The Dead Tenants

Even the light stalks them in this part of the town, Ramiel thinks as he slinks between one building to another. At least from here he can clearly see the entrance to the concert hall. They’ve agreed not to go inside, something Ramiel is endlessly grateful for. The darkness is almost spreading out from the entrance, like with the other buildings. It’s nearly all-encompassing and it makes a strange knot form in his chest and stomach and he has to heave deep to just breathe and stand upright.

He’s not sure where this fear-like feeling is coming from.

“We’re going to have to be quick.” Simon’s the main decision-maker, precise and, should Ramiel say it despite his doubts, wise. He’s practical, always going by what’s easy and quick and not what’s fun. Ramiel likes this approach, a lot. “We’ve lost a lot of time with Charlie’s little stunt. We’re going to see if we can find anything and then just come another day.”

The end of November is fast approaching. December will be upon them soon and then they won’t be able to move much save for some safe spaces. The streets remain mostly clean, yes, because of the monsters roaming around during the night, but it’s snow – things are white and cold and slippery and jumping from one building to another is not safe on the best days, let alone when it’s snowing endlessly.

“We should see that it counts somehow, then.” Ramiel sounds resigned even to his own ears, but Charlie’s already digging through some dirt without much fear of being ambushed and Simon smiles gently at him. It doesn’t look like what Simon normally looks – perhaps the jump has shocked him enough, Ramiel thinks with an inner chuckle.

They part ways. All of them have weapons, though, and they’re always close enough to be able to see each other. Ramiel mainly hears Simon grunting; he doesn’t complain about his own share.

He finds a pile of stale papers first, the dirt clinging to them. Even before it, the humidity has eaten away at any printed content, but he still checks each sheet of paper individually. One has a red circle on it, something that can’t be blood, but he can’t make out what it could’ve possibly been.

Next, he finds the newspaper ripped to pieces, at least a dozen of the same edition, but he cannot make out more than two pages in total when he reads all of them. It’s a fine mosaic that he’s made, he chuckles out loud and he can even hear Charles cackling to himself in response. They’re not worth much, though – they’re dated to nineteenth century. The other stack he finds is pretty much the same, but the date reads twenty-second century instead. He was not even alive at that time. He was nowhere even close.

“Hey guys!” The third find, however, could be worth something. “Could we get something from this?” He beckons the two other men with his hand, then reaches down, beneath the last of twenty-second century newspaper, to reach a shining paper.

There are over twenty of them, these sheets. They’re fliers, shiny and new, they smell freshly printed. Androgynous face is looking straight at Ramiel, bald and missing one eye – one that’s replaced with colourful wires and small metal plates. Simon and Charles approach him and both look at the fliers as he flips them through.

They’re not all the same – there’s the androgynous face with one eye missing, then a seemingly female figure with their back to them, the area where the spine should’ve been wired and grey too. There’s a person whose veins can be visible through the skin; this one is most frequent, right after the one with the eye. Then there’s a person with entire arm missing and replaced, and one with patches of skin, too.

“That’s unsettling.” Simon sounds upset. “Put them in backpack. We have to bring them back, but I don’t want to look at them more than I have to.”

GRAYSTORMS SURGERIES, it says on all of them in neat, straight white lettering, to stand out on the grey and pale skin of the models. Surgeries from the future, Ramiel thinks, or perhaps just a movie showing in theatres. He’ll have to read the fine print; he doesn’t have time for it now.

“Give ‘em here.” Charles says, dismissive, and Ramiel hears zipper of the backpack opening. Moments later, Charles takes them from his half-relaxed and half-outstretched hand. Shortly after, the zipper closes, although not as forcefully as it had been opened.

All the other search is fruitless – they find more of those same, new adverts, but they seem to have only so many variations and they don’t take more with them. The streets are damp and the grey sky’s dimming out even more, even though the process is quite slow. They’re going to have to go back soon. Ramiel’s not anticipating another jump, even though nothing hurts anymore. It truly is as if though he had been healed entirely.

He moves slowly, dreading every corner, but nothing comes at him – only more dull newspaper and open, empty dumpsters. Most buildings around are rusted, some even to the point where red is trailing down the glassless windows like tears – it’s sad sight to see, really, and Ramiel can’t wait to get back home.

