Descent into Darkness

This story has been floating around in my head for a while. Bits and pieces that were unformed, and me not sure how to proceed. Then in a mood that could only be described as disgust on 6 January 2021, I put on music I do not listen to as often as other genres, for it is not easy listening. I have joked it is music that can peel the paint off the walls. Music heard in dark night clubs in the late eighties and nineties with strobing lights and dance floors so hot and humid it was like a sauna. I played Front Line Assembly first and images came to mind, scenes I had been contemplating. They came alive and I could see how they played out. Suddenly I had two, then three scenes, and the story began to crystalize. By the music and the title, it should be obvious, this is not a feelgood story, quite the opposite. It’s a warning, an imagining of how things could become, especially if we had stayed on the path we had been on.

The Music

• Falling:
  “Virus” by Front Line Assembly (Virus (single) in 1991, CD, Third Mind Records)
  “Helter Skelter ‘97” by Meat Beat Manifesto (Helter Skelter ’97 (single) in 1997, CD, Nothing Records and Interscope Records)
• Word:
  “1313” by The Neon Judgement (1313 (single) in 1989, Vinyl, Play It Again Sam Records)
  “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails (The Downward Spiral in 1994, CD, Nothing, TVT, Interscope, Atlantic)
• Radio Transmissions:
  “Roll the Dice” by Lunatic Calm (Metropol in 1997, CD, Universal)
• Dance, Mother Fucker, Dance:
  “Schottkey 7th Path” by Aphex Twins (Selected Ambient Works 85-92 in 1992, Vinyl, Apollo)
  “X-Plain the Un-X-Plained” by Arpeggiators (Possible Future in 1994, CD, Planet Earth Recordings)
  “Headhunter” by Front 242 (Front by Front in 1988, vinyl, Wax Trax! Records)
  “Beautiful People” by Marilyn Manson (Antichrist Superstar in 1996, CD, Nothing – Introscope)
  “The Colosseum Crash (Inside Out Remix)” by A Split-Second (The Colosseum Crash/Muscle Machine (single) in 1989, Vinyl, Wax Trax! Records)
  “Naïve” by KMFDM (Naïve in 1990, Vinyl, Wax Trax! Records)
  “Burning Inside” by Ministry (The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste in 1989, CD, Sire, Warner Bros.)
• You Can Never Go Back:
  “Worlock” by Skinny Puppy (Rabies in 1989, CD, Nettwerk)
  “So What” by Ministry (The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste in 1989, CD, Sire, Warner Bros.)
• No Beginning, No End:
  “Passion for the Future (12” Mix)” by Manufacture (As The End Draws Near / Passion For The Future (Extended Remixes) in 1988, Vinyl, Nettwerk)

Falling

Track watched fires burn in the buildings where windows were knocked out as the sky darkened to end another day. He leaned back in the old metal chair, feet propped on the parapet, watching the city descend into darkness once again. There were areas that lights came on, the electricity still functioning to some degree, but most areas remained dark, only the light from fires preventing them from being pitch black. He looked out amused, wondering why so many sought some purpose in the madness. He knew there was no purpose, for that died with everything else.

Looking over his shoulder, Track saw Rose step out onto the roof and walk to the nearest parapet. She tossed the contents of a bowl over the side, glanced his way, then went back into the stairwell. He wondered what she had been like before. She was older than him by five years or more, so she knew better than the others what had happened. Although she refused to talk about the collapse, the year everything came apart, she was also the only person he knew who held onto her real name. He tried to remember the rest of it, but it was lost to him, like so much else.

Track remembered his own name, the one given to him by his parents. It pained him to think of it, and only when alone, as now, did he allow himself to do it. Jason Alexander Graham, the son of Rachel and Ben Graham, last called by that name at the age of ten. He remembered so vividly those moments when he knew something was wrong. The fear that was evident in his parent’s expressions. He had turned ten four days before the first event. Just four days for him to live as a ten-year old boy, riding his new bicycle, playing games on the computer, and building things with the modeling kit given to him by his parents. Four days that seemed like sunshine and happiness and childhood.

The fifth day his father stayed home from work, and both his parents were glued to the television watching the news. Track remembered the people fighting in the streets, the teargas and men on horseback trying to calm the mob. Then there were tanks and soldiers lining steps and running down sidewalks. Buildings were set on fire and burned out of control as people continued to fight.

Track remembered how for days his parents kept putting him to bed, telling him to go to sleep, that there was nothing to worry about. Then a day arrived when the television didn’t work, and his parents listened to a radio station as they filled containers with water. Ben went to a grocery store, only to return with a cut over one eye and a hand broken, and no food. It was the middle of the night when his mother woke him from a fretful sleep. She dressed him hurriedly and soon they were in Ben’s 4Runner weaving around abandoned cars and trucks of their neighborhood streets. They were trying to get out of the city, and Track listened to them talk of his grandparent’s place in the mountains and how they would be safe there. But they never made it out of the city for every intersection was an obstacle; roads blocked with wrecked vehicles, a burning bus, or men armed with military style rifles and shotguns. At every encounter, they were told to turn in the opposite direction they wanted. They found themselves in downtown, navigating streets filled with carnage. Track was made to lay in the footwell of the back seat therefore couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard his parent’s response to each new horror.

A window exploded, glass flying everywhere and the 4Runner slowed, then ran into another vehicle, as Rachel screamed, calling for Ben to get up, to be okay. Another window exploded and Rachel fell silent. Track remembered how men came and ransacked their possessions, taking everything. One man attempted to pull him from the footwell, and he clung to the bottom of the front seat screaming for the man to let him go. He heard a thud and someone else tell the man to leave him, for they didn’t need another mouth to feed and he was too young. They wanted boys and girls that were older, a bit more mature and more fun. So, Track was left in the vehicle where he would remain until dark.

Track stood and leaned on the parapet looking down at the street twenty stories below. Burned out cars and trucks and a city bus now makeshift housing filled the street. Across the street, he saw fires burning in some windows and on the roof, tents and tarps stretched out. He wondered if they had running water, for their building did, although like all the others in the area, no electricity. The water pressure was so weak, and without the pumps, only the faucets on the first floor worked.

Track pushed off and went to the stair, trying not to think of it, those first days after loosing his parents. The roaming around the streets alone, hiding from those that were loud or firing guns into the air. Three long days went by before he was discovered by Mother.

Mother had been out looking for supplies, something he had done early in the mornings. He was holed up in a building that had been a factory building but had been abandoned for years prior to the fall. Track remembered Mother finding him behind a dumpster, and how he patiently coaxed him out, offering food and water, then led him to the warehouse. The ground floor was open, with only a few machine parts lying about, but when they got to the second floor, there was a masonry wall splitting the floor with large metal doors and it was through one of these doors Mother had led him.

