Jamie Spencer

Prologue

Running. Running in the rain. I am too afraid to look back, I keep my view straight ahead. The streets are deserted, although it’s only 9 pm. I hope against hope I’ll see someone, someone who can help me. There is no one around. They are following me. I keep on running. I trip. I fall. Time stops.

Chapter I

It hasn’t always been this way. There used to be a time, it seems like it was ages ago, when we were free. When everyone could do whatever they wanted, had freedom in their choice of job, freedom in their choice of love, of food and of friends. There was a time when there were rightful laws and people were free. We used to call these times “Democracy”. People were happy. At least, most of them. Then it happened. Without warning, the day came when everything changed. The sky turned red at first, then it darkened. The earth began to tremble. Every building around us collapsed. I was twelve years old, just outside the building where my parents, my little brother and I used to live. My first instinct was to run away, so I ran for almost five minutes, then I remembered that my mum and dad were still inside. I turned around but instead of the building I expected to see there were only ruins. Tears were sliding down my cheek as I was running towards it. Then the earth trembled again and I tripped. I fell. Time stopped.

I woke up 3 days later in a hospital. Everywhere around me were people. Or whatever was left of them. Many of them were missing limbs, like the lady who will only need half of a blanket from now on, since she only had the hands left. Others were wrapped in bloody bandages, strangely reminding me of mummies, except the people here were still alive. I will never forget the smell of death and decay which surrounded us. Years after I’ve been dismissed from the hospital, I heard that the cadavers have been stacked in the basement, because all the cold rooms were already occupied.

I tried to stand up. A nurse came to me and told me that it would be better if I kept on lying there. She asked my name. “Jamie,” I told her. “Jamie Spencer.” She nodded at me and wrote my name on the clipboard she was holding. I asked her whether any of my relatives were in the hospital. She checked her clipboard and answered, “I have only one more Spencer on my list, Carl Spencer.” I did not know anyone in my family who went by the name of Carl. In the first second I was relieved. It meant that no one from my family was hurt and needed medical care. Then I remembered the ruins of our house. “Has anyone asked for me while I was here?” I asked. “Not that I know of. I’ll ask the other nurses and let you know. Have a good rest now, you need it,” she said. I wanted to protest, to tell her I wasn’t tired at all, that I wanted to find out what happened to my family, what happened to me, what happened to the city, what happened at all. But the darkness came and I was unconscious once more.

When I woke up again, it was dark. I stood up from my bed carefully. There was only silence and darkness. I walked to the window and looked out. The whole city was engulfed in darkness. The moon was the only source of light. And horror struck me. Everywhere I looked, there were only shades of ruins, only very few buildings were still standing. The city, once very alive at any time of the day, was now silent. Dead.

I managed to crawl back into my bed, trying not to cry, trying not to let anyone else know that I knew. I fell asleep again. I woke up the second day and I saw the nurse I talked to the day before standing near my bed and I asked her if she knew more of my family. She had a very sad look on her face. She sat on my bed next to me and told me that no one had asked for me ever since I came here.

Even though I expected it, it still tore my heart apart. But I did not give up hope. “They could still be alive, right?” I asked. She told me that there was a chance they had survived if they managed to get to the basement on time. I clung to that hope. They could not be dead. If my family was dead, it meant… it meant I was alone. All alone.

“What happened?”, I asked. “Listen, I think you should rest for now. We’ll talk later.”, was the only answer I got. And there I lay on my bed, the only person in the room who wasn’t wearing any bandages, who had gotten away with nothing more than a few scratches. I felt only emptiness inside me. I fell asleep again.

***

“There was an earthquake. The city lies in ruins.” She told me. It wasn’t anything new to me, I’ve seen the city. I’ve seen the darkness and the silence which engulfed it. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay any longer. I must take care of others.” She left.

I did not understand it then. I was so sad, felt so left alone, no one to stay with me, no one to hug me or make me feel safe. No reassurance.

Chapter II

I woke up in the middle of the night again. I heard screaming. It took me a fraction of a second to realize I was screaming. I shut my mouth instantly, hoping I haven’t woken anybody up. Everything was normal. There was this sinister mix of snoring and moaning that gave me goose bumps. And no one came to comfort me, tell me it was just a dream and tuck me in my bed, like at home. At home…

***

I managed to sneak out of the room without waking anybody up. All these years of playing hide and seek seemed to have been worth it. Stealthy like a rogue I sneaked through the hospital. I had to wait once for a doctor to go back in the OP room from the corridor. His coat was sprinkled with blood and he was holding a cigarette in his trembling fingers. He looked like he was about to cry. I couldn’t blame him. Finally he went back in the room with a determined look on his face and I was able to continue my stealthy journey through the hospital. I avoided using the elevators. I never knew what to expect when the doors opened again. What if I’ve ran into a doctor or a nurse? What would I tell them? No, taking the stairs was safer. Going down the stairs from the third floor had very little effect on me. I wasn’t tired at all. I could feel the adrenaline pumping in my blood when I passed the porter of the hospital. I could hear scraps of the radio he was listening to. “…authorities have contained the searching for other survivors…heroic death of the volunteer firefighters who have died in the gas explosion on the Derpington str. 21 during their mission…too dangerous…”

So I was on my own. The authorities have given up, I was the only chance for my family. If they’re still alive, said a voice in my head. NO! SHUT UP! They have to be alive.

