Blackness.
The lack of existence. Nothing.
The passage of time. Minutes, hours, months, centuries – all one and the same. With the lack of existence comes a lack of perception. A void.
More blackness. Deep and penetrating.
A century passes. Perhaps a minute.
Semi-blackness. Darkness is divided from the deeper darkness. And the darkness suddenly seems brilliantly blinding. Existence slowly returns in fragments. A fluctuating haziness, like a glimpse of the moon on a cloudy day from 50 feet below the surface of the water. The moon?
Something is wrong. Fluids maybe. Noises some – a ringing from the other end of a tube a thousand miles long. Indistinguishable.
Pressure. In some places sharper than others. What’s this? Pain? What is pain again? Oops, nothing important. The darkness returns.
Void.
Blackness.
Eternity. . .
Pain.
Lots of pain.
Searing, gripping, crippling pain.
An ocean of pain, unlocalizeable because it is all that exists.
I am pain.
I open my eyes, my ears are ringing. So loudly that it seems I can’t hear anything else in the world. I try to focus on anything, orient myself to the world. Everything is out of focus, and all full of pain, dust, and debris. Unable to tell up from forwards, I reach clumsily for anything to hold onto in any direction, passing hands across sharp and fragmented somethings, hard and chunky somethings, wet and squishy somethings, and finally a long, firm metal something that I can wrap my hand around.
Good. Firm. Focus on the firm.
So much pain!
The world comes closer into focus. I discover up at last, and can then look around for the rest of my body. My legs. Where are my legs?
There they are. They look like they’re still connected to the rest of me. Good! The left one is numb, but it’s under some heavy debris and lying kind of funky on the ground. We’ll address that in a minute.
The sound of a woman softly grunting in effort comes suddenly and so much louder than the ringing in the otherwise complete silence that I flinch from surprise. Craning my neck back, I can make out a fuzzy version of Kate trying to lift a chunk of paneling off her reddened head a mere two feet away from myself. Despite the lack of clear vision, I can see multiple gashes, bruises, and sharp fragments jutting out from her exposed forearm. Returning my gaze to my own self, I can see the same decorating my flesh. I take a deep breath, then sharply pull out a 4-inch sliver of wood buried in the back of my hand. The heat and moisture of the ensuing blood comes as a unique variety to my buffet of sensations.
Slowly, meticulously, I disencumber myself from the assorted fragments of wood, stone, glass, and human body parts in which I am partially entombed. Panic and dismay will have to wait, I’m afraid, in light of the task at hand. Focus on the task.
A few sobs from Kate as she, too, tries to free herself.
I try to utter comforting, encouraging words, but only a dry rasp and a cough escapes my throat.
“Oh my god!” she cries, weakly.
“It’s okay,” I finally manage with sandpapery voice, “We’re doing alright.”
“Seamus?” She calls on the verge of hysteria.
“Kate, I’m right here,” I reach up and touch her fingers. “Don’t panic. We’ll be alright. I’m right here with you.” I speak encouragingly, my voice returning, at least for the most part.
“What happened, Seamus?”
“Hold on, let’s get ourselves unburied for now, okay? Let’s just focus on that for now, okay?”
“I can’t – !” Kate sobs. “I can’t move my arm.”
“I’ll be right there. I promise. Just hold on a minute, Kate.” Double-time, I inch my body out from under the mounds of debris, being careful around the multifarious sharp and jagged metal elements of the once-restaurant’s framework. Not much I can do about avoiding the fine glass shards spread evenly across everything. Those will just have to be pulled out from my elbows later.
“Seamus!”
“Kate, I’m almost out. I’m coming. Hold on!” Triple-time. Ouch ouch ouch!
I finally get free, and decrepitly lift myself into a semi erect stance. Not too sure if I want to be putting any weight on my left leg until the numbness wears off. I can’t tell if it’s broken, or what. Using building materials to support myself, I reach over to Kate and gently caress the side of her face.
“I’m here.” I speak in my most soothing voice possible as she gently sobs into my palm. “I’ll get you out now. Don’t worry.”
Delicately, I remove item after item, uncovering her body. She looks mostly sound, having assumed a protective fetal position on the ground. Her right forearm was pinned just past the elbow under a ceiling beam, and is slightly swollen and purple to the fingertips. Doesn’t look broken, but the circulation was jeopardized for a while. No major bleeding or broken bones anywhere, it seems.
I raise her into a sitting position as I squat down behind her, massaging her arm to help restore the blood flow. Her color starts to return.
“What’s that? Is that a foot?” Hysteria returning to her voice.
“Don’t look at that! Don’t look at that! Keep your eyes closed and just pay attention to my breathing. I got you!” I pull her in closer to my chest. She turns halfway around and buries her face in my shoulder, silently crying with sharp breaths in and out. Who can say how long we sat there in each other’s arms, surrounded by carnage and debris, listening as some distant car radio plays Dead Things by Philip Glass? I tenderly run my fingers through her hair, and, catching on the places where her locks are matted with dried blood, abandon that method for slowly rubbing the small of her back in tiny circles. Kate’s violent sobs after a time yield to low tremors, and after a time again evolve into intermediate sudden gasps as she calms herself. Now she sits completely still, leaning against my chest with the back of her head across my shoulder, gazing upward.
The wind gusts by.
