Matthew Tysz - The Last City of America

“We’ve been through worse,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Adrian.

“Remember running from those zombies on the highway?”

“It was a backroad,” he said.

“The chase ended on the highway, didn’t it?”

“…Yeah.”

She waited for him to say something else. He didn’t.

She felt for these people. She felt for all people. But if they couldn’t live together in peace, what more could be done for them? The chain of violence just never ended. No one seemed to be able to stop it. How sympathetic could she be for a weakness that was their own fault? How damning could she be toward sins that she and he had also committed? There was just nothing to be angry about anymore.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She felt as distant to him as when they first met. She would usher him to bed soon. For now, they stood like two strangers, watching night fall on a strange city.

Once again, he was alone, speeding across an empty land in his red car.

He took I-80, through miles of Sacramento’s farms and the scattered hamlets that maintained them. They were empty.

Despair came as he entered the suburbs of West Sacramento. What buildings weren’t burnt black were whittled down by gunfire. The streets were nearly impassible, layered with wood, sheets of metal, glass, bodies.

The highway lifted over the river. A loop connected it to the West Side Freeway. He stopped the car just past it. He looked out. A row of homes lay in front of him, seemingly untouched. In the background, the skyline, at least one chunk missing from every building that remained.

He hit the gas and got off the highway, into Sacramento.

The roads were blocked in so many places, the city unrecognizable in so many others. But there were just enough recognizable features on just enough passable roads to bring him to the place he was looking for.

The capitol was the only building of its size untouched by the scourge.

He drove over the curb, across the lawn, stopped at the steps. He ran inside, the engine running. The door shut behind him.

There was very little light, but just enough to see that the lobby was clean. No rubble, nothing toppled over or broken. No sign of a struggle. Only one body. In the center of the room.

He stepped. Froze. Stepped again. He felt his torso quiver, his hands go numb, the muscles behind his eyes go weak. He stepped again, stood over the woman with blond hair. She was looking at the ceiling.

He knelt, put his fingers over her neck, pressed hard. Cold skin. He pressed harder. She was already beginning to decompose.

He lost control of his breathing. He took her in his arms, filled with the smell of her death, violated by it. He held her close. The smell grew stronger.

Memories whirled and his thoughts went with them. All the cold bodies he carried from his lab. All the pulses he stopped. All the people he never cared about.

He closed his eyes. The whirl sped faster. Joining it came every memory from the day he met Adrian. Leaving Rush. Crossing the country. Popcorn Town. The Wizard. Don Masterson. The West. The Mercados. Karen.

It wasn’t painful enough. His heart was breaking. But the pieces weren’t small enough. Did he ever care anything for any of this? Was he ever truly connected to any human being he ever met? Was he ever anything more than his ambition? Barnabas flashed in his vision.

He didn’t know if it was the pain, or just the unbearable confusion—he threw his head back and screamed, for the first time in his life, really screamed, until his lungs had emptied. He was blinded by tears when he turned his head back down on her.

“People like us are built for moving on, Harold.”

He pressed his head against hers as Grakus’s presence hijacked the darkness.

“All of your experiments, all of your tests. Building your knowledge, manifesting control,” the darkness came closer. “Where does it all lead, Harold?”

He squeezed it out of his mind.

“Do you know why she was compelled by you?” The voice was right behind his ear. “Because she thought you cared. She thought all this was more than just a game to you. You can stop pretending now. Shrug the burden off your back and be who you are.”

Harold whipped his body around and threw his fist. He hit nothing. Grakus had vanished and reappeared a yard back.

“Do you think that was love you were feeling all this time, Harold? Friendship? Your mind was tricking you. Just like it’s trying to trick you now. Emulating pain. But pain is not something you’re capable of feeling. They loved you. You didn’t love them. That’s why they’re all dead.”

Harold lunged at him. Again, Grakus became the darkness. Harold tripped. Fell to his knees. Stayed there. Grakus’s shoes appeared beneath his eyes.

“You are evolution at its most basic purpose. To improve for the sake of improving. You don’t know to what end, because there is no end.”

Harold lifted his eyes to Grakus. “Have you fallen so far that your only amusement comes from taunting such a man?”

Looking down on Harold, Grakus shook his head. “It’s not over for me yet. But you… take my car and your bag of tricks. It means nothing to me anymore. You’re free.”

Grakus stayed as Harold stumbled to his feet. His legs felt soft beneath his body. He drifted to the door in a daze, pushed his way out into the cool evening. He staggered down the stairs to the car. He pulled out and started driving. Through the rubble. Out of the city.

Where he would end up, he did not know.

He hadn’t realized all the debate and controversy leading to the uprising. All the commentators grilling the military. All the Manhattanites covering their faces in ash and forming gangs on the streets, meeting in secret at night. All of it he’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, all of it spun in his head.

“We don’t know what the government did. Why not give them the chance to explain themselves?”

“You mean the chance to concoct more lies?”

“The Army of Obadiah will do what it can to protect our lord.”

“But should you be protecting your lord, general?”

“The age of the Seven Cities is over. As is the monarchy that went with it. Cleanse the government and elect a new leader.”

All he had was the sense to realize something was wrong. What fool couldn’t have? But like a fool, he did nothing. Like a fool, he tried to convince himself it was in his head. And now it was too late.

Then again, maybe it had been too late for a longer time than he thought.

He stood in the lobby of the Capitol, watching what remained of the world prepare to slaughter itself. As frustrated as he was that the perfect situation had gone so wrong, he wasn’t surprised. Not being surprised made him angrier. But who could he blame? Not them. They were just afraid. They were just uncertain. They were just people. They didn’t deserve this.

He listened to their screaming. Their anger. And all he could feel was pity. They couldn’t be told what was right. Not by him. Not by God. They had to be shown.

“It isn’t your life to give,” a familiar voice came from behind him. “You gave it to Angela the day you married her.”

Adrian would have expected those words from Aden. But it wasn’t Aden.

“Look at them,” Grakus’s hand came down on Adrian’s shoulder. “They worship ignorance. They put their faith in murderers. They choose evil. Leave them. Live your life. Give mankind to the fate they made for themselves.”

Adrian looked through the glass doors, out into the masses of people. Their angry faces. Their confusion. More passion than they knew what to do with. His heart was filled with despair. Not at the prospect of dying, but at the thought of them falling under Grakus. “One thing I’ve learned since my home was taken from me… people aren’t bad. They’re just afraid. That’s the only thing that ever gave you power, Grakus. Evil by itself is a helpless thing.”