eventually came full circle and convinced myself to snap out of it and get it together.
It was one part of the city. A single part of a city. I just needed to venture further.
A barricade of road block horses was set up just beyond the concrete walkway to the stadium. Beyond that, I saw a truck and it was clearly filled with bodies. But there was only one tent.
Certainly it wasn’t a medical setup with one tent.
I made my way there, preparing for the worst; I caught the aroma as soon as I approached. Death. I smelled death. Leaving my water and chips at the empty table just outside the tent, I held my nose and lifted the flap.
It was a field office or something. Temporary home, perhaps. Besides a desk, there were four cots in there and two held bodies. Both were men, still in uniform, partially covered. Their weapons were at the foot of their cots along with duffle bags. As if they came to stay for a duration but never made it out of bed. Their faces were swollen, blackened and splotched. There was dried blood around their noses. I wasn’t an expert so it was hard for me to tell if that was the effects of decomposition or effects of what killed them.
I don’t know why, but I felt really bad. Whatever took their lives did so while they diligently held their posts. Holding their jobs, serving their country until the very last second.
Taking a second, I walked to each of them and lifted the covers over their heads. It was something respectful I could do for them. At least they weren’t part of a huge mound of bodies. Dumped there and forgotten. They weren’t, to me, a number, a nameless person. In fact, they both still had on their military jackets, names clear on the chest.
Stevens. Wilkes.
As I turned, I saw the desk more clearly, a radio on top and a clipboard with a two inch thick stack of papers.
Answers.
Or so I thought.
A man’s wristwatch sat on top of that clipboard just above the writing on the plain white paper.
“Unable to continue. Please give this to my mom. Wilkes. May 3.”
May 3 rd ?
I lifted the sheet to see what was written next. It was figures and charts, things I couldn’t make heads or tails out of, except one thing.
Filled to capacity – May 1. Awaiting Cleansing orders.
Apparently, Wilkes and Stevens awaited those orders that never came.
I lifted the wristwatch, an older watch, wind up. It showed evidence of wear and tear, discoloration from the years. As my fingers grazed it, I felt the engraving on the back. It was a ‘Happy Anniversary’ engraving with a date from over twenty years earlier. An old watch, maybe it belonged to Wilkes' father. Turning the watch my eyes went directly to the date. May 5 th . At the most they had been dead for two days.
No sounds emerged from the radio. I lifted it from the base, played with the top knobs until I heard a hiss of static.
I depressed the side button, "Hello?”
Static.
“Anyone there?”
Hiss.
How many times did I turn the channel button? Calling out. No response.
Oh, my God. What was happening?
It was May 5 th .
Wait. I pressed my memory. The accident was on February 1 st . A date painfully embedded in my soul. The trial … April 2 nd . What day did Christine and Amber take me out? I had been recluse for weeks, drinking myself to oblivion. Consuming so much alcohol on a daily basis, I didn’t think I knew what sober was anymore.
Tax day.
April 15 th .
My God, I lost three weeks. Not only did I wonder how I lost three weeks, I wondered how that many people died that quickly.
It had to be war, like I thought previously. And unfortunately, I was in a section of the city that was evacuated.
Only the dead remained.
I walked from the tent, grabbing my half-finished bottle of water and sipped it as I walked.
Thinking I just needed to step out more, look further than the confines of the stadium grounds, maybe I would see something.
A sign perhaps. Surely if they evacuated there would be signs.
The stadium was close to
It was one part of the city. A single part of a city. I just needed to venture further.
A barricade of road block horses was set up just beyond the concrete walkway to the stadium. Beyond that, I saw a truck and it was clearly filled with bodies. But there was only one tent.
Certainly it wasn’t a medical setup with one tent.
I made my way there, preparing for the worst; I caught the aroma as soon as I approached. Death. I smelled death. Leaving my water and chips at the empty table just outside the tent, I held my nose and lifted the flap.
It was a field office or something. Temporary home, perhaps. Besides a desk, there were four cots in there and two held bodies. Both were men, still in uniform, partially covered. Their weapons were at the foot of their cots along with duffle bags. As if they came to stay for a duration but never made it out of bed. Their faces were swollen, blackened and splotched. There was dried blood around their noses. I wasn’t an expert so it was hard for me to tell if that was the effects of decomposition or effects of what killed them.
I don’t know why, but I felt really bad. Whatever took their lives did so while they diligently held their posts. Holding their jobs, serving their country until the very last second.
Taking a second, I walked to each of them and lifted the covers over their heads. It was something respectful I could do for them. At least they weren’t part of a huge mound of bodies. Dumped there and forgotten. They weren’t, to me, a number, a nameless person. In fact, they both still had on their military jackets, names clear on the chest.
Stevens. Wilkes.
As I turned, I saw the desk more clearly, a radio on top and a clipboard with a two inch thick stack of papers.
Answers.
Or so I thought.
A man’s wristwatch sat on top of that clipboard just above the writing on the plain white paper.
“Unable to continue. Please give this to my mom. Wilkes. May 3.”
May 3 rd ?
I lifted the sheet to see what was written next. It was figures and charts, things I couldn’t make heads or tails out of, except one thing.
Filled to capacity – May 1. Awaiting Cleansing orders.
Apparently, Wilkes and Stevens awaited those orders that never came.
I lifted the wristwatch, an older watch, wind up. It showed evidence of wear and tear, discoloration from the years. As my fingers grazed it, I felt the engraving on the back. It was a ‘Happy Anniversary’ engraving with a date from over twenty years earlier. An old watch, maybe it belonged to Wilkes' father. Turning the watch my eyes went directly to the date. May 5 th . At the most they had been dead for two days.
No sounds emerged from the radio. I lifted it from the base, played with the top knobs until I heard a hiss of static.
I depressed the side button, "Hello?”
Static.
“Anyone there?”
Hiss.
How many times did I turn the channel button? Calling out. No response.
Oh, my God. What was happening?
It was May 5 th .
Wait. I pressed my memory. The accident was on February 1 st . A date painfully embedded in my soul. The trial … April 2 nd . What day did Christine and Amber take me out? I had been recluse for weeks, drinking myself to oblivion. Consuming so much alcohol on a daily basis, I didn’t think I knew what sober was anymore.
Tax day.
April 15 th .
My God, I lost three weeks. Not only did I wonder how I lost three weeks, I wondered how that many people died that quickly.
It had to be war, like I thought previously. And unfortunately, I was in a section of the city that was evacuated.
Only the dead remained.
I walked from the tent, grabbing my half-finished bottle of water and sipped it as I walked.
Thinking I just needed to step out more, look further than the confines of the stadium grounds, maybe I would see something.
A sign perhaps. Surely if they evacuated there would be signs.
The stadium was close to
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