The Before Grace
When thousands scream out in dying, I wonder if God hears them one at a time. I have wondered if there is a sound, right after an explosion, where everyone is burning and it may only last a split second, but is there a sound? A separated collective howling of terror, surprise, and pain? When everyone is crying out at once in death but the most horrifying and sickening sound ever uttered gets masked by the explosions and destruction. A hidden tragedy of war, the sound of the most fear goes unheard.
I wish I could record it. Can the scream even escape their lungs or is it silent? Is it swallowed up in the heat and crushed by the force? If I could capture the utterance of collective death I would put it on a loop. I would make the most terrible music with that sound. I would march to the gates of they who thought to be our betters. Blaring my siren song of misery that they never escape that melody. From their morning waking, with sleep still in their eyes, confusion and tousled hair, to their 'so important' meetings of government, to the peaceful hours of family, and to their vulnerable sleep. I would fill their lives with that sound. I would want them haunted with every step, every breath, and each passing moment of their vicious lives they would be forced to remember. I'm not sure I believe in Hoodoo but I had the power to curse anyone I know exactly what I would do.
I don't remember a lot of the end of the world, which is probably why I survived it. I know it was a sunny day, I remember the heat on my face and the yellow cast to the street, a joyful scene. Sometimes, the cast of light a certain way will remind me of childhood and it will simply be happy for the memory. It was a day like that. Lemonade on a summer day.
I thought I was going to change my life and move up in the world. I certainly changed my life that is an unequivocal fact. Whether or not I moved up, I supposed is subjective. It was my first day entering the program with United Health Technology. I was going to receive 20 thousand dollars for my participation. After rigorous testing and qualification exams, I was in and beginning phase one. Those admitted to the program would be doing genetic testing on disease prevention. We all displayed various markers within our DNA and had other desired talents that made us optimum candidates over the rest of the applicants.
United Health was a power unlike any corporation before it. Pioneered on the notion of "Corporations are people to" United Health soared to collect big on wielding legislative power, government contracts, and limited oversight. Americans were duped on a President who had all the charm of a used car salesman and the ethics of Hades. A nation distracted and divided, like the perfect storm or great sex, the conditions were right and United had lobbyists in the mood and setting primed for lightning.
The FDA was gone and the once solely pharmaceutical company partnered itself with a health insurance agency in a merger that had cash going like payday in a strip club. It was raining dollar signs. They used their new disposable income to push their R and D departments to new heights and this is what brought in the fat juicy government contracts. United Health was a diversified power.
When I was growing up, I heard a lot of conspiracy theories about men in suits at long tables making secret decisions for the world behind closed doors. I figured most of these to be utter nonsense. I should have been paying attention. It takes more than money to gain power but it takes money to start. United had the money. They didn't just have "buy a senator" money. They had the money to handpick the candidates and then manipulate the media- money. Elections were a formality for the plebs.
Still, all that is a little hard to believe because there are so many rich businesses who may have legislative pull but still cannot exert total control of an entire body of government-or they would have long ago. I didn't believe it when I first found the file. However, I now believe it in my core. The Board and Directing body of United had their chubby fingers in many pies. Several with religious affiliations, long standing old money families, political dynasties, all with power of their own, pedigree and education, they all fit into the same groups and withheld the same ideologies. This is how United went from a self serving greed machine to the truly sinister super power it became. The company simply became a vessel. A tool to reach an end goal they felt right on the horizon.
I entered the gleaming glass doors and walked into the future, though not yet literally. Everything was so modern and minimalist. The lobby is decadent, shining polished smokey grey floors, geometric furniture and black counters greet you. Everything is so posh and sterile. I announce myself to the circular greeting counter and am given a badge and told to proceed to security up a short flight of stairs. The open air room with high ceilings to let light in. The entire back wall is an oval shaped dome of windows that looks out onto gardens and has another set of geometric waiting furniture on our side. I pass the security check and am told to follow the hallway to my right.
The smokey grey stone follows the floor on this hallway but this feels more medical and familiar. I check in with another information station. Badges are scanned and I am told to deposit my things in a room number and change. A gown will be waiting for me and I should be prepared to take a decontamination shower and will be getting a cleanroom suit thereafter.
I let my book bag fall to the floor and I strip with ease. I hate hospital gowns but this one has a back and I am most pleased. The room is luxurious even if sparse. The linens on the bed are so soft and thick. The pillows full and plump and firm. I wanted to stay but I return quickly to the check in station not wanting to tarry and leave a poor impression.
I am lead to an elevator and taken down a few floors. I am shown another room where I am instructed to strip and listen to the directions of an automated shower. I am informed that I will be given a tour of the lab and a further explanation of the work done here and need to complete the decontamination shower carefully and thoroughly following all directives. I nod excitedly.
