Northern Exposure: The Divided Page 8
Chapter 8
A sharp pain ran through my neck, I opened my eyes; I was still exhausted, my vertebra felt so twisted and knotted. I was still in a fragile state from all the days I had been in the comma, alas there was no relief for my aching body, I was forced to sleep on the thin mattress which aggravated my sore bones even more so, on top of it all, I had to share the 10 inch sponge with Smith. I pushed the old man’s feet away from my face, and then slowly rose. Even though my body still ached I could feel my strength coming back day after day and now I was able to effortlessly get myself out of bed
It’s been around three months since I’ve been down here. I’ve somewhat adapted to this new lifestyle as best I can. The hardest thing for me was getting used to the physical aspects of this new way of life. I am used to grinding through tough situations but not to this extent. Bear in mind before my family had saved enough money to open up the fishery, we owned a small smelly fishing trawler which my dad and I would go fishing on for days on end, at sea. So the living conditions I could get used to, it was trying to come to terms with the idea of this new existence, we were trapped under here like a bunch of ground hogs, with ravenous hunters above us who wanted nothing more than to eat us alive. We were so limited it felt like I was in a concentration camp, I could not go up top to smell the fresh air, I could not go take a walk in the sunshine, the only thing I had to occupy my time with was the long dark passageways of the sewer.
The day’s seemed so long, most nights even longer. I had waged war, and was in a constant battle against boredom, thee oh so irrelevant things kept me entertained for hours on end. “To think, how many hours I sat playing hand games with Sharif’s daughters, or the hours I sat on my bed reading novel after novel, until I had finished all 18 books on the book shelve and had been reduced to reading Shahkierah’s girly magazines. If it was not for my daily workout, I honestly think I would have lost my mind. I spent hours sweating in the passageway just outside the bunker door pumping weights as hard as I could and trying to regain the body I had before the comma. My equipment was much more primitive down here as opposed to the five star Gym I was a member of a few years back, but here or there the results were all the same.
My routine was basic but effective comprising of 3 sets of twenty crunches, followed by 2 sets of 100 jumping jacks, then 3 sets of 50 squats and that was just the beginning, after I was done with my cardio I’d hit the weights and push the boundaries of my health. Before I arrived Smith had made himself a barbell, which I might add I had taken over. On a supply run to the little grocery shop across the street, he gathered together two 10 gallon paint cans, a 2meter iron bar and two bags of cement. The crafty old man emptied the paint cans and brought all his materials down to the sewer, where he assembled the item together by adding the cement to each can, placing the cans at the end of the bar; waiting until the cement hardened and presto! We had a fully functional Barbell.
But for now exercise was the last thing on my mind, my neck ached, and I found this to be a common result due to that damn mattress. I could not put all the blame on the uncomfortable mattress however, I was in no condition to be exercising as hard as I was, and this was definitely the main cause of my stiffness. Many time the others tried to stop me, telling me I was still too weak to push that hard. I would agree and tell them Id slow it down, with no intention of doing so. I would not be satisfied until I was at my peak and as strong as I used to be.
I stood straight reaching up to the ceiling stretching out my entire body, then covered Smith with the blanket we shared, immediately the old man snorted, mumbled then turned to his side. After dealing with Smith I gazed upon the rundown room we now called our home. This place was truly the pits, the sewers were never made to sustain life, and how we had done it for this long was nothing short of amazing. Even though we had the bunker, it was still not sufficient enough to call home, let alone raise two young girls. The bunker was a complete shit hole, The walls were a dark greyish colour, covered with fungus; they acted as a blank canvas for the water stains which painted them from ceiling to floor, my lingering boredom caused me to stay up many nights depicting different pictures from the water stains, my favourite stain was the one right above my mattress, the long protruding figure from its round counterpart reminded me so much of the long nosed, fib telling, little boy, Pinocchio.
There were no walls; hence no boundaries, the only time you got some freedom from the group was when you walked in the passages of the sewer or proceeded to the old runoff water pipe for an ice cold shower. Sometimes I would just sit in the narrow sewer passageways and feel the air run past my face. The bunker would become so claustrophobic at times with all of us in that room; you would often feel as if you were stuck in a shoe box.
The hideousness of the room was magnified by the repulsive furniture which lay scattered from side to side. But nothing more untidy, more eerie, more dishevelled, than the weapons pile. Bats, machetes, spears, axes and the rest of the crude weaponry lay all around the little crate box. I had initially just seen a hand full of the weapons on my arrival to the bunker, oh how I was shocked when I witnessed axes being pulled from underneath pillows and knifes being revealed from under mattresses. Smith always said you could never be too safe in the new world, and even with the safety of the bunker he was still very paranoid.
The only comforting commodities of the entire room were the dozens of blankets we had been stock piling. Every time we went for supplies and got the chance we took one or two down with us, until eventually the little grocer had not one left on the shelves. They were so versatile; we used them for so many different thing. We lined the bottom of the mattresses to make the beds a bit thicker and used the others as pillows; we kept ourselves warm and even occasionally used them to entertain the girls by making crude looking tents.
Other than the blankets we also owned a little gas stove that was responsible for most of our cooking; however more and more meals had to be consumed cold due to the lack of gas bottles. The grocer was running out and limitations on hot meals were implemented. Another main feature in the bunker was the long rope which hung above, it served for an array of different tasks, from hanging washing to holding lanterns. Smith initially installed the line to try and create a barrier and give Sky and the girls some privacy by hanging up a blanket. However that idea only lasted a few hours and almost immediately the blanket was removed and the line became a constant tool at our disposal.