At the time, Track had been shocked at the crudeness of the place, with tents set up along one wall, and out on the floor, blankets, sleeping bags, and old mattresses were scattered about. To his ten-year old self, it seemed like a lot of people were in the room, but later, he would come to know there had so precious few; there had only been eleven. Among them was Rose, Juice and of course, their guardian, Mother.

Track went down the stairs, passing the top two floors, the floors Mother resided, and they stored food and water. It was the eighteenth and seventeenth floors that everyone else lived, set up in the apartments in groups of two to a room. No one wanted to be alone, not even Mother, who had Doc living in his quarters. Doc was the only person who had medical training, and she had saved many of them from a wound or infection at one time or another.

Track went to the apartment that was now home, finding Gofer and Jewel on the blanket in the middle of the room having sex. Jewel was on top, moving up and down on Gofer’s cock. They didn’t stop as Track walked past, nor did they say anything.

Track sat on the windowsill in his room, feeling anxious. As he got older, he came to understand why life had become so meaningless. Nothing remained from before, making each day merely another to survive. To eat, drink, and take precautions to stay safe. And when lonely or frustrated or just horny for sex, they would find one willing and together exert themselves until spent. There were no commitments, for that involved planning for a future that none of them expected to arrive.

Jewel cried out and Track knew their sex was over, and she would soon leave. He went to his belongings, the few things he had given value tucked inside a metal toolbox. It held the clothes he had been wearing that day, an extra knife, three pencils, a notebook with his drawings, and a small diary written by a young teen girl by the name of Susan. He had read it until long passages were memorized, for it gave him a connection to the past. The routine of the days, the musing of a girl, looking for a boyfriend, worried about exams at school, or who were her best friends, and if her family would spend their summer vacation in the mountains, or at the beach, or maybe a trip overseas. Track had read the passages until tears no longer came and it became surreal. Something that never seemed to have been possible.

Track heard Gofer stirring around, then settle down. He knew Gofer would soon be asleep. He was one who slept more at night than during the day. Track was the opposite, one who only slept during the day when he felt safer, less worried about an attack. He stirred around during the night, as did several others of their group.

On this night, Track was fidgeting, restless to the point he couldn’t sit still. He moved around his room and looked out again at the darkness of the night. He grabbed up his long black coat that in the night concealed him, and he eased back out.

Word

Out a rear door, one that opened to a narrow alley they had fortified at each end, Track moved down to a manhole cover, lifting it out of the way. He climbed down, lit a torch, and proceeded down the tunnel that held dead power lines and pipes whose purpose was no longer known. He moved quietly, secure in knowing they had blocked most access points, making the tunnel one they could use with some confidence of safety. He moved north, until he came to a ladder that led up to a utility room that no longer buzzed with high voltage connections. Easing the door open, he checked the street, and when deemed empty, he eased out and secured the door. Coat closed around his lean body, he moved across the street, staying in its darkest shadows. After crossing the sidewalk, he cut around the main steps that led up to a grand façade of the old library. Around the side of the steps, there was a small door underneath them, and he eased into it.

Track climbed up the floors, seeing the destruction that had been wrought. Anything made of wood or paper taken for fuel. The metal shelving was empty, some pushed over, and metal furniture was scattered across the floor. He continued up to the top floor, and moved down a corridor, stepping over the debris left behind. At the end of the corridor there was a metal door with a skull drawn on it and a warning below.

Trespassers will be killed!

Track knocked, the code of two fast, two slow, then three more fast ones. Then he waited, knowing it would take time for Word to let him in.

“Who is it?” said Word, his voice muffled through the door.

“Track.”

The door swung open and Word stood to the side. He was average in height, and like everyone else, lean to the point of being skinny, and his red hair stood out unruly. He wore glasses he found that gave him enough vision he could read. They barely fit his face which caused him to push them up constantly.

“What’s up?” Word asked, as Track passed him.

“Nothing,” Track replied, but he thought it was really the opposite, for it was really everything. Everything that was left.

Track walked into the room that once held archived documents and books too precious for public access. There were no windows, and it had an air conditioning system separate from the rest of the building, so no ductworks ran overhead that allowed outsiders to drop in unannounced. He looked around, still amazed by the bookshelves filled to overflowing with books on how to garden, make paper, cloth, and pottery, and how to work metal. There were books on concepts of individual freedom and how to govern, then in the next section books on raising children, how to care for them and teach them the skills and language they would need to function in society. Track scanned the other sections, knowing each one was some aspect of a functioning society or a means of surviving that Word deemed important. Word considered them the most important of books, and he worked tirelessly to find others, protecting the collection from the fires.

In the back of the room, sat a cot, desk, and large metal pan Word used to build fires for heat and cooking. He had altered a small duct, one from some long-removed exhaust system into a flue with a crudely built hood over the pan to draw the smoke out. The odor of smoke in the room spoke of its inefficiency. Track went straight to this space and began to take off his clothes. He hadn’t come to talk, not yet at least. He came for one thing.

Word followed him, and without uttered one, began to strip too. Once they were naked, Track fell to his knees in front of Word and began to suck. There were no manipulations or toying with him, just the angling of his head down and taking the flaccid cock. He liked how it grew in his mouth until he struggled to hold it.

Then Track stood and led Word to a table in the middle of the room. He lay back, bringing his legs up, resting them on Word’s shoulders.

“Do it. Fuck me,” Track exclaimed, wanting their fuck to be physical. It spoke of his frustrations, his fears, and longings. This foil to his younger self, who had been scared of everything.

Word pushed against his tight opening. Head back, Track exhaled and pushed back. He shuddered with Word’s penetration, the push inward until hips pressed against his ass. He clung to the edge of table and took each thrust, every push inward and tug outward. He loosened to Word’s penetration and relaxed to the piston of cock in his depths.

“Fuck me…fuck me harder,” Track uttered as he began to stroke his own cock.

The table began to squeak as it rocked beneath Track. It spurred Word to fuck faster, his legs banging against the side of it as he shoved into Track’s depths, over and over. He held Track’s legs and fucked as hard as he could. His body began to glisten in the dim light, and he was panting for breath. Then he shoved inward and cried out as he filled Track with his load.

Word pulls out, still hard, as he always was for Track, and he pulls him to his feet, spins him around and pushes his chest to the table. He kicks Track’s legs apart and moves up, and without hesitation, penetrates him. Once again, there is no hesitation, merely one man fucking another, for they both want it. Word pushes in all the way, swinging his hips with a brutal pace. He fucks to come, for he knows it is what Track wants.

Cum pumps out as Word thrust inward and Track can feel it trickle down his thigh as cock bores into his depths. His own cock is trapped beneath him and the rocking motion of their fuck makes it so hard he aches for release.