I finally managed to get to my street. At first I was completely disoriented. I could barely recognize streets, everything seemed so altered even though most buildings were still there. Not standing, but lying in ruins, around me. Luckily for me, I knew where the hospital was, I remembered being there with my mother and my little brother, who got an infection a few years ago. When I finally reached my street, I wasn’t sure it really was it. A deafening silenced embraced me. This street used to be full of life, even at night. The lights of the stores and the street lanterns were illuminating the street. Especially at weekends, there was always a party somewhere, drunk people were screaming and the music was keeping the whole neighborhood awake. Even if most old folks were bitching about not being able to sleep, I can’t recon a single time when they called the police because of the noise.

Then I saw a pole lying in the dust. I hoped there was a street sign on it. There was. And as the moon rose, I was able to see the name on it. John Living street. My street. I started laughing hysterically. I couldn’t help it, I just stood there, tears streaming down my cheek and laughing like I’ll never laugh again. John Living. Living. In the city of the dead. Soon, my laughing diminished and the crying stopped. I felt an unbreakable will to find out what happened to my family. The determination must have been written all over my face.

I located the house where I used to live. I crawled through the ruins and started moving scraps of wood and concrete out of the way. It was a tiring job for a twelve year old girl.

A few hours later, I managed to free a small spot where I suspected the cellar door was. I saw it and proceeded to remove the last bits of concrete which were blocking it. I tried opening it, but couldn’t. Something was blocking it. I double checked, but it was nothing on the outside blocking it. It must have been locked from the inside. That meant they have managed to get to the cellar! With renewed hope, I started hitting the door with stones and concrete, hoping it will eventually break, or that my parents will hear the noise and come to unlock it. I stood there, hitting the door for almost half an hour, although it could have been more or less, I had no way of knowing. It was futile, I barely scratched the door, continuing like this was pointless. Then I remembered a movie I saw on TV, it was about some criminals who got cornered in a chalet by the police and locked themselves in. I remembered the policemen using their handguns to blow the lock, easily opening the door after that. Not knowing if it was fake or not, I picked up the larges stone I could find with my hands, hit the knob and hoped for the best. It moved, I could see it. It was only a bit, but it encouraged me, it has shown me that this method would eventually work. So I picked the stone again and hit again the knob as hard as I could. Again. And again. And again. The sun started to rise, ignorant to the sorrow it was shining its light upon. The lock eventually gave in, but the door still was closed. I backed up a few feet, ran towards the door and threw myself against it. It opened a little. I backed up again and threw myself against it one more time. This time it cracked open wide enough to force myself between the door and it’s frame. I opened it wide. The morning sun ambushed me unexpectedly, blinding me for a few moments.

It only took me a few seconds to get down in the cellar. I could barely see something in the darkness. I stopped dead, eyes closed, listening to the silence, hoping I will hear something. Finally, I could. My heart started beating frantically and I opened my eyes bit by bit, allowing them to get used to the darkness. Finally, I could see a little in the darkness, then more and more, as my eyes were more and more familiar with the almost imperceptible lightening there. The sun rising was helping too. I started looking around, trying to find the source of the noise I’ve heard earlier. I tried to be as silent as possible, in case I will hear the sound again and be able to detect where it came from. The sun kept on rising while I was struggling through the darkness. It eventually rose enough to penetrate the door to the cellar, and the sunlight reflecting on the walls revealed the source of the sound. It also revealed the location and fate of my parents. It made me sick and I could not help but turn around and puke on the floor. I almost fainted but forced my nails through my palms, hoping the pain would keep me conscious. I turned around again and watched them, crying. They were just lying on the floor, embraced, an almost serene expression on their faces, as if they have accepted their fate. But the source of the noise made me sick. There were rats all over their bodies, ripping their flesh apart, feeding on their corpses, stilling their thirst on their blood. I screamed as loud as I could, hoping against hope that they would wake up and shoo the rats away from them, hoping they weren’t dead.

Dead by dehydration and starvation. They waited for days, hoping someone would come and rescue them, bring them water and food, get them out of the cellar which has become their tomb.

I could not see my little brother anywhere. I assume he did not make it to the cellar, his cadaver must be decaying somewhere between the ruins.

I ran out of the cellar, screaming, crying, hoping I would forget everything I’ve seen. On the streets I kept on running and screaming hysterically, until a young man dressed in green caught me. He held me tightly in his arms, not letting me go, allowing me to hit him, listening to me telling him to kill me, to put me out of my misery. Instead he just stood there, holding me in his arms and telling me that there is hope and that everything will be all right. I fainted.

