Морин Макхью - Wastelands - The New Apocalypse

We moved slowly, safely, staying in cover, avoiding open spaces. The city was open, but it was not safe exactly. I had spent some time in the Quarantine Zone, but never in the city. I was more scared than I had expected, more scared than I could admit to myself. We had weapons, food and water, oxygen tanks, and all the sundry items one might need to survive in the wilderness, but I felt naked. I was glad Flynn was there with me. He was loud and didn’t seem to care about anything. I kept telling him to be quiet, but it made me feel better that he wouldn’t shut up. We were past small talk about our histories, and he had taken to regaling me with tales of his adventures, particularly at night, before we went to sleep. He was a wanderer, self-described, and he had seen all the horrors and wonders the new world had to offer.

“There was this nest of giant spiders. Big gold boys with nasty teeth. Maybe the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. But there was this kid there, right smack in the middle of ’em. I couldn’t just leave her. I only had a couple bullets left, though, and those spiders would’ve ripped me apart before I could get a scream out.”

“What’d you do?” I asked. It was definitely bullshit, but it was entertaining bullshit. The reason I have to be on guard against sentimental stories is that I am easily intoxicated by them.

“Well I shot one, and then I ran like hell. They chased me, but I just kept on running. I ran and I ran and I ran. Then finally, we came to this river. One of them half-terraformed ones, where it goes up like a waterfall and comes down again? I see that and I come up with a plan. So I head out to where the water shoots up, and I wait for them. There’s five of them now. They’re getting closer and closer, but I just stand there wading, fighting the current. They’re so close now I can smell them, and they look mad. Not mad like an animal, mad like a person, just angry, and right when one of them’s gonna stick his stinger in my chest, I jump back and let the water suck me up. They get sucked up, too. And then, when we’re coming down, we’re all lined up real pretty because of the gravity or however those things work, and I line it up, and I take one shot and boom, all five dead. I run back to the nest, and the little kid’s fine. I took the shell of the one I killed at the beginning, and I stripped the hair and made this coat.”

“Amazing,” I said.

“I just got lucky,” he said.

And so it went. I’m not sure if I can tell this part of the story honestly. This is when I took that picture from before, the one of Flynn and the fountain. A couple days went by without any incident and we were relaxed, almost comfortable. Stopped looking out for monsters. Started sleeping under the stars instead of in tents. This is when I got most of my pictures. The architecture and the plants and all that. You’ve seen them. Those are all in the book. But here are some more of Flynn.

Here we are in the museum, Flynn wanted to take some paintings, but I was worried they were contaminated. And here’s one of the invaders’ tower.

This is me. I never used to smile in pictures, but Flynn got one out of me. Still can’t believe I let him touch my camera. I never let anyone else touch my camera, not ever. And look at this one. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Part bird, part I-don’t-know-what. At least six feet tall. The scales were like polished fire. She was just walking in the middle of the street. I wanted to shoot her just to be safe, but Flynn said I shouldn’t. He said he knew from experience that she wouldn’t hurt us, that she was just looking for her flock, but I could see in his eyes he was lying. Still, God help me, I trusted him.

I’d loved people before him, and I’ve loved people since, but I never liked anyone like I liked him. We just sort of fit together. There was something magical about being with him in that place, like we were exploring a dream, just the two of us and no one else left in the world. It was stupid, but my life had been nothing but serious for decades. It was nice to indulge a little.

One night, we made a campfire in the middle of a park like a couple of fools. Flynn had a bottle of whiskey he said he had gotten as a reward for singlehandedly saving a small encampment from the tanglefires, and I had meat rations and bread to spare, so we had a little bit of a feast. After we were completely full and a little drunk, he asked me why I came to the city.

“The real reason,” he said. “It’s been killing me. I don’t believe it’s just for pictures.”

The truth slipped out before I managed to compose the lie. “I wanted to see if I could survive out here.”

“Why?” he asked.

“In case I need to leave my camp. Or if I want to.”

“You want to leave?”

“I might.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a position back at the camp. Responsibilities. People count on me. Back in the war, I was at the very bottom. It didn’t matter what I did. I just followed orders. As long as I didn’t do anything stupid, nothing was ever my fault, good or bad. Now, if I fuck up, people get hurt, maybe they die, and it’s all on me.”

“So you want to just leave? And do what?”

“Be a wanderer. Like you. See the country. Have adventures. Make stories.”

He laughed and took a big swig of whiskey before passing the bottle to me. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no kind of life. Some of my stories may be… slightly exaggerated.”

I laughed. “Oh really?”

“It’s no kind of life,” he repeated, softly.

“Maybe. I just think sometimes, things get so broken that fixing them is more trouble than it’s worth.”

I finished off the bottle and blew over the top so it made that low, eerie whistle, and I kept doing until the fire went out. And in the dark, I crawled up next to Flynn and gave him a kiss. He kissed me back. He tasted like shit, but it was nice anyhow. I started to pull off my shirt, but he grabbed my hand.

“No,” he said.

“What is it,” I said.

“It’s not you. I just… I’m married.”

“You’re married?”

“I got a family.”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know. Back east, I imagine.”

“You imagine?”

“I left them a few years ago. Just up and walked out.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to. It was just too much. It’s like you were saying. I never had much taste for taking care of people. Not something I was made for. But I’m gonna fix it. That’s why I came out here. I’m going to the Shit Lake. I’m gonna go in, and someone stronger is gonna come out. I’m gonna go back to them and take care of them like I should.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” I said. I rolled away from him, and I went to sleep without saying anything else.

He was gone the next morning. There’s a certain kind of man who only likes you when you see him a certain kind of way. When you get a glimpse of the real person, he runs. Some people can only live inside stories.

It was a relief to me, honestly. I was pretty mad about the whole situation, and I didn’t want to sort out whether I was mad at him or myself.

I decided that I wanted to get some pictures of my childhood home, or whatever was in its place, and then I would make my way out of the city.

Flynn left behind my rifle, thank God, and I felt like myself again, which was both good and bad. I took it slow and careful, like a soldier on a mission, not a kid on vacation. There was a very large, horned ant on the way, and I didn’t stop to take a picture—I just put it down without thinking.

No unnecessary risks.

Here. This is my house. Those mushrooms were everywhere, inside and out. The film doesn’t capture the color very well. They were bright orange, like neon or something, and they were covered in slime that smelled like bleach. The house was flooded inside, and the walls were crumbling.