“Why want you stay with me…son of bitch,” Word utters and Track only moans as hips smack against his ass.

Track knew the answer. So did Word. It would mean something. It would be a reliance on another Track couldn’t allow himself. He tried with Duke, his first, and with Rat and Sky. There had been confessions and promises no one could keep. The world wouldn’t allow it. He found Duke in the street outside the old warehouse building, taken from him by the cruelty of their new world. It had been one more event that eventually drove Mother to move them, first to an abandoned college building, then to the old apartment building they now resided.

So, Track lived in the moment, took what he wanted, and gave the same in return. Bent over the table, he gave Word everything.

Cum gushed from Track’s cock as Word hammered his insides.

“Fuck… Word…”

“Yeah, cum for me,” Word uttered breathlessly.

Word tightened his grip on Track’s waist and pushed into his depths. He jammed his hips against Track’s ass as he finally came again.

Track and Word lounged on blankets spread out on the floor. They were still naked, touching each other, then kissing with an intimacy neither could admit they needed. Word rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling, the grid missing most of its panels, revealing the tangled wires and insulated ducts above.

“When does it end?” Word asked.

“When did it start?” Track replied.

“It seems to have always been like this, but we both know that is not true.”

“I can barely remember it,” Track lied, for it haunted him, still gave him nightmares.

“Why do we keep fighting to exist?”

“I don’t know. Some primitive aspect of our evolution. What do the books say?”

“They say we’re fucked,” Word replied as he rolled over and licked up Track’s right thigh. He rose to his elbows and knees, dragging his tongue upward to the flaccid cock wet with its previous release. He licked through the runny cum, then tongued the head of the cock.

“Fuck…Word, what are you doing?” Track asked, laying back and closing his eyes.

“I’m going to suck your cock…then I’m going to fuck you like an animal.”

Track smiled as he felt his cock respond to the tongue, then the lips that moved down its growing length. He was enveloped in the slick heat of Word’s mouth and soon lips moved up and down his cock until he shuddered from the stimulation.

“Fuck,” Track uttered as he pushed Word off his cock. He flipped over and got on his elbows and knees. Looking over his left shoulder, “fuck me,” he exclaimed.

Before he could utter another sound, Word penetrated him and sank into his depths. Hands held his waist as cock pummeled his insides.

Word always lasted such a long time after coming. He fucked Track until both were exhausted, Track begging him to cum. Sweat poured from their bodies as they heaved for breath. It was a state Word loved; this point of exhaustion when his body felt so loose. He reached down and grabbed Track by the hair pulling him upright. He held him around the neck and bent him back while fucking his ass. He fucked relentlessly, rocking Track forward.

“Jerk off,” Word uttered in Track’s ear, then he tugged on it with his teeth.

Track took himself in hand, feeling his slick shaft slide through his fist. He stroked with a roughness and pace that matched the cock hammering his insides. He felt alive, with his heart racing and panting for breath. Word was hot against his back, and they moved slickly against each other. Track began to work his hips, pushing his ass back on Word’s cock, then pushing forward, thrusting his cock through his fist.

“Fuck…Word,” Track uttered, then he shuddered with release, spurting cum across the blanket.

Word tightened his hold on Track, pulled him tight to his chest and shoved cock all the way inside of him. He shuddered while trying to push deeper, then he came.

Track roamed along the shelves, dragging a finger over the spines of books, noticing only a few of the titles, while Word sat at his desk watching him.

“Why do you do it?” asked Track.

“What?”

“Keep these books. You know there is no one out there who gives a shit.”

“I know, but…”

“But?”

“Someday, someone will want the knowledge stored in them.”

“And when they do, you’ll be there with open arms,” Track replied, smiling at Word.

“If I’m not dead,” said Word, smiling back, one that spoke of an unknown future.

Track got to the end of a shelf, and he looked at a thick book with a silver cover.

“Interior Design and Space Planning,” Track whispered, reading the title.

“Hey, it’s almost dawn. Why don’t you stay?”

“No, I should get back.”

“Stay and we…” said Word, falling silent, afraid to say what he started to.

Track picked up his coat and slipped it on.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Track let himself out, not looking back, for he knew Word would be disappointed with him. He knew Word wanted more, but it hurt to think of it. The futile attempt at a normalcy that no longer existed. He had tried, and each time got hurt.

He eased down through the empty library, and back out the small door tucked under the main stair at the front of building. He hesitated, looking around for anyone still out, but it being the last hour of night, he felt comfortable there would be no one. Most night excursions happened during the middle of the night. By now, most would be passed out somewhere.

He retraced his path until back inside the old apartment building, climbing the stair until on the eighteenth floor. Smoke and Jewel were in the corridor, sitting on the floor with backs against the wall. He had to step over their legs as he passed.

“Everything still good?” Track asked.

“Nothing happened,” Jewel replied.

“Were you at the library?” asked Smoke, looking up at Track.

“Yep,” Track replied as he strolled down the corridor to his door. Just for a minute, he saw Smoke’s expression and he dismissed it. It couldn’t have been what he thought.

Radio Transmissions

A knock then the door swung open without waiting for Track to respond. Mother walked in and it was obvious something was up. Something big.

“Be ready to go as soon as it gets dark,” said Mother.

“What’s up?”’

“Code got a response.”

“On the two-way radio?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“He just sent word to come tonight.”

“Damn…you think he found out something?”

“It’s possible.”

“I wonder how long he’ll be able to keep contact?”

“The Council of Midtown has been keeping the Guard around the power station and…”

Track looked up at Mother with a frown.

“I know; it’s just a matter of time before one of the clans get to it and everyone is in the dark.”

“You think there is really places where people live a normal life?”

“I think so, and I bet some are nearby.”

“Word said to go to the mountains, not the coast.”

“He’s probably right. The seas had risen a meter before the fall.”

Track nodded. He wondered why Mother called it the fall. Nothing fell that he could remember. It was a war, one fought by fellow citizens, and he since came to understand the virus had been the final spark to set things off. He remembered the news reports on television, each night giving estimates of the dead and newly infected. The numbers had been too large for him to comprehend. Even now, eight years, or was it nine years later, he still couldn’t comprehend the numbers. Mother said the last reports estimated sixty percent of the population was sick and dying or already dead. It made sense, for there were so few people remaining in the city. He considered the building they were holed up in. Out of the twenty floors, the bottom fifteen were empty. The sixteenth floor had Rose and Greenie living in one of the abandoned apartments, the rest turned over to food production. Mushrooms in the rooms facing the north. Those facing south greenhouses along the windows. On the next floor up was Pigeon, Rat, Six, Leaf, Red and Juice. On his floor, there was Hunter, Sky, Atlia and Smoke, and sharing an apartment with him, Gofer. There were more on the two floors, newbies he called them, men and women they rescued from one of the clans or found wandering the streets in a daze, about ready to give up. He no longer cared to get to know the newbies. They left so quickly, or bad things happened to them.

