One thing that never failed to surprise fae was how quickly it got dark during the winter months. A flashlight in the woods shone like a beacon in a matter of minutes, snow gleaming a brilliant white underneath the manufactured beam. Months before, the heavy thudding of boots that filled Azaadi would have been absent, trail carefully covered up as fae picked faer way along the path. But nobody had been spotted within miles of Azaadi in weeks, and it was far too cold to be arsed with stepping on slippery tree roots rather than the intuitive path fae’d discovered snaking through the brush.
Footsteps followed faer, stark against the undisturbed wilderness stretching out in all directions, a dark sky expanding as far as the eye could see. High above faer, diamonds were hanging in the sky like ripe fruit ready for the picking, shining brighter than any flashlight ever could. It was funny, how the sky had stayed unchanged even as the world burned beneath it. The gods didn’t care for the whimsies of mortals; they’d stood by, watching from the heavens as punishment befell on those who didn’t deserve it.
The end had come in pieces. In the coins you inserted in public washrooms for thirty seconds worth of tap water, and plastic water bottles being washed and left out to dry instead of tossed in the recycling bin. It came in a pack of 500 coffee filters set beside the stove and an eyedropper left atop a bottle of bleach. With the sound of breaking glass as a brick sailed through a store window, seeds and soil stripped off the shelves. Ammunition, canned food, whatever the people could get their hands on.
They’d been lucky. Animkii and faer. Lucky they’d lived without clean water their entire lives, and that the internet was patchy in Blackwater. Lucky their skin was dark, and their mind was clear. Lucky they knew how to cook squirrels and water down soup to make it last for weeks. Lucky they’d been living in the end, long before the end came for the rest of the world.
Binesi’s bag was heavy, weighed down by bottles of booze and medicine, a trail of blood dripping down the side of faer head, hair sticking uncomfortably to faer skin. It had been stupid. A branch snapping backwards, as if poised to spring and hit the unsuspecting over the head. Faer skin still burned, a dark, shadowy imprint proof of faer inattentiveness as fae trudged through the woods. Fae were almost there. Hidden beneath a hill just out of sight, the welcoming golden light of an overturned cargo truck, it’s wheels home to squirrels and the nights creatures, a dumpster fire burning slowly with a rabbit roasting on a spit.
Animkii was in there, probably. Mending their coats and watering the wall of climbing grapes which had by some miracle survived two years on the inside of a metal shipping container along with the two of them. Those grapes had seen things. Bore witness to the nights filled with laughter and AK-47 fumes, with the two teenagers sitting just a little too close, Animkii’s head pressed against Binesi’s chest, lids drooping low as they talked until their voices ran out.
Something in Binesi’s chest gave a tight squeeze as fae shuffled over the hill, throwing faer weight against the door of the shipping container. It hung open for one second. Two. Revealing a homey interior, although rather devoid of windows. Ikea carpets had been spread out over the frigid metal floor, and a pile of supplies lay in the corner, neatly sorted
Binesi’s friend was sitting on a beanbag that had clearly seen better days, a pipe tugging down at the corners of his lips, blueish gray smoke surrounding him as he puffed like there was no tomorrow.
Inside? Really? Binesi grumbled, collapsing in a pile of pillows they’d been using as a bed. Yes, really. You mind?
The ivy is watching you. Animkii snorted, flicking one of the leaves. The ivy has seen worse. Animkii raised an eyebrow, and all of the sudden red was creeping up Binesi’s throat, that had nothing to do with the steady trickle of blood flowing down the side of faer head.
You’re bleeding. It was Binesi’s turn to give faer friend a look. I’d noticed.
What happened? A trap. A trap? No not really. Tree smacked me over the face. I love you but you’re stupid. You have to be nice to me, I’m bleeding. Yeah, bleeding on the carpet, you git. God I hate you sometimes. Shut up and sit still.
There was a great deal of shuffling in the shipping container. Outside, the trail of blood Binesi had left behind had melted little drops in the snow, stark in the moonlight.
Funny, Binesi didn’t notice a lot. Especially late at night, with the glare of the flashlight having blinded faer other senses. But that didn’t matter now. For they were safe, and they were home, and the rabbit on the spit was almost done.
The two kids shuffled out before long, Binesi’s voice carrying in the night as they sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, tearing at the rabbit. Strips of old shirts were wrapped around Binesi’s head, the metallic, maddening scent finally having dispersed, giving way to sterile antiseptic. It warded off infection. It warded off death.
The rabbit hadn’t been as lucky.
It was a big one, plump and juicy, the smell of fried meat making stomachs growl. They had a nice little setup. Planter boxes lined the walls of the shipping container, kept alive by solar-powered lamps. Overflowing with vegetables and berries stems reaching out towards the artificial light after years of careful nurturing and nights spent praying for them. They filled their plates. Red tomatoes which soaked up way too much water, good meat, something that resembled poorly made bread. The life. From beside the shipping container, a brook babbled quietly, disappearing underground, far from the prying eyes of thirsty creatures. It was why they’d settled here, after all. The one place where water still flowed, where raiders hadn’t come through.
It was a delicious sort of irony, that creatures would die of thirst on a planet covered in water. That instead of figuring out how to boil salt out of the sea, humans attacked one another, fighting for the little remaining resources after floods had washed over the land. It was the raiders that were the worst, the ones who only knew how to steal rather than create. It was easier that way.
It was easier to take other people’s things, instead of settling down and painting a massive target across your back.
At least, that’s what I told myself as I stalked them. What I told myself while I watched them eat, painful cramps digging underneath my ribs, the chill of the snow having climbed all the way to my fingers, where a blade was waiting patiently. I’d stolen it. Like I’d stolen the clothes off my back, and the bandages tied around the soles of my feet, and the bandana keeping my hair out of my eyes. I’d stolen it like I’d stolen lives.
I’d steal more tonight.
It started with a prayer. For forgiveness, really. For mercy in the afterlife. For a quick death. For a silent stalk. For sleep to overtake them outside of the shipping container, although I knew that wasn’t likely. I didn’t like my chances at opening a rusty metal door while they slept, or dodging out the way of Animkii’s bullets. I didn’t like the thought of gunshots ringing out through the forest, signalling our location to the camp full of raiders that had settled just half a mile away.
They didn’t know that.
I doubt they would care, if they saw me hovering over them with a kitchen knife in my full unwashed, bloodied glory. So I didn’t wait for them to finish, creeping inside the container instead. I’d watched them for long enough to avoid the rusty nail lying in wait at the front door, the one that had gone through Animkii’s foot and rendered him useless aside from gardening. I’d watched them for long enough, through a crack in the metal, to know where they would settle after dark. Animkii curled up against his friend, their fingers intertwined, whispering sweet nothings that meant things neither teenager was willing to go near.
Too bad. I would have liked to see them kiss. To finally whisper ‘I love you’ in the dark of their bedroom, while the world fell apart around them. It was why I’d waited so long, why my heart broke as I quietly slipped beneath the tarp they used to cover cans of food and jugs of water. Why my lips were pressed in a tight white line when they finally climbed into their pile of pillows, and Binesi drew the cover over faer friend.
Good night, Animkii murmured, the faintest smile on his lips. Good night Binesi said, looping faer arms around him.
Good night, I thought. Blood stained the sheets.
It was only in the morning, that I dared let out a quiet sob. Animkii and Binesi were tucked away in my bag now, wrapped in tiny parcels I’d let dry in the sun, after I got away from the camp full of raiders.
My pack was heavy, weighed down by bottles of booze and medicine, a trail of blood dripping down the side of it into the snow.