They Live

Silence greets my fog-addled brain. The sky is dark, blackened with soot. Heavy, sorrowful clouds hang low, brushing against the dying earth. Where the tendrils drip down and meet dirt, grass is brown and brittle. The noxious gas cloud has no such effect on me. I breathe in the miasma of this broken wasteland without consequence.

My lungs feel tight, filled to bursting with fumes; my ears pound in the quietude.

Where is everyone? The most I have is a vague recollection of crowds and crowds of people. Any attempts to concentrate on those fleeting memories only brings forth fiery sparks of pain, shooting like stars across my brain.

So I don't think too much about that.

Instead I wander this poisoned landscape. Poisoned is the only word for it, truly, but "beautiful" comes to my lips every time I attempt to describe it aloud. Since there's no one to describe this world to, it doesn't bother me.

As I explore, I find things. Sometimes the things I find are enough to satisfy my curiosity for days, one way or another.

There are empty buildings and hissing rubble and broken machines that belch out more of that gaseous cloud of darkness. There are things that were at one point shiny, gleaming, brand-new, but these are now covered in an impenetrable layer of dust and filth. There are pools of liquid dotting the ground. Some are oil, glossy and majestic in their own right; some are water, glorious water that soothes the ever worsening cracks in my lips and washes away the dust collecting in the back of my throat; some are a bitter crimson. I take great care not to step in these.

It's dark out. Night comes reliably, granting reprieve from the scorching sun, and it is night now. I crane my head up, squinting into the thick cloud covering just beyond my reach, and open my arms up. I imagine I can gather up all the toxins and bring them into myself, swallowing all the bitterness and death before succumbing; I gasp eagerly and stare at the sliver of moonlight, silently begging it to let the gases invade my system.

How many nights have I spent in this way?

Too many. I stopped counting the days ages ago. The numbers started to choke me.

I walk and pass a pile of crumpled metal. The mess of steel bleeds oil. Letting my hand run along its surface, I stare at its corpse.

"A shame," I whisper. My voice is weak and breaks immediately. Water is in short supply and I'm already so thirsty. Talking does me no favours, but suddenly the sound of my own desiccated voice invigorates me and I can't bite down on the words fast enough. "I miss everyone. Where did everyone go? Why am I all alone? Why--"

Control returns to me with a resounding snap. I let out a relieved sigh as that part of me slides back under a cover of dehydration and confusion.

I move quickly, so light-headed that I barely touch the ground, and attempt to escape the questions I foisted onto the machine's corpse. It can't follow me but the words echo, ringing in my ears. My pace quickens.

The words undergo a gruesome metamorphosis in time with my pulse. They slur and run together until they lose all intelligibility, and I'm left clutching my skull as a vice grip slowly tightens. I've stepped into a puddle and soon I'm kneeling in it, but my attentions are on the growing agony that endeavours to force my brain out my ears.

The words change.

Fiiiiinaaaaallyyyyy. Fiiiinaaaaaaally finallyfinallyfinallyfinally.

My mouth opens in a scream and silence returns, almost physical in its sudden appearance. Relief sags my shoulders. Liquid drenches my clothing, soaking my knees and seeping into my shoes. The stench is ungodly, overwhelming. It is the hated scent of rust and salt and yet it is only the colour of one of these things. Gagging, I scramble to escape the puddle, but it's too late.

I can't afford to waste water to cry but my control has been slipping ever since I first woke up in this wasteland and now my emotions take the reigns. Tears roll down my cheeks, clearing a path in the grime before leaping suicidally to the ground.

Gasps and nausea come before my control returns to me. Hiccuping and struggling not to vomit, I stagger to my feet and return to my idle wanderings. My trail is marked by ugly scarlet and will soon turn brown, like the rest of the ground.

I slide under a cover of numbness while I walk, on autopilot.

I'm farther than I've ever been when I return to myself and I can't find it in me to care.