“Meet me on fifteen when it is dark,” said Mother and Track watched him leave, closing the door behind him.

Looking at the shadows on the building across the street he knew there were four or five hours before dark. He striped down to his boxers and eased down on the sleeping bag and blankets that made up his bed. He rolled to his back and drifted off to sleep.

Track came down the stair and found Mother, Juice, and Smoke waiting for him.

“We should wait a bit. There’s a clan roaming around outside,” said Smoke, and Mother and Juice nodded in agreement.

“Okay. Any further word from Code?” asked Track.

“No,” replied Mother.

Track leaned against the wall next to Smoke and he sensed the physical presence. Smoke arrived shortly after he did, Mother bringing him into their group one morning after a night run for batteries. It wasn’t long after that batteries were gone, hoarded up by different groups and businesses that were still viable.

Smoke had been a skinny kid, about Track’s age, with black hair, dark brown eyes and dark olive skin that spoke to a Spanish or Latino background. And he smelled of smoke, Mother having rescued him from a burning building, thus the name he acquired.

Mother had given them names to replace their given ones, for he feared the remaining government or one of the private security firms could track them down. There was still a website, a power grid and some sense of civilization remaining. None of them could know how quickly all of it would deteriorate until there was no civilization left, just small groups struggling to survive.

Track cut his eyes over to Smoke. The taller frame, the dark complexion and eyes that looked black. He had seen Smoke with Jewel and Rose, and some said he had been with Leaf. The image of the naked body moving on top of one of the women was burned into his memory. More times than he cared to admit, he wondered if Smoke would ever be willing to do it with him. He had thought Smoke was one of the few straights, but Gofer swore he saw Rat and Smoke making out once down in the stairwell a couple of floors below the fifteenth. Track wanted to make out with him, wanted to see what it would be like to have their bodies intertwined.

Then Track thought of Word, and how he wanted more from him. Word believed in love and lasting relationships, those things portrayed in books, and Track had listened to him read aloud passages or quote from memory. Passages that spoke of something he thought no longer existed. He pictured one rainy night, with rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning, and Word was pacing around the room naked. They had had sex, and Word strolled back and forth with a half flaccid cock, reading aloud.

“…My feelings will not be repressed…”*

Track remember that part, and wondered if Word’s feelings would endure over time.

“Let’s go,” Juice uttered, kicking off the wall.

Track pushed off and followed Juice and Smoke. Mother brought up the rear, and they descended to the ground level and out to the manhole cover.

The neighborhood was quiet, the littered streets silent. Midway up the block, surrounded by offices, shops and restaurants, all gone now, sat the small police station that anchored the neighborhood. It was two stories and in back were the jail cells for holding those arrested. The building had been ransacked early on, something Code considered a good thing. It meant there would be no returning clans to search it again, so he had moved in, taking up residence in the jail cells. He had found the keys and could therefore lock himself in if someone were to break in.

The building still had power intermittently, allowing Code to set up his makeshift radio gear. He had worked tirelessly to get it set up, then spent any time the power worked searching for someone outside the city. He wanted to know if it was safe, or had the countryside fallen into the same unsafe state. Code had been from a small town north of the city, up in the mountains that began in the northern part of the former state. He radioed out in desperate attempts to reach any family he may have left.

Juice eased into the back door concealed behind a dumpster and some fence panels, then stuck his head out.

“All clear,” Juice whispered.

Mother went in next, followed by Smoke and Track. They moved through the dark room, passed through a door into a corridor which they followed to the very back of the building. Mother knocked with their agreed upon pattern and the door opened almost immediately.

“What took you so long?” asked Code.

“We had a clan roaming around and had to wait,” replied Mother, pushing in past Code.

It had been some time since Track had been to Code’s place and he was shocked by the amount of equipment piled up in one cell. In another was the place Code lived, with the bed hanging from the wall and an old sofa squeezed in next to it. In the next cell was the radio set up. Wires ran along the floor and equipment was stacked up on a desk. From the ceiling the lights burned dimly, but the artificial light was hard on his eyes after being out in the darkness.

“I’ve been trying to reach them again but no luck,” said Code as he dropped down in his chair and rolled back up to the desk.

“What did they say the first time?” asked Mother.

“Not much. The signal was weak, and we had trouble understanding each other, then I lost it.”

“Well, let’s see if you can get them tonight.”

Code keyed the mic. “Hello…hello. Anyone out there?”

“Yes, I can…you.” The connection was weak, breaking in and out.

“What area are you in? Are you near Clayton?’

“Not far away; we’re in…are you in…”

You’re breaking up,” Code replied, and the others could hear the desperation in his voice.

“Do you have…we’re short…desperate…”

“Repeat that.”

“We’re in need of…”

The lights glowed brighter, then the power went out.

“Fuck,” Code uttered in the darkness.

“I’ll go see if it a total outage,” said Juice, lighting a torch.

Smoke and Track lit their torches, finding Code already down on the floor following wires.

“It might be a connection in here,” Code uttered.

“Code, get up. The lights are out too,” said Mother and they saw Code look up, nearly in tears.

Code climbed to his feet and fell into his chair, letting it roll into the wall. Juice came back in and by his expression they knew the verdict.

“I think most of the city has lost power. This whole area is dark.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Mother whispered. He turned to Code, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Get your things and come back with us. You can’t stay here like this.”

Code nodded his head but didn’t get up for a long time. When he did stand, he looked at Juice and smiled. “They were close to Clayton. If we can get there, I bet we can find them.”

No one replied, for each knew the chances of making such a journey was damn near impossible. And the person on the radio indicated they were in desperate need of something. What if it were food or medicine? Things they were in short supply, and it appeared no place was spared this madness.

Dance, Mother Fucker, Dance

Juice led the way, cutting down dark alleys and swiftly crossing streets. They moved across the city into an area not visited in a long time. Some lights were visible through upper floor windows and a few streetlights illuminated circles on the ground, surrounded by darkness.

“The power still works here,” Smoke whispered as he moved up behind Track.

“I wonder for how long,” Track replied.

Juice and Leaf raced across the road, then Six and Hunter, and finally Track and Smoke. There was an old shopping center that sat on the edge of a steep slope and around back they found it had another floor below, one that once contained a bakery, a bar and in the corner, something called Toxic.

“What kind of business would call itself Toxic?” asked Leaf, looking back at Six and Hunter.

“A nightclub,” Juice replied. “Let’s check it out.”

Chains were still attached to the door handles which surprised everyone. It meant no one had been inside since the club closed.

