, we were strong. It only took a few weeks to melt our muscle right off. We’re barely tendons anymore.
It’s only been a few weeks, right?
Suddenly Wasyl squeezes my shoulder so hard I yelp. “Get up,” he growls. I get up. We’re both irritated and annoyed at this point.
I want to apologize, I really do, but no sound comes out. I feel like I might pass out any moment – my vision starts to flash black, like the old televisions back in the day. And I guess Wasyl understands, because I see his lips part, ready to say something to comfort me even though I don’t need it, I don’t want to admit I need it, but he never gets the chance to speak. Something echoes inside the hull, the sound bouncing off the dark, smoldering walls, traveling up to the surface where we are. But by the time it reaches us, it’s nothing intelligible. Just sound.
Still, it’s enough to make both of us feel sick.
“Think the door gave?”
Wasyl shakes his head. “No.”
He’s right. We both set those bolts in place. But that was weeks ago, when we were still strong.
My mind involuntarily creeps back down to the hold of the vessel, down into the sweltering darkness, down towards the bodies half burnt with sun and oil that tried to face the sewer that surrounds us. Their dying, choked breaths still haunt me. I can still remember them gasping for breath with their withered throats. Most of them should’ve taken their last by now.
“Who’s there?” My lips give in to fear, spattering blood with each word. Silence responds.
The noise grows louder, like creaking metallic joints coupled with irregular shuffling sounds. Wasyl acts like he’s not disturbed, but even I can tell he’s more antsy than usual. Preparing myself, I take a ragged breath, and step out to the hall. Wasyl takes a step towards me, and we both stare into the dark of the hold. We should hear them, but we don’t. When we see them, we know why.
Dried, rubbery skin stretches around their skeletal frames. Their teeth and bones protrude unnaturally against the bone just underneath their skin, and I can see their laced veins that struggle to pump blood bulge over foreheads and wrists and knees. And swollen, white tongues hang from parted mouths that inch towards us with malice and desperation.
They should be dead. Maybe they are. My body only runs after the zombies fling themselves from shelves, from the floor, from the ceiling – and like a jaguar stalking its prey, they have us surrounded.
Run. The only thought that flashes through my mind as my heart crashes against my ribs, every ounce of my body registering that I must move faster than I am now; I push my legs, urging them to go faster – and they do. My feet barely skim the floor as I dash towards the light. They won’t go into sunlight. They can’t. It would scorch the last remnants of their life if they do.
I hear a crash, and I know it’s Wasyl. And just like that they are on him like ants, their fingers tearing at him, their mouths trying to form that one word we’re all looking for.
Water.
But just then I hear it, the sound of blades cutting against the air as the craft begins to hover over the open deck. The chopper is here.
When my feet hit the untainted deck, my relief is cut all too short. A barricade of bullets sparks just in front of me, so close I can feel the wind they generate blow me back. I shield my eyes from the debris, and I hear the command of the generals to drop. My lips kiss the scalding deck beneath me as I struggle to watch the approach of black boots and the barrel of the rifles.
“Stay down.”
I do.
“Name?”
I answer him. He laughs at my excuse for a voice.
“Two years, wasn’t it?”
I nod.
“Reason?”
Unlawful Assembly.
I feel his boot slam into my back as he unloads the chopper. Rations. Food. Water. Nothing more.
They leave them in the center of the deck, then climb back inside the craft.
“See you in six months, kid.”