The blond’s not sure when it became home, that apartment and that building. Perhaps that’s why Simon’s opinions and secrets unsettled him so. He got used to it quickly and he got used to his neighbours quickly and then somebody’s shaken up the trust he so shoved upon them. Truly, it’s his own fault, because they hadn’t done anything spectacular that would earn them his trust. He so willingly gave it out.

“Ehey, grannies!” It’s Charles. He sounds so far off and Ramiel didn’t even realise that he’s gotten too far away until now. He can see neither Charles nor Simon now, but he turns only two corners before he comes face-to-face with Simon. “Grannies! Over here!” His voice is echoing, but he moves in the direction where he’s most likely to be. Wordlessly, Simon follows.

They have to climb over some debris, but the pile is not that large – perhaps somewhat smaller than Ramiel’s height. It’s still wobbly, but they make it across slowly, attempting not to touch anything with bare skin if they don’t have to. The backpacks are making things more difficult; they both have troubles with balance.

“What is it, Charlie?” Simons shouts into the dark void of the upcoming alley even though, at the end, there is line of light. Ramiel’s not sure just what this alley is, exactly, what’s it doing here.

“You’re going to have to make some changes to the map, Si.” Charles voice is coming from the other side. There, where the light is. He cannot be anywhere between the alley entrance and the light. Ramiel knows because he is standing on the entrance and his shoulders fit, but only barely. “This is something you have to see for yourself.”

Ramiel takes a step inside, goes first. He keeps his hands to himself, but the walls are wet. His right shoulder is soaked and it smells bad, but he cannot place the smell. It’s not something he’s smelled before. Perhaps only reminds of something, but he’s not... Simon’s behind him, and he lets out a long sigh, not thrilled either. There are graffiti on the wall, but Ramiel can’t tell what they look like. He can only see the colours.

The light at the end is becoming larger and larger with each step.

It’s blinding, once he steps out, and Ramiel needs to blink several times to get back to his senses. He can feel Simon’s hands on his shoulders and he pushes him to the sides, slowly, while the blond is still blinking. They sky’s still as grey as ever, if only slightly duller.

He gasps when he looks in front of himself, then steps back, mortified, only for his back to meet with the wall. It’s dry, unlike the one passage he’s just been through. Only a couple of feet in front of him, the grounds deteriorates, falling off completely. He steps towards the edge carefully.

“There’s a city beneath.” He states, like it wasn’t obvious. “The ground collapsed, but there’s still a city beneath.” He didn’t have the time to study the map in the detail, but surely it didn’t look like this. They told so themselves – they haven’t been here in a while, if ever.

“Easy to go down, hard to get back up. I wouldn’t even try.” It’s Charles. This is what Charlie is saying; Ramiel thinks this speaks enough for the gravity of the situation. He nods, just to confirm, and then approaches Simon, who’s standing back. “What do you think, good doctor?”

Good doctor shakes his head, then narrows his eyes. He steps forward, in front of Ramiel, and then looks over the city with great interest. He doesn’t seem to have any other comments, though. Instead, he turns around, to look behind them and Ramiel follows his movement.

It’s a wall. It’s not a building – they did not pass between two apartment complexes. It’s a huge, concrete wall raising up, and there are, admittedly, skyscrapers within its bounds that are taller – but who would get down from that height? There is no place that could help a human get a softer fall down the wall. Surely that is too much even for the likes of a certain Charles Ravensdale.

“What the hell is that?” Why’s it here? He looks back at the passage they came through, then to wall again – it’s spreading out in near circular motion and the ground had eroded in even distance at all parts. Being dead surely is hella weird. “This cannot be natural.” Nothing about several of his weeks had been natural. He’s not sure why he’s still surprised.

“Yes, yes, interesting, a hugeass wall, yes—“ There is a metallic cling from where Charles is standing, and when Ramiel and Simon turn around, he’s dragging around a large, once-blue metal place with white lettering on it. Neat, straight, it shows the name of the city.

WELCOME TO AFTERLIFE, the sign says, POPULATION: 7.