Within my mind, during my moment’s repose, half of me ponders the gravity of our situation, and speculates about the next crucial steps in rectification. The other half is consumed by the task of databasing every sensation – tactile, aural, visual – associated with my proximity to this enchanting woman. Such a strangely sweet, metallic scent, that of her blood, mixed with dust and her natural musk. They say that scents evoke the most vivid of memories, these two brain functions having a very special neuronal link. That being the case, I have high cause to become a masochist that I might relive this moment time and again.
“It’s so beautiful.” She says suddenly.
“What’s that?”
“The stars. So clean and brightly shining tonight.”
I look up and discover that the majority of the roof is blown out, and the stars are indeed spectacular.
“What happened to us?” She asks again.
I take a moment to consider my response.
“We got blowed up. What does it look like?”
She laughs. The kind of laugh that could easily double as a cry. “Maybe some of the finer details, please?”
“As you wish. Right after you went narcoleptic, a bunch of zombies came out of nowhere and assaulted the restaurant. We had this place pretty much buttoned down and secure until somebody had to show up with a rocket launcher and then. . .”
“. . .We got blowed up.” She finishes.
“Yeah.”
She takes a moment to consider her response.
“Huh.” She says thoughtfully. Head cocked to one side.
“Yeah.” I agree.
“’Zombies.’” She quotes.
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” She repeats, more thoughtfully this time. She turns around to face me suddenly. “You know, I haven’t gotten to know you well enough to know how to take your humor at times like this, but-”
“C’mon Kate!” I interrupt, raising my hands defensively, “I don’t know if they were ‘Zombie’-zombies, but that’s the best definition I have for the time being. It was just a bunch of decomposing lunatics who were hell-bent on killing everyone in sight and. . .” I trail off.
“What?” She prompts.
“. . . Chewing. . . on everyone in sight as well.”
She considers.
“So zombies, then.” She confirms.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not just messing with me, are you?”
“No. I wish I were.”
“Why would you fabricate something so outrageously unbelievable?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Huh.”
Another moment passes.
“I’m inclined to believe you,” she says, “but only because-” A sudden thought comes to her mind as her eyes widen. “Meg! Stu!”
“Blast! You’re right! I didn’t think about them.”
She hobbles to her feet, and I follow in like manner. It would seem that my left leg is indeed sound, having come back to life. Ankle’s a little tender to walk on, however.
We begin frantically scanning the rubble, and Kate soon jumps back, gasping and crying out, “Is that a foot?!”
“You already saw that!” I return. “It’s not him. Stu would never wear Reeboks.”
She wildly looks around in a full 360 degrees. “My GOD this place is filled with dead people!” She practically screams, gripping her hair in fists.
“SHH! Calm down! We don’t know if we’re safe here!” I help her walk to the side of the building and sit down. “If you like, you just sit here and I’ll look.”
She starts stammering about something, honestly I don’t know what, because for one thing it was mostly incomprehensible, and for another I was truly concerned about Stu and Meg. They were right next to us as the rocket detonated, so they should most likely be right here somewhere. Not seeing them. Or any trace.
“. . .Man I am horrible at this disaster crap!” I hear her say as I turn over a wall panel.
A moment of silence.
“Do you see them?” She asks, all calmed down once more.
“No.” I reply. “I think they were alright – well, one of them at least – they’ve left though.” A sudden thought occurs to me, “Wait a minute! How did you know they were back here Kate?” I ask, suddenly. “They didn’t return until after you had passed out.”
She pauses, and with a snide expression relates, “I seem to remember a certain close encounter involving a stolen kiss.” Finished with a cute smug grin.
“Uh, I didn’t think you would have remembered that,” I reply bashfully as my face slightly flushes, “with the blast and us blacking out right afterwards, I thought you would have forgotten.” Gee, that’s a big tear in the side of my shoe!
“Well, I can’t say as that it was the best kiss I’ve ever had, but it was definitely the most memorable.” She smacks her lips, “Yeah, no forgetting that puppy! Anyways, why do you think they left?”
I turn the panel around so she can see. There written sloppily in big dried bloody letters was the message:
GONE S&M
“Like Metallica.” She says.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” She dismisses her comment, “Yeah, you’re right. They must have made it through the blast as well somehow. Somebody’s bleeding pretty heavy, though.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing they would have tried for the nearest major hospital, with that much bleeding.” I speculate, dropping the panel and picking my way to the exterior of the building.
“That would be Mercer Central, then.” She indicates to the northwest. Then follows along suit with me. “You gonna make it on that ankle? It’s about two and a half mile walk from here, assuming no more of your ‘zombies’ come and play.”
I take a moment and scan the blackened city streets one direction at a time. No movement besides what the gentle evening breeze creates to be seen anywhere. Now I truly get perspective on the scope of this thing that happened. To the north, heading up 27th avenue, blown-out glass from the lowest two to three stories and window-shop contents decorate the city streets, with an occasional human-like lump lying crumpled any which way either in the middle of the road, under abandoned vehicles, or in one instance, hanging from a low-lying tree branch by a wedged foot, with rotund abdomen exposed and eviscerated. To the east, on Laurel road, an upturned armored S.W.A.T. vehicle lies with rear bay doors wide open, surrounded by makeshift barricades of park benches, tree planters, and postal boxes. To the south, a trail of debris leads in the direction of a fire distantly burning, billowing black smoke so thick it occasionally winks out of sight. To the west lies the parking garage across a decent-sized decorator lawn, completely obscured by indiscriminate blackness, except for one flickering light on the second floor. And centered below that flickering light on the second floor was a man.
Staring at us.
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