The October Light of August (26 page)

I backed away as I saw the flames begin to lick up from the basement and dig into the dry woodwork in the doorway. Another shot came through the window, and I darted to my left, keeping the bulk of the back steps between me and the window. I would have to run along the south side of the house quickly. I wasn’t sure if the guy would hear me crunching through the debris as I went, but I should be able to make it past the south window and out in to the front before he could fire through it.

I had to make it out of the yard, down the street and then east two blocks and into the parking lot unarmed and wounded. The sun had set, and I had never felt as naked as I did now. I peeked around the corner of the house, saw it was clear, spared one last glance inside to see the flames spreading higher, and then ran, pain lancing in my hand with every step.

I stood on the roof of the office building, and watched the world burn. I felt I should be playing a fiddle, and then dismissed the thought as a stupid analogy. The legend was reportedly bullshit anyway. Still, it was hard not to feel like an emperor from up here, and a little bit insane.

The house had went up in flames, and the trees in its back yard caught, spreading to dead grass and leaves in adjacent homes, and those went up as well. And on it went. Leaves, weeds and grass on the other side of the wooden fence caught a spark, it bloomed, and before long the fence was going up too. The parking lot, the oasis of asphalt, seemed to be keeping the fire free from reaching the office and retail complex, but the fire looked like it was spreading west and south.

I guess I didn’t think that through very well
, I thought.

I wondered at other possible survivors out there, ratted out of their hiding places and now homeless.
It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned before now.
But the thought didn’t fill any of the emptiness inside me. I had no tears, no laughter, no feelings. My hand throbbed mightily – I had doused it with rubbing alcohol and wrapped it with bandages. The bullet had gone clean through, but I had no idea if I would get an infection or not. It hurt, but I couldn’t even begin to worry about the ramifications of my left hand being crippled.

Four square blocks of homes were burning, with no indication it would stop. I tried to visualize natural breaks where it might die out, but I was tired and just could not do it. For all I knew it would burn all the way to the river. I bet it could be seen from down there and up on the South Hill.
Let them wonder at it
, I thought.

The dead were certainly attracted to it. More than I had ever seen in some time were gathered in the parking lot, milling around in a sluggish Brownian motion. I could actually see one in the middle of the conflagration, a walking torch grimly marching down the middle of a street. I wondered how far it could go, and if it would spread the fire even more. But it fell to its knees and then collapsed in the street, burning away like a dab of hot tar. The dead were drawn to the fire, but seemed to know to stay out of it. There were plenty that would get caught up in the inferno I was sure. I thought of Pink, and managed a tired smile.

Did it have to come to this?
I thought.
Did it have to be so extreme? Why couldn't I have let the prick just take out the damned dead guy and then go on his way?
The dead would have been attracted if he had started shooting, sure, but I could have handled it. I could have hidden until the Warrior and his far deadlier companion were gone.
Did it have to come this? Or did I just want to take my anger out on someone finally?
If so, I was as bad as the whole stinking lot of them.

It might freeze again tonight, maybe even dip into the twenties. I would have to spend the night up here, though. If the building caught fire, I would need to be out and not huddled up in my hidey-hole. I wasn’t sure how I could escape the notice of the dead constantly streaming into the area if I tried to leave. With one hand useless, guns didn’t seem so bourgeois now. Running home in the dark, there was no way I was going to search for the supplies of the warrior and his friend. I never heard any ammo firing off as the fire raged, so maybe their stash was not close at hand anyways.

I sat in a deck chair, bundled in a sleeping bag against the cold, and watched the sky glow red.

I awoke, startled, and coughed. The sun was a dim ball in a haze of smoke behind me. The sky had a yellow pallor to it with ash drifting out of it in black flakes. I struggled out of my sleeping bag and the chair. The immediate neighborhood below me smoldered, but the flames had died down there. 