The ruins stand tall around me, glaring down judgementally. Their guts are desks and chairs and tables and their skin is glass and concrete and their spines steel. They are bloodless, scorched black and sanitised by the fire that had ripped it apart initially. I crawl inside one destroyed building, taking care to avoid loose rubble and shattered glass.

It seems familiar. My body moves through the hallways and up stairs without so much as a single cue from my brain. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper in some places and are burnt to their metal struts in others. My legs take me to what remains of a corner office. The windows have burst outwards, empty in their frames, yet still maintain their constant vigil into the ruined city below.

It's beautiful.

A glimmer at the corner of my eye drags my attention from the destruction. The smoke and smog and filth have ensured nothing still glittered, yet here there was one final treasure, untainted.

The machine is achingly familiar. My mind screams no no please but my hand still reaches out and runs along its keys. Buttons depress under my finger pads. Though the screen remains blank, in my mind's eye I can see the log in screen clearly.

Envirex.
Welcome Dr. Miles Grant.

A smile pulls at my lips.

That can't happen so a memory flashes and steals me away from the building.

"You're insane."
"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. They aren't changing. Let's change them."
"Please don't do this."
"I've already initiated the program. It's out of my hands."

Tears drip down my face. The voice from my memory laughs as I wipe the saltwater hastily away. I remember that conversation, the horrible panicky feeling that twisted in my gut, that unadulterated fear as I realised he just wouldn't understand reason.

Who is he?

Did he survive?

I hope so. It's lonely. So lonely.

The sun answers my call for companionship. The first vestiges of sunlight probe the sky, peeking out from a thick curtain of grey, and I hurry to keep the light on my back, so I hide in the one dark part of the office.

That day's sleep is full of chaos and colours. It is beyond beautiful.

Until it's not.

It's out of my hands.
We need to warn people.
With what time? Ow! Why'd you hit me?
...
... Stay here with me.
What? Please don't tell me you blew up the world to try and woo me.
Ha! See, you're making a joke--
No, it's a serious question, because right now I wouldn't put it beneath you to do something like that.
Would you have preferred I not tell you?
I'd have preferred you not destroy the world!
I told you, it's out of my hands! It always was!
You designed that horrible strain!
By whose order? Yeah! That's right. Our benevolent Envirex planned this. The bombs and the drugs and the disease, it's all Envirex!
My god. That's it. You're really mad.
Why yes, I am angry that you don't seem to understand-- hey! Stop! What are you doing?
I'm leaving. You've finally lost it. I knew it was inevitable, but I didn't think you were so close--
Okay, I am crazy, just please -- just don't go outside, okay? This building will survive, it's all in the plan. Please.
No. I can't do it. I couldn't live with myself. I can't believe you could either.
Don't leave me.
... Was it really Envirex, or is this a clever scheme of yours?
All Envirex. And it's just within a forty kilometre radius; then Envirex gets the good publicity of cleaning up the -- you're turning awfully pale. Hey don't leave, please, I-- I love you!
God help me, I love you too, but I just can't do it.
You don't have to do anything, I'll do it, I already did it, isn't that why you punched me?
...
Don't leave me!

I wake up screaming. My throat is aflame and I still scream. I need to get rid of those words but they stick to my throat like a viscous slime and only by my horrified shrieking can I scrape away the memory.

I curl into a ball.

The memory lingers, but it's only silence. It's silence until it's not. Then it's a faint click and then it's a world ending blast.

He is my lover.

He was my lover.

He's dead. There's no way he survived.

A manic bubble of laughter claws its way out of my stomach. The sun shines down, kissing every bloodstained surface and glinting off every jagged piece of metal. Bomb shells and broken buildings litter the streets and my god is it beautiful.

Emotion shreds my face into a broad smile. Another giggle bubbles up from the depths of my stomach.

Something long since dormant surges to the surface of my mind, breaking whatever had been blocking it, and I pull air in long, ragged gasps as I slowly return to myself.

I howl with shrill laughter as reality dawns.

Somewhere in the sky a god grins, all sharp teeth and malice, as it watches the return of its favourite weapon.