“Get me something to pop the lock; a pipe or something,” said Hunter as he tugged on the padlock.

“Will this work?” Smoke replied stepping up with a steel angle, two bolts still attached to it at one end.

“It should be heavy enough,” said Hunter as he took it.

Hunter slipped the angle behind the padlock and jerked down hard. He tried three times and was about to give up when Smoke told him to try again. The lock popped open and fell to the ground.

“Juice, come on, see if you can get the lights on,” said Hunter, holding the door open.

Juice went inside the door, lit his torch, and moved into the darkness. The others stepped inside and closed the door, using the angle to secure them. They did not want someone to come in behind them.

The corridor led to a large room, their torches throwing out barely enough light to see one or two of the walls. The space rose up into darkness, and there was a mezzanine along one wall. Oddly shaped lights hung from the ceiling and along one wall a raised booth. Juice went to it, looking around for a way to climb in. After a quick look around, he disappeared through a nearby door.

Six, Hunter and Leaf went below the mezzanine and a minute later were at the railing.

“Hey guys, there’s a bar back here,” Leaf yelled down.

“Is there liquor?” Smoke replied.

“Yes.”

“Jesus; how did no one not find it before now?” asked Track, looking at Smoke.

Bottles were passed around, Smoke with a bourbon and Track with a whiskey. They swapped bottles to see if they could tell the difference, but it was just a slow burn and a numbing of their bodies, and soon they were laughing while stumbling around the dusty dance floor.

A single light came on over the dance floor. A disk with round lens around its perimeter, and beams of light cut across the room at an angle. One side the beams were hitting the floor, on the other the ceiling. Then speakers around the floor crackled then hummed as if coming to life.

“Hey, guys!” Juice yelled from the booth. “I got the power on. Let’s see if this equipment still works.”

“Play something wicked,” yelled Six.

“NO, something fun,” yelled Hunter.

Juice stooped out of sight and they wondered what he was doing. When he stood up, he held a square cardboard sleeve and he angled it letting the round vinyl disk roll out.

“Arpeggiators? Never heard of them but listen to the name of this song. X-Plain the Un-X-Plained,” he read aloud, pronouncing the ‘x’s the hardest.

“Can you play it?” asked Smoke from the dance floor.

They saw red lights reflected in the low glass panel surrounding the top of the booth’s low wall, then they heard static in the speakers. A female voice comes on, then a deep bass beat. It was fast, the rhythm furious. They felt their hearts beat faster as other instruments were layered over the bass.

The air vibrated with the sound. Those on the mezzanine could feel it in the railing. Their perception of time increased with hearts pounding away in their chests. The light seemed to move faster, then it appeared to respond to the sound. It rotated faster, then changed angle. Beams of light circled the room. On the dance floor moving in circles, bouncing on their feet with arms moving fluidly, Smoke and Track danced. They danced and smiled at each other. They moved away from each other and exaggerated their moves, then they moved close falling into a rhythm that made one appear the reflection of the other.

And for the first time in a long time, they forgot the world outside. The declining nature of it, the fall of civilization as the mechanisms that it was built upon ceased to work. They didn’t think of lost loved ones or the loneliness, or the fears that caused them to avoid relationships of any meaning. For Smoke and Track, it was just the two of them, two guys having fun. Allowing themselves a moment of joy expressed through dance.

And the dance made them feel their sexuality. Their bodies grew heated, sweat beginning to trickle down faces and their layered clothing stifling. Smoke pulled his coat off and tossed it on the floor. Track followed suit. Smoke unbuttoned his shirt, letting it hang open revealing his lean body. Track pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor with his coat, exposing his upper body. He was so fair skinned, so white he appeared to glow in the light. Smoked moved toward him while slipping his shirt from his shoulders letting it fall to the floor. His darker skin was the mirror of Track and they moved around each other as yin and yang, dark-bright...as light and shadow.

The music stopped and everyone on the mezzanine cheered as Smoke and Track stood facing each other. Their skin glistened in the light and they were breathing hard. Smoke smiled, then Track, and they were tempted, oh so tempted, despite their audience above.

“Hey guys, how about this?” Juice called out, holding up another sleeve.

Track looked up and saw a number. One that meant nothing to him. ‘2-4-2’ within a graphic that made an ‘x’ with the number in the middle.

“What is the song?” Smoke asked.

“Headhunter,” Juice replied.

“Headhunter?” said Track, laughing. “That sounds rough.”

“Play it,” Leaf yelled out.

Juice set the vinyl disk on the turntable and a deep bass sound began. It sounded like some tormented string instrument. A sound like metal being banged cut in, then the rhythmic bass that would carry the song. It was slower than the previous song, more primitive in nature, and Track and Smoke began to move with it. To gyrate near each other until legs brushed together, hips bumped, and arms became entangled. They moved closer. Faces only inches apart, so close they could see into the other’s eyes.

Smoke kissed Track.

The contact was brief, but it aroused Track, made his desire and need too great to ignore. He cupped Smoke by the back of the neck and kissed him. Then he pulled him to the edge of the dance floor where speakers lined the edge. With Smoke pushed back against one, Track worked his pants undone and as he stooped down, tugged them down. He captured the growing erection in his mouth and began to suck, unconcerned about the others watching them. He took Smoke all the way and felt the cock respond, quickly filling his mouth. He freed his own cock and stroked it until just as hard.

Track rose to his feet, pushing Smoke to his back on the speaker. Pants worked free, Smoke rested a leg on each shoulder as Track moved up close.

The others watched as Track rubbed his cock up and down the spread ass, then push forward penetrating Smoke. The music seemed to drive them, to push them to act, for there was no hesitation. Just Track pushing into Smoke’s depths and begin fucking. They fucked in rhythm with the song. The speaker vibrated with the bass beat and even Track could feel it coursing through Smoke and into his own body.

The music stopped and Track pushed into Smoke all the way and leaned over the prone body, kissing the chest, up to the neck until they were pressing lips together.

“Beautiful People by M something or other,” Juice called out holding up a damaged sleeve. But the beat was just as strong, its pulsing vibration tearing through the air.

Track began to fuck again, faster than before, keeping pace with the song. He hammered cock into Smoke’s depths. Their bodies smacked together, and Smoke dug fingers into Track’s flexing thighs.

“FUCK!” exclaimed Smoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

Track thrust with a brutal pace, shoving inward all the way, over and over, until he was jamming hips against ass. The tried desperately to go deeper. He wanted to crawl inside Smoke. To occupy the same space. He jammed his cock inward, pushing against Smoke relentlessly. Then he was filling Smoke with his load, as the song came to an abrupt end.

Track lay on Smoke, both breathing hard.

“The Colosseum Crash by A Split-Second,” Juice called out and the song started sounding like an alien speaking to them. Then the beat began, and another voice spoke. The song grew more layered, the beat louder, stronger.