I enter the small shower and scan my badge. "Welcome" an electronic voice greets me with surprising warmth for a programmed audio recording. This room is small with buttons to the side and a screen which I see I'm to follow. There's a bench over on the wall and a circle outlined in red on the floor. The floor is metal and not tile. The room is cold, I assume to keep away bacteria and I'm suddenly hoping this will not be a cold shower. Removing my gown I pressed begin on my screen and moved to the inner circle, following all directions without a second thought.
My head felt warm and my vision swam or a second. I thought I would come off balance when I closed my eyes. "Woah there" I must be more tired than I realized. I steady myself to find the red circle on the floor rising. Confusion eliminates my opportunity to step out. It reaches the ceiling and I hear: "You will now begin aerosol phase, remain calm and still for this phase." Sure, that seemed a little weird but not terrifying.
A head or nozzle came out of the ceiling in my now much smaller chamber. Gas poured into the enclosed space. It smells astringent and slightly sweet. I expect it to be over quickly but the gas keeping coming. I consider they must be very thorough but then the gas keeps coming and I feel lighter and lighter but my chest feels a bit heavy- or is that my head? Someone is heavy? Who is heavy? Who am I? As I fade my body meets the floor somehow. Where did that come from? Why is it wet? Has the shower started yet? An oily substance is filing the floor, like mineral oil but more yellow and peach. It is sticky like molasses and slimy like olive oil and it's getting thicker. There's an oxygen mask, it's coming down from the ceiling. I can't breath well. I must have forgotten to put it on. I reach for it and put it to my face. There's a mouth guard but I don't think about it. I open and it goes into my like a freight train. My throat and my mouth, there's a tube. I hear a click on the mask and I can't pull it away. I'm frightened now and my throat is burning from the unexpected assault. The oily substance gets higher and higher as my eyes widen and then there is nothing.
Awaken
No one remembers their birth but coming out of stasis is a birth of sorts. Grant did not have the luxury of gently coaxing me into my bleak new world. He broke the glass of my chamber and removed my breathing tubes with cuts of the mask- knife marking my cheek and ripping the tubes with about the same gentleness they went in- giving me mouth to slime covered mouth like a good Prince Charming. He had no idea if I'd live but he saw my vitals still reading clearly on the side of the chamber and took a chance. Birth is painful anyway right?
I had been tucked out the world in a man made womb. Everything hurt, it was reanimation, it felt like coming back from the dead and my body was decayed from years of nothing- yet it was young and fresh and my stiff muscles had not atrophied. It took Grant hours to get me to stay awake longer than a few minutes at time and days before I could talk or start to move without help. Those first few days we stayed in the compound. The basement bowels of United Health. My brain and body knew how to walk and talk, stasis prevents aging and degeneration but my body had not moved this way in so long. It still needed practice. He cared for me gently.
Later I asked him why he bothered taking such a huge risk for someone he didn't know. Not only did he remove me from the stasis chamber but he remained with me and nursed me, then taught me how to live and survive. That kind of selfless devotion is reserved for family members and passionate lovers, not naked strangers in a government tank. I was afraid to ask at first, I was so dependent on him, if the answer wasn't one I could live with then I was royally screwed. I needed Grant, no matter the reason, for the time being. After about a month of spending each day together, living, training, and scavenging, I got the balls up to ask him directly.
"Why did you get me out of there?" I couldn't look at his eyes, I might trust him but looking at him while I put myself out there wasn't going to happen.
"Because you were about to step in a huge pile of shit that I didn't want to smell on your damn boot later. It could have been a bed of snakes, you just don't pay attention. Though I'll probably pull you out of the snake bed here before too long." The side of his mouth kicked up a little as he said the last part.
"No!! Not the toilet hole on the damn road! When, when we first met. You know..." I kept looking away. This was all the directness he was going to get out of me and that hole in the road was so full of trash and waste you couldn't actually see it was a hole until you were almost in it. The smell should have tipped me of sooner though.
"I had been alone. You had too. It seemed like a good idea at the time and once you were out, I couldn't bring myself to leave you to the world that would actually eat you alive. So, here we are. Make dinner grasshopper. Your turn."
I am Grace and this is the "End of the World"
Change makes you miss things you don't expect to because of how deeply you've taken them for granted. Have you ever had a cold and your sinuses are miserable and you can't breath right out of your nose? You hate breathing out of your mouth and you curse the times you took for granted the simple act of breathing without noticing it?
Being in an Apocalypse is like that but all the time? All the time you find something new you took for granted. Have you ever sprained your ankle? The swelling pain and twisting discomfort trying to get around your cushioned home, so you take a pain reliever. "Ahhh, isn't that better?" I sprained my ankle as we were sparring and training. Grant, the "you need more realism" worst roommate ever, proceeded to chase me threatening to kill me if I didn't run on it faster. Then after all that running, a cool rag and a pillow was the only comfort. No Aspirin for me, we have some sure, but we have to save it for the real stuff- like knife wounds. Maybe you wonder why he made me run on my ankle when under the threat of attack I would need all my strength and effort because hell could reign down on us at time? Maybe you think like Grant; "Nothing will better prepare you for facing down pain and pushing, than facing down pain and pushing. Better learn it here, where you have a chance not to die, than learn your lesson in deep water." So, now I know exactly how fast I can run with a twisted ankle.
