Bob Fingerman - Pariah

“N-no. This is yours, if you want it. The apartment across the hall is vacant, too, if you’d like that one better. Or there’s one on the fifth floor if you…”

“This is fine.”

Ellen was about to say something, but Mona poked the buds back in and that was that, which was probably for the best. Ellen stepped into the common hall, closed the door to 2A, and stood there, still feeling that sense of unreality. She could hear sounds of reverie from the roof, the jubilant mood persisting. Ellen felt none of it now, but didn’t want to be a killjoy. Let the others luxuriate in the moment. Eat, drink and be merry , she thought, for tomorrow we suss out our benefactress .

“Maybe she’s just antisocial,” Alan said, wanting to fall asleep while still enjoying the sensation of fullness. How long had it been since anyone in the building had gone to bed not hungry?

“It’s more than that,” Ellen said, her tone firm. “It’s like she’s not quite there.”

“That’s kind of a snap judgment, isn’t it? How long has she been here, five hours? She’s been out there on her own for who knows how long, probably lost everyone she ever knew. Yeah, she seems a little out of it, from what little I saw, but she’ll come around. We’re like a bunch of needy kids she’s been saddled with out of nowhere. Give her a little time to adjust. You should be grateful she showed up.”

“I am. Don’t put words in my mouth, or thoughts in my head, or whatever. I’m deliriously happy that she’s here. Hopefully we can get her to stay and go out and get more. If she’s immune to those things, hell yes I’m grateful. I didn’t hear any of the rest of you calling out to her to get her to help, so cut me some slack, Alan.”

“Jeez, relax a little. Just get some sleep, please. Tomorrow’s another day.” And with that he rolled over and blew out the candle, illustrating that the conversation was over.

Ellen lay on her back absentmindedly rubbing her full stomach. Her full stomach . What the hell was she so worked up about? Alan was right. This girl was a godsend, simple as that. Was she jealous? Oh Jesus, if that was it she needed help. A young nubile girl arrives and what, she’s afraid she’ll lose her man? Oh that’s insane. But maybe that was what was troubling her. Mona was a pretty young thing with a pretty young body. On the one hand maybe Alan would cast an impure eye her way, but on the other, so might the apes across the hall. That would take some pressure off.

If Mona stuck around, Ellen could maybe fill out her skin again, put the curves back. Her breasts had once been brimming with milk, sustainers of life. She’d once had the tiny mouth of her infant daughter suckling her large, distended nipples. Her nipples had been in a perpetual state of stimulation. They’d felt raw, but vital. Mike had grown jealous, even resentful of the baby. “That’s my turf,” he’d said, insisting it was a joke, but Ellen and he knew full well that many truths were said in jest. “She gets one year grazing privileges, tops,” Mike had said, “then all rights revert to yours truly.” They’d laughed, but Mike would watch the baby nursing and raise an eyebrow, tap the crystal of his watch. “One year,” he’d repeat. “Not a day longer.”

Ellen’s hand drifted up from her belly and felt the hollowed lobes of flesh. She’d have them back. Maybe they wouldn’t produce sustenance any more, but they could make Alan happy. She traced orbits around her areola with her fingertip, the nipple responding, straining up to greet her digit.

Her baby.

Her dead baby.

She almost had to struggle to remember her name.

Fully hydrated for the first time in ages, Ellen lay there and shed nary a tear. She was all cried out. The world was a dead place full of dead things too stupid and stubborn to realize it. She remembered the boys in her old neighborhood that ran around playing cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians. They’d shoot cap guns or finger guns at each other shouting, “Pow! Pow!” even if they were firing caps. Then the recipient of imaginary lead was supposed to fall down. “You’re dead!” the boys would shout. “Fall down!” If the victim defied them with an impudent, “Uh-uh, you missed,” or “Make me,” arguments ensued and sometimes fists would fly.

Those things outside were poor sports that refused to fall down.

She could feel them, still restless from their encounter with Mona. There was some cognizance there. Maybe it was rudimentary, but those things knew something was up. Some groaned in their clabbered subhuman manner, sounds so thick and ugly they prodded Ellen’s bowels. Think happy thoughts , Ellen commanded herself. You will be beautiful again. You will be desirable again. Alan already desires you. You will be vital again.

Mona isn’t a threat.

Dabney lay on his tarp, staring up at the cosmos. The haze had cleared and for the first time in weeks the sky was pinpricked with countless stars. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, sucking small deposits of food from between his teeth. His belly churned happily. There were leftovers on the table, which remained on the roof. Leftovers. How decadent. The only thing lacking in this equation was a cigarette. Oh sweet Lord above, a cigarette would be glorious. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure through his body. Dabney eased up off the ground, trod over to the table, and scooped out the remnants of a can of peas, then drank the pea water, swishing it around like a funky mouthwash. He thought about dental hygiene. Maybe that girl could get some toothpaste and Scope and whatnot. Listerine, but not the nasty medicinal kind. That minty stuff. Or the citrus kind! If it tasted like orange soda he’d gargle all day and keep the gingivitis at bay.

And cigarettes. Definitely cigarettes.

He was sorry he hadn’t spotted her. All his time up here playing lookout when there was nothing to see and the one time something was brewing he’d been napping on the job. Abe got that glory.

“Thank you, God,” he said aloud, just in case he seemed unappreciative.

With his lantern burning, Dabney polished off every morsel that remained.

“I wouldn’t mind breaking off a piece of that,” Eddie said, the only one in the building rubbing south of his belly. “Oh yeah. I didn’t get that good of a look, but she looked fuckin’ young, bronus. A little light in the tit-tay department, but I don’t care.”

“Sure, whatever,” Dave replied.

“Whatever? Pfff. Okay, bro, fine. More for me.”

Dave sighed expansively and shook his head.

“What? What, dude, what ? You’re actin’ like her showin’ up isn’t the greatest thing since Girls Gone Wild .”

“Of course it is, but Jesus, Eddie, you’re already thinking about nailing her and she just got here. Plus which, unless rape is your new thing, maybe you oughta test those waters before you go assuming she’ll have anything to do with you.”

“Y’know, I never noticed what a sad sack o’ shit you can be sometimes. And you better stow that shit about the rape. That’s our business and no one else’s, capisce ? I get wind of you spreadin’ that around and…”

“And what? Oh that’s right. Murder’s on your résumé, too.”

Eddie got up off the futon and stomped over to Dave, who sat on the carpet, back to the wall. Eddie stood with his legs spread wide, a posture of unquestionable dominance. He kept making and unmaking fists as he stared down at Dave, who looked up with defiance.

“What? You gonna hit me?” he asked. “You gonna kill me?”

Eddie glared at Dave, looked away, looked around the room. After a minute his posture relaxed, the expression on his face uncertain. “Why you gotta push my buttons, bro?” he asked, his voice a soft whine. “This was a good night and you had to go bringing up that old business.”