Track rose to his feet pulling Smoke to stand too. He guided Smoke around and leaned over the speaker, resting his chest on it. He felt the vibrating beat, the way it made his heart try to keep pace. He looked over his right shoulder and spread his ass. Nothing needed to be said, for Smoke knew what he wanted. His legs were kicked apart, then cock touched him, rubbed up and down his spread ass. It pressed against his tight opening and he pushed back feeling the thick cock penetrate him.

Track shuddered as Smoke sank into his depths. The song was slower, and Smoke fucked to its pace. Track had never let others watch with such visibility. Their upward position and the rotating light that illuminated their every move. But he wanted Smoke’s fuck and didn’t care who saw it. Head resting on the hard surface, eyes closed, his whole body vibrating, he took every thrust feeling the fullness of each penetration.

Hands moved up his back, fingers digging into the flesh. They came to his shoulders, and an arm went around his neck and pulled him up until he felt Smoke against his back. Hot slick skin against hot slick skin. They moved in unison, hips working back and forth. Smoke took Track in hand and stroked his erection.

On the mezzanine, Leaf was between Six and Hunter. She was their connection, taking each one. Juice stood in the booth, eyes glued to Smoke and Hunter, feeling his own longings. He didn’t want the music to stop, so he stayed in the booth despite his desire to join them. He would have submitted to them, done anything they wanted. He watched Smoke stroke Track’s cock and knew there would be opportunities in the future with the two of them.

The song ended far too soon, and Juice reached down and slipped another album out without looking. He put the vinyl disk on the turntable and dropped the needle. It was totally different in its beginning. A woman’s voice talking about the way of the world, but then the now familiar deep bass beat began. Then a man’s voice asking to be told secrets. Juice looked at the sleeve. “Naive” by KMFDM.

On the floor, Smoke resumed fucking, driving up into Track’s depths. He spun Track around, facing the center of the dance floor letting the light above illuminate him. Beams of light continued to spin around the room. A beam would cut across the chest, reflected back by the wet skin. A beam would cut across the face, revealing its closed eyes and open mouth. Track looked in ecstasy, as if on a drug. A beam of light cut across his legs, with Smoke’s just behind them. A beam of light cut across the crotch revealing Smoke’s hand stroking his cock. It glistened wetly.

Smoke fucked until the song ended and he kept fucking. He fucked slow, feeling every inch of it slide up inside Track. He held the hot body against his own and looked at the booth where Juice stood watching. He kissed Track on the neck while watching Juice’s reaction. He tugged on the ear with his teeth, feeling Track shudder against his chest and saw Juice’s mouth hang open.

Juice woke as if he had been in a trance, realizing the room was silent except for moans and grunts coming from Track and Smoke. He reached down and slid another sleeve out and glanced at the cover. Red with a black and white image of men in some type of uniform, one with a gun in his face. He set the vinyl disk on the turntable and saw the title. “Burning Inside” by Ministry. He started the song and looked back at Track rocking slowly with every push into his depths.

Mechanical sounds mixed with a vibrating sound. It seemed to go for a long time. Slowly it grew more layered, then a man’s voice saying something indistinguishable. Finally, the beat increased, and the song began. A fast brutal pace and the vocals were like someone screaming.

Track heard the song, its rhythm with its brutal pace, and he grabbed Smoke’s thighs and dug in his fingers into them.

“Fuck me,” Track exclaimed.

Smoke began to fuck harder, faster, his pace aligning with the song. It rocked Track, each push inward, and he took it. He took each one, for he loved the feel of it, the fullness of Smoke’s cock buried in his body. His own cock grew harder, flexed thicker in Smoke’s hand. He shuddered as he felt the surge of release. He jerked in Smoke’s hold as his cock released his second load, spraying cum across the floor.

“Fuck,” Smoke whispered in Track’s ear, and he shoved all the way in and came.

The lights went out and the music abruptly stopped.

You Can Never Go Back

The next night, Track led Smoke and Juice back to the abandoned club. They had not discussed their expectations, but it was obvious what they wanted. They wanted the power to be back on, and the club waiting on their arrival, letting them loose themselves again.

They made their way down alleys, along fences at the back of properties. It became apparent before they got to the old shopping center, there was no power in the area. It was dark, only fires burning breaking the darkness.

Juice led them around to the back, rushing down the sloped drive and across its debris littered surface along the rear.

“No, no, no, oh please, no,” Juice uttered, and he took off at a run.

Track and Smoke followed, running behind him to the place he stopped. On the ground was a pile of burnt plastic and around the perimeter were edges of vinyl disks that had not been consumed by the fire.

“Oh no,” Track whispered. He held up his torch and saw the door to the club was standing open.

“Let’s go,” said Smoke, pulling Juice away from the burnt, melted pile of vinyl disks.

“We should check out…” said Juice, getting cut off by Track.

“Juice; it’s not safe. You know they probably destroyed everything. Let’s not look at it.”

“Come on, Juice, just remember what it was like last night,” added Smoke.

Juice rounded on them, his face red in fury as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Why? Why does all the good have to be memories from the past? Why can’t we have something good now? Tonight? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Track uttered, fighting back tears, determined not to let Juice see him cry too.

The three agreed they did not want to return to the apartments right away. They were too depressed and didn’t feel like telling the others. They headed to the library where Word was holed up. They would stay there until the next night. Word would understand and let them just hang out without talking about it. He understood more than most, probably more than even Mother about what had been lost, for he was trying desperately to save some of their lost civilization. Even if just a small part, what a few thousand books could contain. Knowledge and wisdom and warnings of how bad things can get if they didn’t get their shit together.

They cut across the city, working through neighborhoods abandoned, most houses just ransacked, but some were burnt to the ground. It still shocked them how few people remained. Most taken by the virus, then by the violence that man could do to another man. The world was suddenly dangerous, everyone feeling like prey to some monster that lingered in the dark. A monster that walked on two legs and looked the same, but the mind was different. Cruel, greedy, selfish in the most destructive way.

With Track in the lead, now in territory he knew the best, they cut behind an old shopping mall, then around a hotel that had fires burning in upper floor windows that had been knocked out, letting smoke billow out. Below the hotel, they eased down to a creek that split the developments. Apartments on one side, retail, office, and businesses that had fed off them on the other. They followed the creek, stepping around rusting appliances, shopping carts and tattered remnants of tents and blankets. When they came to the large pipe that carried the creek under a four-lane road, they didn’t chance the darkness within, instead climbing up the bank and easing across the road some distance away.

They saw fire rise above the buildings and tree line. It lapped at the sky consuming the air and filling it with billowing smoke.

“That’s near the library,” said Smoke, causing the three of them to look at each other in horror.