To the west a massive wall of smoke rose to the sky. Clearly, the fire was still raging its way through the North Side. I stumbled over to the roof's edge and peered down into the parking lot. The dead still made their way across the pavement, but perhaps there were less of them. I moved along all four sides of the roof, and couldn't see any fires growing this side of the parking lot and alley. Dead were still wandering into the area from the east, north and south, but in the light of day they didn’t look so formidable. And they were slow, very slow. The below-freezing temperature had already taken its toll on them. Still, I had no plans to leave the building for awhile.

My hand felt like a brick, and I decided to take some more pain relievers. I wasn’t sure if I could ever summon the courage to inspect the hand thoroughly. I didn’t know what I could actually
do
for it. Tendons, bones, were shattered - that much was certain. I knew if I probed and prodded the wound I would pass out - I could deal with pain, but was damned squeamish with my own blood. Always have been. One thing I was sure of - if infection set in, I was done for.

I paused at the roof-top access to listen, and then unlocked the chain I had wrapped around it. I didn’t think any of the dead could have made it up this far since last night, but… I swung the door open silently, and listened. I heard and smelled nothing and began a careful descent to the sixth floor. Halfway down, the thought of trying to crawl up into my hidey-hole made me sick to my stomach.

Snowflakes lay on her shoulders, hair, eyelashes. They remained frozen and delicate, and gave Pink an appearance of royalty - an ice princess. Almost. If it weren’t for the filthy and stained tank top, and the sweat pants puddled around her ankles. I pulled the sweats up past her hips, embarrassed, and groped for the drawstring to tighten them up. Once done, I stood back and stared at her for a moment. I wiped her face thoroughly with sanitizing wipes, but it did little to make her look…better. Just a little less gruesome. Her skin was mottled and gray – the cold did not help its pallor, of course, and it was looking hardened, tougher. Her blue eyes were droopy and glazed. Something had fought like hell with her and gouges ran across her arms and her left cheek. She was thinner than when I had first seen her, but on the whole she wasn’t in awful shape. Other than being
dead
, that is.

I tried to suppress a spasm of coughing, lost, and spent a minute hunched over and gasping. Dragging Pink in had cost me a lot of energy that I didn’t have, along with the frozen air searing my lungs. An early fall storm had shown up and began to coat the frost with snow.  I felt we were going to be in for a solid winter.

Shaking with chills, the fever was taking its toll. The last time I had dared look at my hand, dark tendrils were creeping their way under the skin, up the wrist. My hand was almost useless. Wrapped up tight, I could wield it as a club, and that was about it. Still, I had found Pink up by the gas station – frozen and motionless on the corner like she was waiting for the light to change. I dragged her all the way back to the office building, and we were now in what had been the café on the street level. I had been wary that my body heat might warm her to where she might begin to stir, so I wrapped her in my sleeping bag and hauled her in it all the way to the tower. I didn't think of friction warming her up, but evidently that wasn’t a problem. I would have to change that, though, and soon.

It has been close to two weeks since my hand has been shot, and when I noticed the signs of blood poisoning, I knew that it was over. There were no antibiotics to be found these days. I searched myself for pangs of fear or regret, but I was just too
tired.
No, I don’t want to die. But it is coming anyways, and maybe I could choose the time - and how. Or whatever...

I stared at Pink until I found myself teetering and almost falling over. I caught myself, and wondered what Pink – the
alive
Pink – would think of me now, and what I planned. Would she hate me for using her like this? Or would she think I deserved it? I know
I
felt that way. Regardless, I couldn’t see that young woman anymore. She was long gone, and had left with the rest of humanity, civility and sanity in the world. The Pink standing before me now would not care.

I sighed, shrugged my arms out of my parka. The cold made me stagger, and a renewed bout of chills nearly crippled me. I stepped behind Pink, wrapped my arms around her – my good right arm encircling her neck, my wounded arm across her midriff. I nestled my chin next to her right ear, and let the trembles take over until they melted into the heat of the fever. After awhile, I dozed.

