Susan Kim - Wasteland

“It’ll be nice,” he said, “for us to finally be together.”

Caleb felt a weird stillness overtake him, as if time had slowed to nothingness. He could see his life laid out in hundreds of strands; everything in his past was happening again at once. He saw the face of his mother. The sight of his newborn son, slick with blood and afterbirth. Esther’s eyes. And he saw his brother and himself as if from a great distance and he realized that he was not afraid.

“The world doesn’t need any more orphans,” he said. “You above all should know that.”

His brother stared at him, then recoiled, as if punched in the stomach. What did he see? Caleb wondered. Did Levi picture Kai and his own infant self merging, as injustice was handed down to another generation? Did he know that, this time, it would be his fault?

Caleb would never know.

Levi reached under his desk. With a grinding sound, the door began to open, then stopped, leaving just enough room for someone to fit underneath.

“Go,” he said.

Caleb looked at him one last time, then was gone.

Alone, Levi stood near his desk, immobile. He considered Caleb’s offer, the prospect of being Shunned himself. But where would he go? The Source was his home, the only true home he had ever had. And he knew the poison was working its way through his body, invisible and unstoppable, like rot taking over a carcass.

If he closed his eyes, he could practically feel it.

He gazed at the partly open door, then pressed the unseen button, raising it.

As if in a trance, Levi walked alone through the massive store. Unseeing, he passed aisle after aisle stacked high with crates made of cardboard and wood, all labeled. poland spring water. golden blossom honey. domino sugar. gold medal flour. Every single one was empty. All they were good for, really, was tinder.

He reached his destination. It was the room in which the gasoline was kept, the untold gallons and buckets and bottles of fuel that the people Prin had been collecting for years, keeping Levi and his people in light and comfort. He was holding the nearly empty can of fuel. He fingered the firestarter, idly.

The explosion would be heard for miles.

Just then, Esther and Joseph felt a tremor. They rushed to the window and saw the rising smoke coming from the Source.

Shock and anxiety passed over Esther’s face.

“Caleb,” she said quietly.

But there was another reason for worry. Joseph’s home, previously weakened by earthquakes and other disasters, now began to shift. Both Esther and Joseph stood stock-still, hoping for it to end. But the rattling did not; it grew greater. The blast had been strong enough to threaten the hotel’s very stability.

“Joseph,” Esther said, “we have to get out of here. Now.”

Joseph knew that she was right. Yet it was more difficult than even he expected to round up ten cats. He trusted several of them (Stumpy, Malawi, and a few of the others) to follow on foot. But the others he had to hunt down and stuff into their nylon carrying bags, a process that involved much yowling, wriggling, and scratching. He also grabbed a few belongings: a folder of newspaper clippings, some books, a calendar.

Meanwhile, Esther kept a grim watch by the door, her face drawn with impatience and concern. When Joseph was ready, she took three of his cat carriers without a word and hoisted them onto her shoulders, where they competed for space with the baby. She handed him her messenger bag. Then they set off, a strange caravan of people and animals.

They were no more than several steps down when the staircase started to falter.

At the same moment, plaster and rubble began to rain down on them. They froze for a moment; then quickened their pace. Through choking white dust, Joseph could see cracks widening in the walls. In some places, the stairs themselves looked as if they were about to shear off completely. Entire sections of the staircase started to vanish. The cats could leap over these gaps with ease, but the humans were not so gifted. Esther helped Joseph as they clung to the central railing and worked their way across.

They were only two flights down when more fissures became apparent.

This whole time, the child had not cried, even as the staircase shook so much that the very bones in Joseph’s body seemed to rattle. In front of him, he saw that Esther’s dark hair and red sweatshirt were whitened with plaster dust, as were the baby’s head and what had once been dark green cat carriers. When she abruptly turned to face him, Esther’s eyes were like black stones in a field of snow.

Above, they heard the sound of a massive metal beam breaking loose. It came crashing down a few feet away from where they stood, shearing off another section of the staircase and narrowly missing one of the cats.

Esther shot Joseph a look that was half plea, half command.

“I have to go fast now,” she said. “You’re going to have to keep up.”

Joseph nodded.

Without being asked, she took his two cat carriers and added them to her overburdened shoulders. Then she seemed to coil up like a spring before she took off. Joseph watched with open-mouthed amazement as she leaped off a shard of ground, made brief contact with the wall, pushed off with her foot and grabbed the handrail, swung sideways and landed on a ledge one flight below.

There Esther stood, looking up as she waited for him.

Joseph had to shake himself out of his astonishment. Even his cats seemed surprised by what they had seen. Then he did his best to follow.

He could not keep up with his friend; it was impossible. Yet they did manage to go much faster. Joseph, however, was not used to such exertion or excitement. His heart pounded and his legs shook. He suggested more than once that she would go faster without him. But Esther stayed with him, always finding a secure spot or foothold where they could both rest.

They were close to the lobby by the time the ceiling began to break up more. A cascade of white dust crashed down on them from above like a waterfall. Joseph could not see, his eyes and nose and mouth filled with plaster, and he choked and coughed.

“Come,” Esther called over the roar of collapsing bricks. Joseph felt the pressure of her hand in his. Blindly, he stumbled after her, down a few more steps. He landed on some rubble and stumbled, twisting his ankle and giving out a cry. But Esther refused to let him stop. She pulled him into a clear area, which he only vaguely recognized as his lobby. Still rubbing his eyes, he let her guide him across the ruined space for what he realized would be the last time, until he sensed she was leading him up and across the empty frame of what was once the picture window.

“Now run,” she said.

And they did. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, Joseph ran as fast as he could across the courtyard, the cats close on his heels. Esther sprinted in front of him, still wearing cats and baby in a way that might have seemed funny if it wasn’t so impressive. They ran past the asphalt court with its lone basketball hoop, past the lot filled with abandoned cars, and still they kept going.

“Don’t look back,” Esther said.

So Joseph didn’t. Behind him, he could hear a rumbling that grew to a roar that seemed to suck the sound out of the world.

Without looking, he knew what had happened. His home had been destroyed.

Joseph’s heart was still pounding wildly, especially when he realized how closely they had come to being destroyed with it. He thought about all that he had lost: nearly all of his library, calendars, and timepieces. These were precious, beloved items he had spent a lifetime collecting, repairing, constructing. All he had left was what he had with him at the moment.

But he was brought back to himself by the feel of something at his ankles.