“No…Word,” Track exclaimed, and he took off, running carelessly out in the open as fast as he could.

Smoke and Juice followed, trying to keep up.

They rounded a burned-out church and past an apartment complex, seeing the flames were coming from the library. There was a clan in the street in front, yelling and fighting amongst themselves. On the ground lay a body. It was still, unmoving, despite what was happening over it.

Smoke grabbed Track and pulled him off the road and behind shrubs that lined the perimeter of the apartment complex. Juice followed, as Smoke led Track to a place they could keep out of sight and still see the street in front of the burning library.

“Who is that?” Juice asked, and Smoke and Track knew he meant the body lying in the street.

“I think it’s Word,” Track uttered, his voice about to break.

They watched the clan cheer their destruction, revel in it, then once bored, move down the street to their next target. Waiting until they felt the coast was clear, Track and Smoke went out to the street while Juice stayed next to the shrubs keeping an eye out. The fires were dying down, no longer rising high in the sky. The roof had collapsed, and the remaining walls billowed smoke and flame through blown out windows.

Track moved up to the body in the street and when he saw the bruised and bloodied face, he fell to his knees and howled in pain. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the rough pavement, and cried. Smoke stood behind him, tears streaming down his face, for he knew, as their core group knew, it was Word that Track was the closest. In any other time and place, Word would have been the one for Track, but in the aftermath of everything that had happened, Track had not allowed himself the comfort Word had offered. The comfort of another to share life, no matter what came their way. Track was the embodiment of their new world. After losing everything, he believed nothing could ever fill the void. That life was merely to be lived day to day, for nothing else was guaranteed or promised.

Smoke looked at the piles of burned books and knew without looking they had been Word’s collection. He came up behind Track, easing down on his knees. He pulled Track up and held him tightly. The sobbing increased and he held tight to the shaking body.

The sky began to lighten in the east and Smoke helped Track to stand.

“We can’t leave him like this,” Track whispered.

“I know,” Smoke replied, looking back at Juice, then up to the library, where small fires still burned. “He should be returned to the library, don’t you think?”

Track looked up the steps at the burning library and he knew what Smoke meant. He nodded his head, then stepped back next to him.

“But I can’t do it.”

No Beginning, No End

The days passed, and the group continued to exist. To grow food on the sixteenth floor, to store it on the top floors, and collect water from the creek nearby that would need boiling before use. Mother told stories during the late afternoons when everyone seemed to be awake. Those at the end of their hours awake, and others just stirring, like Smoke and Track, who roamed at night, when it was safest. A few days after the library fire and Word’s death, there was a change, one that created little discussion. Gofer moved down the hall to Altia’s room, and Smoke moved in with Track. Their bond increased over the days, the two going so far as to be sleeping together. And their sex increased, grew more physical, with a desperation neither could explain.

Track led Smoke down the stair one rainy evening, the rain a slow drizzle that was just enough to wet everything. They had sat with the group listening to Mother talk about plans to expand down another floor to grow more food, then they eased out without a word to anyone, as they often did since the library fire.

Smoke knew where Track was heading, but he let him lead, keeping an eye out for one of the clans. They moved out of the business district into the neighborhood to the east. It had been an upper income neighborhood, the houses larger than any of those in surrounding neighborhoods. Most had been burned down, just black relics of their past symbol of status. The few that remained had been ransacked so severely, as to make them uninhabitable. But it was in this neighborhood they had found it. For days after the library fire, they had roamed aimlessly, night after night, then one night, cutting across the rear yards of this neighborhood, Track had spotted it down a steep bank at the back of a lower yard area. The central area was surrounded by trees, making it appear to sit in an oasis. The open yard now had tall grasses with flowering shrubs and plants mixed in, creating an environment once termed wild. But it wasn’t the wild, that was behind them, in the built environments with its roaming clans. This pocket of nature left alone, was anything but wild. And it sat among this natural world, a relic of man’s attempt to control nature. A greenhouse, one so old it was made of steel and real glass. Inside orchards hung from above and the tables were covered in plants free to grow as they will. A few panels were missing in the top, allowing rain to fall into it, keeping everything alive. A vine spread up one side and along the sloping roof to one opening, where it seemed to reach for freedom.

It was the place Track led Smoke, this greenhouse in an oasis. Inside there was no talking, as they removed their clothes, stacking them on a shelf away from the drizzling rain coming in from above. Torches were set in the dirt away from the rain, and Track led Smoke to the center and down on the soft ground. The rain fell on their nakedness as Track took Smoke in hand and guided him to his opening, urgent in his need to be penetrated.

Track lay back, legs spread and shivered as Smoke breached his tightness. He moaned and pushed back as cock sank into his hole. Then he pleaded with Smoke to fuck him as he felt the cock tug outward, then push back in. For a long time, Smoke fucked slowly, letting Track feel every inch. Every inch that moved through his tight opening and filled his hole. Despite the cool drizzling rain, Track became feverish, his body hot beneath Smoke. He clung to the lean body, undulated his own against it. Lips touched his neck, then moved up to his ear, along the jaw until finally, with an urgency neither could admit, pressed against his own. He moaned into the open mouth.

“Track…” Smoke whispered, so low Track barely heard it. But he felt the urgency and need behind it. It led to an increased pace, cock plunging into his depths faster and faster.

Smoke lifted himself on his hands and stared down at Track as he fucked. Track held the flexing ass, felt the strength of every push, wishing it would never end. There was nothing to return to. He looked up and saw the dark brown eyes staring at him and he threw his arms over his head and cried out as Smoke fucked him faster.

Then Smoke came, shuddering with release.

When Smoke moved up on his knees, Track rolled over and got on his elbows and knees. His cock angled up between his thighs, hard and dripping. He bent his head down and watched it ooze slick clear liquid as Smoke’s legs moved closer.

“Do it…fuck me again,” begged Track, and he felt wet cock touch his hole, then sink into it all the way. He shuddered and moaned as hands held his waist and the cock began to piston inside him.

Fingers dug into Track’s waist. His legs were pushed further apart. Lips touched his spine, then drew away. And cock hammered his insides. Faster and faster, until hips smacked against his ass.

A hand moved around his waist and took his cock. Soon it moved slickly along the hard length as he rocked with every push inward. He felt Smoke inside his body, the fullness of every thrust inward, and he struggled with the feel of it against the feel of his own cock being stroked. He rose to his knees and an arm circled his neck pulling him back. It was tight, almost too tight, for it restricted his breathing. He gasped for breath while working his hips back and forth. Forward, shoving his cock through the tight fist, then back, sinking Smoke inside his body. He increased his pace until panting for breath, then he shuddered and jerked in Smoke’s embrace as he sprayed cum across the ground.