I had a little list once, a scrap of paper I kept with me to write down things I missed. My own little poem of depression.
Hot Coffee
Ice Water
Hot showers
Air Conditioners
Power Companies
Wireless-anything
Libraries
It's not all totally gone. The Colonies have some of those things. Humans survive and can jerry rig a lot. However the days of mass manufacturing, large scale shipping, and basically any decent infrastructure are behind us. You learn to live without. You learn to live by what your environment can support. You learn that expiration dates mean nothing to you and canned goods can last ages.
The Colonies aren't terrible places but I knew I wouldn't last there and be safe. These tight knit communities with deep fear of outsiders have Draconian laws. Think of the worst side effects of a small town. Everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone's dirt, they tend to only accept that which is familiar and alike, and they prefer to continue as they are, their pace of progression being a snail's marathon. It's unsafe to visit any of them unless you know someone with an inside connection or someone who has been a long standing visitor. They can have weird ass tricky laws and cultural norms that can get you killed if you screw them up. Trials are reserved for citizens of each community and even then it's usually "Court of Public Opinion" and nothing resembling justice. These are people who's parents and grandparents saw the ending and rebuilding of the world. They were fast food workers and factory men. They created places suited to their biases, intellect, and education. What is just, what is fair, and what is right is not always what is done.
I visited and traded with those who would talk to me. Grant was my ambassador and he was well-liked. Grant could charm the worst of them. He knew how to mimic his surroundings and disarm people to liking him. He could adjust his body language, tone, mannerisms, and like an artist, mirror back to them what he saw. I think he would have been a fabulous actor had he been born Before. My talents to not lie in mingling with dangerous locals. I am just polite and quiet.
I remember a play I was in as a teenager. It was called "The Lottery" about a small town who chooses to sacrifice one of it's members in a Lottery each year to keep their crops growing. This latter half of my life has been lived in that play. Oh sure, they don't go around sacrificing virgins so the corn can grow. They will string up an outsider if they believe they may bring in any trouble or if they appear like they'll bring trouble, or if their skin is the wrong color or they sneezed on a Tuesday. Mob mentality is too real.
When Grant and I lived at the warehouse, we had a generator rigged up and some basic amenities. While bombs destroyed plenty, the world wasn't all nuked to oblivion. Plenty of areas were bombed sure because war heated up at the same time the Plague was released. You find more explosive destruction to military areas and metropolitan targets. Still, out in the rural area we were in, there was plenty of untouched structures and things to be scavenged. I had expected more things to be picked clean but survivors were often afraid to venture far. Everything is a risk assessment. You find more plague creatures out away from The Colonies but it sure beats the crazies that you can find in them.
I miss being able to hop in a car though. I see cars all the time, but no one is going to waste the gas or the car battery just to travel somewhere. Cars are best used as walls and structures and harvested for parts. I love my bicycle and I am properly grateful for it.
I found myself out here in this life. I found myself doing things I never thought I could; I skinned a rabbit, I killed a zombie, I learned how to fix the generator myself, I gave myself stitches. I think I am a better person for having been dropped here. It isn't just the things I miss though. I never could add the people to the list.
I will never know what happened to my Mother, my Father, or anyone I loved. I'll never know if it was war, disease, plague, or life that killed them. They will never know what happened to me. I'm grateful I had Grant for the time that I did. He taught me how to grieve while moving. He taught me how to keep going when you can't stop feeling. Losing him was another blow, another loss, another scar on my heart. I am caught in a terrible in-between, of wishing I could go back to a time that was destroyed and knowing I wouldn't be who I am or love who I have loved without this place.
If there was anything I took for granted it was that I thought I understood the wealth of grief I would be forced to accept by life. I assumed someday I would lose my parents, that maybe people I cared for would pass on. I never imagined I would lose every person at once or every place that was familiar, and that I would not have a single thing to carry with me into this new life. I was a deeply sentimental person. All I have left is memories that grow more distant all the time.
I have had to let parts of myself utterly die. I never knew that survival meant so much killing, not simply to hunt or defend, but the killing of the parts of me I wanted to keep sacred. In order to survive you have kill the parts of your heart you kept expectations, future hopes, and quiet loves. You have to kill those parts of yourself so you can stay in the now and move forward without constant pressing guilt or sadness. You can't live very long in deep pain. It will drive you mad.
Maybe that's why I have often felt that there is a tide of madness ever at my mental door; because I am not the cold killer I want to be. What was it Grant said "Never trust the survivor until you know what they did to survive." Can I even trust myself?