Pink’s neck jerked once. Then again. Her shoulders twitched, and I could feel her jaw spasm above my right arm.

“There we go,” I whispered.

Her neck jerked again, and tried to turn. I brought my arm up, and held it against her cold lips. I could feel them working against my arm, and finally they parted, sliding across my hot skin and then I could feel her teeth, as hard and callous as tombstones. She worked her mouth, trying to limber her jaws until she could work up the pressure of a solid bite. I tried to help by slightly sawing the arm back and forth, and finally she bit and held it. I pulled, and could feel the skin stretch. Pink bit harder, and then it
hurt
. I tried pushing back towards her, could feel her tongue twisting against my arm and then she bit through and I yanked the arm away and stumbled back from her. A wound about the size of a quarter seeped on my arm.

Her head shook as she worked over the bit of my skin in her mouth. I continued my retreat, blood running down my arm.
Maybe you should have let her bite your bum arm, genius,
I thought.
Ah well, not like her bite will be a problem for me much longer…

Pink wobbled, clearly trying to turn and pursue me, but her legs would not work, nor her arms. I couldn’t bear the thought of her falling over, so I shoved her into a corner and hoped she would freeze up again soon. The dead get back up after falling, of course, but I didn’t like the idea of Pink having to work any harder than she needed to.

I backed away from her, and sat down on a stool at the lunch counter. I thought about putting the parka back on, but it seemed like too much work. I am shaking, maybe I ought to move to a chair, something I might not fall out of. I just sit and shake, though, and wonder how long I will last. Good luck reading this!

Will I die before the virus has a chance to take hold?  I have no clue how that works. Perhaps the parka will help incubate the damned thing, but I just sit on the stool and continue to tremble and spasm, and outside the snow begins to pile up.

I woke when I hit the floor. I still felt hot, but grab at the counter until I stood, shaking, shaking, shaking. Odd. I am hungry for the first time in...I can't remember. I look around, did not remember what I was looking for, but saw this book. So I will write. Until I can not.

I am not giving up Jackie. I am just giving in. I am sorry. All my fault.

Pink stands in the corner. She has been a bad girl. Fucker bit me – ha! Well deserved

I am  here? I am writing this? I feel dim

fading not real

like the october light of august

am i hallucination? ha!

I am hot well deserved

does this make sense

am I really here

I am sorry i sorry

I am sorry

hungry

Epilogue

Lori zipped the books into the freezer bag, and then tucked them into her backpack. She watched her sister over at the edge of the roof, staring south. It was warmer today, sunnier. Clouds still blocked out much of the blue sky, but it didn't feel like rain.

She feels let down,
Lori thought.
I guess I do too
.

She didn't know what to make of the notebooks. They had no idea of Artie's back story when they had met him – on another rooftop – last year. Jesus, it felt both so long ago, and also like it was minutes ago.
Is this what it's like, growing older? The years will fill up and then just fly by?

She moved over to her sister, wrapped her arms around her, and rested her cheek against an ear. They stared south, watching the clouds blow across the sky. Lori worked her jaw back and forth, rocking her sister's head until the girl drove an elbow into her stomach. Lori laughed, and squeezed her sister tighter.

“We got here too late,” Ashley said.

“Nothing we could do about that,” Lori replied.

“We should have
made
him come with us.”

“I don't think we could have.”

Ashley squirmed free of her sister's embrace, and turned to face her.

“
You
could convince a crack-head to go to Sunday school,” she accused the older woman. “He would have come with us.”

Lori smiled tiredly, not wanting to argue.
Shit, am I really growing up? That's so unfair...

“I don't think you're remembering our state of mind last summer,” she said, and Ashley scowled.

“We read the book,” she continued. “He couldn't take another loss. For
some
freakin' reason, he worried about us – maybe even liked us. Even after holding him at gunpoint for a night.”