Chapter III

Time passed. I was moved from the hospital to another place. It was time for me to make place for others. A week has passed since the earthquake. They came. The plunderers. We used to call them treasure hunters. But they weren’t digging for treasures. They were just thieves. The first ones were harmless. They were just looting food from the ruins of supermarkets. Then the other ones came. Like hyenas, they came to profit from the dead. They were looking through every ruin, searching for money, gold, food, water, electronics and whatever they could sell. They carried weapons with them and they seemed to have divided the city. Each group seemed to have taken a certain neighborhood or a specific area to search.

After I was dismissed from the overfilled orphanage, I could see them. While I was wandering the streets during the day looking for food, I could sense them. I tried to avoid them as much as possible. I heard them at night, fighting for the loot, shouting at each other. Shooting at each other. Most of them were always drunk. This was their way of coping with the smell of decay which was poisoning the air.

I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. There was no other way. I couldn’t have just left the city. I had no money, I had no food and no friends. And I had nowhere to go.

Then he came. Young and charismatic, he only made use of the fear of the survivors. Of course they voted for him. He promised them order. He promised them peace. He promised them the rebuilding of the city, having a place to live, having jobs again, having food and especially having a life again.

And all he wanted in return was their silent, obedient consent.

***

I won’t lie. He did rebuild the city. He did gave the people a place to live in, he gave them jobs again and food. He did get rid of the plunderers. But for all this he took them something away.

Something very important. Something for which I’m fighting now. Free will. The freedom to choose where to live and the freedom to choose what job to do. The freedom to choose whether or not to have children and the freedom to choose the food you are going to eat.

Chapter IV

It’s been ten years now. There are no tracks left from the earthquake in the city. Everything looks perfect. Everything seems to be fine from the outside. But on the inside, I knew the people were afraid to express what they feel. Afraid to be carried away, to be liquidated with no tracks left of them, no photos to remind anyone of them, no documents, nothing. And everyone who ever knew the people who just vanished one night seemed to have forgotten them. They only whispered about the vanished. They never talk loud about the ‘dead’.

But this is what we are for. We are here to break the silence. We are the ones bombing walls at night with graffiti, we are the ones reminding people about the dead. Reminding them that there is still hope. And even if the writings on the walls disappear the next morning, we know that people see it. We know they understand what we are talking about. We know they never forget.

Tonight I’m alone. Even though I know I’m alone, I can feel the paranoia. The fear of being watched, the fear of being spied on. I’m shaking it off. I somehow manage to convince myself that it’s only me and my backpack, filled with cans of paint muffled in old cloth to silence the sound of the metal balls inside the cans hitting the walls. There was no way to remove the balls, they were there to keep the paint from hardening, the cans we had were constructed that way. We’ve heard that somewhere on the internet one could order special graffiti paint cans. Silent, stealthy ones with no balls inside, made specifically for illegal spraying. But there was no chance for us to order them, even if we had free access to the internet. Everything coming in and going out of the city was precisely controlled, there was no way in apart from the main gates. All we had were some old spray cans “borrowed” a long time ago from auto mechanics who forgot to lock the windows at night. I’ve read somewhere that it isn’t stealing if you intend to give it back some day. We lived by that principle.

I find a nice spot, a silent one at night, without very little pigs around patrolling. It’s dark, there are only a few streetlights, here and there. I know the street is highly circulated at day. I pull out the stencil I’ve made earlier today and some duct tape. I stick it to the wall. I pull out a can of black paint and start bombing. Soon enough, I remove the stencil and put it back in my backpack. It can now be seen the face of our beloved commander. I take out of the backpack another can of spray, red paint this time. I write next to the portrait in large, block letters. “FUCK THIS KIND OF FREED.” I am two letters away from finishing the painting, but I hear paces. At least three pairs. They have seen me. I drop the can, I grab my backpack and run.

Running. Running in the rain. I am too afraid to look back, I keep my view straight ahead. The streets are deserted, although it’s only 9 pm. I hope against hope I’ll see someone, someone who can help me. There is no one around. They are following me. I keep on running. I trip. I fall. Time stops.

Chapter V

I wake up in a foreign bed. It couldn’t have been long, it’s still raining outside. There is an old man by my bed. He smiles at me. I feel reassured. I realize they haven’t caught me. I know their prisons. They don’t have beds in there. They only have cold floors. Dirty floors. Puddles of piss everywhere. The smell of shit everywhere. Cold. Dark.

This room is nothing like it. It’s clean. Reminds me of the house of my grandparents. Old pictures on the walls. Dusty fake flowers on the table. A piano in a corner.

“I have to go.” I say.

“They are still looking for you,” the old man replies. “I know who you are. I can help you.”

I don’t know why I trust him. He gives me a sense of security. I fall asleep again.

Epilogue

The sun is rising. I look around, startled. I do not know where I am. I decide to get out. After closing the main door behind me, I look at the street number and try to memorize it. The old man will not be forgotten. The sun is rising higher as I walk away through narrow streets and vanish from the neighborhood.

We shall meet again, old man. We shall meet again.

 

 

Credits for the graphic art: ~GTS @ deviantart.com

1: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=ninja%20girl&order=9&offset=24#/d11oq9g