“Fuck…” Smoke uttered, tightening his hold, as he shuddered with his own release.

They would remain in the greenhouse until nearly dawn, where they lay on the ground, naked, letting their bodies become smeared in mud. They raked fingers over the other, touched chest, rubbed over hard nipples, followed the contours of the other’s body, and touched the most private regions. Over the days they had come to know the other in every way.

“We should clean up and get back,” said Track, climbing to his feet, holding his hand out to help Smoke stand.

They could hear and see the rain had increased, and they went out, letting it wash the mud from their bodies. Dressed in their wet clothes, they headed back, once again feeling anxious and fearful.

Coming to the back of the apartment building, they heard voices, then the unmistakable sound of metal crashing onto asphalt. There was an attempt by one of the clans to get inside. Taking Track by the hand, Smoke led them to a place that shielded them from view. They watched how six or seven members of some clan were trying to get in while metal containers full of rock and concrete rained down on them. Two lay on the ground unmoving and they watched another look up in time to see a metal toolbox full of metal coming toward his head. There was a thud of crushed flesh and bone and the guy crumbled beneath the toolbox. The toolbox bounced away leaving the crushed body dead on the asphalt.

One of the other men yelled and ran to the lifeless body. He screamed, then shook a fist at the upper windows where objects continued to rain down from above. A vase smashed next to the guy, and another was struck in the shoulder by a concrete block. The shoulder dislocated grotesquely, and the guy fell to the ground screaming.

“Get Puck; let’s go,” another yelled out.

Track and Smoke watched the remaining men help up those on the ground that were still alive and take off. Just before they disappeared in the darkness, one yelled, “We’ll be back.”

Mother called everyone together and talked about how they had prepared for this moment. How they had made the first two floors dangerous for intruders, with traps set in nearly every room and the corridor that ran along the spine of the building. How they were on the upper floors, too high for someone to climb up on the outside of the building, and their building wasn’t near another of equal height.

Track listened, telling himself to agree. But he felt trapped, a prisoner of his own making. He looked at Code sitting against the far wall and knew he felt the same. Code had been pushing for others to join him in an expedition to the north. It had sounded foolish at first, but Track was beginning to think it might be their best option. To stay was to exist in fear, always at the mercy of the clans. He leaned closer to Smoke, keeping his head down so no one could even see his lips move as he said what he was thinking.

“I think Mother is wrong.”

Smoke bowed his head and leaned toward him.

“I’m beginning to think Code is right.”

“Me too.”

It was late in the night, those early morning hours when everything was quiet. A few fires burned in the windows of surrounding buildings and off in the distance buildings were being consumed by raging fires out of contro. Track and Smoke sat in their apartment staring out at the madness of it. They watched the fires and how they were consuming the buildings. A soft knock on the door, then it eased open. Code looked around the jamb.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Come on in,” Smoke replied.

Code shut the door behind him and moved into the room, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He stared out as Track was still doing.

“What’s up?” Code asked.

“You still want to try getting to Clayton?” asked Track.

“You know I do.”

“What if we come with you? You think we can make it?” asked Smoke.

Code looked around at Smoke, then Track, seeing they were serious.

“That would be great, but Mother won’t let you leave.”

“Mother can’t keep us here,” said Smoke.

“How long will it take for you to get ready to leave?” asked Track.

“It’s too late to start out now. I’d not want to try getting out of the city in daylight, but I could be ready after dark.”

Track looked out and saw the sky was growing lighter, the inky blackness giving way to a violet, then a pale blue.

“Do you have a backpack?” asked Track.

“A small one,” replied Code.

“No, you need to get a big one, like people used for hiking.”

“I don’t have one of those.”

“I know where to get one. Mother has some stashed on the fourteenth floor,” said Smoke.

“He does?” asked Track.

“Even Mother knows the day will come it is not safe to stay here.”

“You think he’ll let us go?” asked Code.

“He will if he doesn’t know we’re going,” Smoke replied.

“We should let him know something,” said Code.

“You’re the best writer of the three of us. Write a letter telling him we’ve gone and if he chooses to abandon this prison he’s created, to come north,” said Track.

“Go quietly, do what you normally do during the day but before dark get your things ready. I’ll come by just before dark when Mother holds his meeting and drop off a backpack,” said Smoke.

“And the letter?” asked Code.

“If you get it done before then, bring it to me,” replied Track.

It was just after midnight, the roaming clans slowly dispersing as they tired of their nightly antics. It was the time the whole city seemed to settle down, prepared to sleep through the rest of the night. The apartments were just as quiet. Those that operated during the night busy at their tasks or huddled up together in someone’s room. In the apartment that faced the west, the one shared by Track and Smoke, Smoke was zipping up his bag, then tying off the top while Track was holding the diary that had belonged to a Susan from before. He debated taking it, wondering if he should leave it behind for someone else. To read about the normalcy of life before could be a catharsis or it could be curse. It had been both for him. At times he cried, and other times he smiled and laughed quietly to himself as he read it. In the end, he couldn’t part with it, placing it in his backpack. There were few personal possessions, mainly additional clothes. The bulk of the items were dried food, water, a couple of knives, and small first aid kits. In Smoke’s backpack there was one other thing, something so precious he would not tell the others until they were safely away. A map of the state showing the roads and all the places that existed before the fall.

One floor below, in the apartment near the stair, Code was zipping up his backpack. He was anxious to get underway, setting the backpack by the door, then pacing the room, going from the window back to the kitchen with its useless appliances and plumbing that hadn’t worked in years. He looked out at the darkness, the moon illuminating the ground and buildings, creating a horizon line the eye could just make out. There came a soft knock, and he opened his door to see Smoke standing at it with Track at the opposite wall.

“You ready?” asked Smoke.

“Yes; let’s go,” Code replied.

They eased down the front stair, the one rarely used, then slipped outside, cutting across the parking lot, hiding behind a shrub along its edge. They looked down the roads that intersected in front of them. The streets were quiet, no one stirring around. They looked back at the apartment building, up to the top five floors. They saw the faint glow of torch light and on the roof, someone standing at the parapet with their back to the city.

“Let’s go,” said Track, and he eased up and led them down the road that headed north. They moved along the edge of it, keeping in the shadows.

They were unaware of being watched, for they were more worried about what lay ahead. Behind them stood Mother, positioned at the edge of the road watching for as long as they were visible. The moon gave them a ghostly presence in the street and Mother frowned as Track, Smoke and Code faded into the darkness.  

*Reference sentence in Radio Transmissions: “…My feelings will not be repressed…”:

Austen, Jane (1775-1817). Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 34, ed by Sicha, Frank, Jr. [Boston, New York, etc. Ginn and company, 1917] Pdf. Retrieved from the Library of Congress. www.loc.gov/item/18001222/.