The passageways became my salvation, whenever I had reached boiling point and needed some space away from the group I could head outside the bunker for some R&R. Don’t get me wrong the quietness of the passages was lovely, but sitting in the pitch dark could be relaxing for only so long. Some time I could feel the presence of non existing entities standing right beside me, sometimes I would freeze from shock swearing something was watching me. During workouts the bunker door was open and all my equipment was directly in the light coming from inside. But in the passages there was no lanterns, no light, only darkness. Deep down I knew there was nothing lurking around down there, I knew it was just delusional paranoia rearing it deceptive head. But that did not make the bangs which echoed down the pipe line, or the shadows of the passing rats less scary.
But regardless of how scared I would get, I needed the relaxation time. As I stood in the middle of the bunker I decided that’s exactly what I needed, Id skip the workout today and give my body a chance to rest. So I grabbed a blanket, took a bottle of water and headed down the east corridor, my favourite passage. I found my spot which I had made into a little salvation point from thee announces of the group, sometimes a guy just had to do guy things in his own privacy, if you know what I mean.
There was only one thing that could snap me out of the state of euphoria as I lay on the blanket in the quiet passageways, and that was the odours of Sky’s meals penetrating through the passages. The smell of food would send me running back to the bunker in a hungry frenzy. Since I woke up I had lost my passion for cook
ing, I often asked myself what the point was when one had so little to work with. But subconsciously I knew the real reason; I knew the last meal I made was for her before she betrayed me.
Sky was extremely exceptional at rationing our food; she had a talent for using what limited goods we had acquired, constantly pushing the boundaries of the canned cuisine. She tried adding her little touches here and there; trying to make sure the meals were as appealing as possible. Take for example our staple oat breakfast; she always tried to find a mean of lighting the monotonous meal up. Maybe today she’d add a sprinkle of sugar, perhaps next week a dash of cinnamon? But her most creative pieces came in the form of our Supper dishes, my favourite comprising of tinned pilchards on a bed of instant mash soaked in a thick succulent sauce made from reduced canned apricot jam. Our suppers were always accompanied by a side dessert consisting of preserved cherries and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.
Even though Sky’s attempts were admirable, food had lost that “je ne sais quoi”, the excitement of cooking eluded me, the magic had died. After so much time eating all this processed tinned food my body craved some fresh produce. Oh What I’d do for a bowl of Tagliatelle cooked al dente in basil and coriander infused oil with a fair shaving of parmesan cheese. Or an A-grade matured steak, medium rare with a healthy serving of sweet potato fries. Alas we had to make do with what dwindling supplies we had left and day after day, there was less pilchards on mash and more boring old plain baked beans.
For now I was accepting our basic, tasting dishes. I was even okay with our repetitive lifestyle, for one reason. I was so grateful we had not seen another reaper since the incident at the grocer. By the way, that’s the name we had come to give those hellish creatures, those damn death dealers .The name was quite literal, all they did was bring death, hence reaper, in fact they where the embodiment of death, shells of what where once humans, now slaves to the constant hunger, killing without the understanding of remorse. The only thing left from their humanity was their outer appearance. They still looked like humans, well relatively at least; the gas had disfigured them, but not to the point of them being unrecognisable. I remember the pin stripe man’s face; there was no denying he was once human.
Smith spent hours explaining all the encounters with the different types of reapers he had come across over the years; he told me he never fully understood their level of intelligence. He believed they underestimated just how smart these creatures were; maybe they weren’t as primitive as he once thought. He also believed that they had the ability to breed and were rearing their young. He had seen Reapers sheltering small bald looking creatures, still covered in a placenta like fluid, these things stood up right just like human infants, but could never be a human baby, It was near to impossible for a human baby to walk at such an early stage. This is what brought him to the conclusion that the Reapers were reproducing.
If they had the intellect to do this, who knows what more they were capable of? The Reapers were a wakeup call in the twisted reality of the new world. There were no rules and regulations up there any more, no civil services, no police patrolling the streets and no hospital to look after our broken bones. Most of all there was no law, no sense of wrong or right. It was simply . . . survive at all costs.
Some nights I’d sit in bed trying to dissect the troubled psyche of the reapers, what went through their thoughts, did they even still have thoughts? What drove their unfailing hunger? Surely any creature had a consumption limit? But most of all I wondered what the root was to their constant aggression? Why was this new species so violent, so bent on aggression? The interaction with the reaper had opened my eyes to what really lurked top side. I was not the type of person who looked for unnecessary adventure. Even though at times the frustration would boil up inside me until it felt as if it would explode. I managed to control it; I’d rather be extremely bored down here than up top and extremely dead! The tedious safe lifestyle was okay for now I guess.
Life had become a routine, mornings we’d all walk down the sewer passageways, following the route which took us to a city pipe line just a few miles away from the bunker. I loved the walk, only because it gave us the time to bond as a unit outside the bunker. Plus with the whole group around and the lanterns cutting through the darkness, the passageways were not as daunting as before.
We would walk until we reached a runoff pipe which drained rain water from the streets above which filled five to six 50gallon containers with relatively fresh rain water. We’d then bath ourselves as best we can then allow Sky and Sharif’s daughters the privacy to bath alone. My skin had become so dry from lack of soap and lotion, and the decaying of my teeth left me in constant agony .Supplies were reducing rapidly in the small grocery shop, there were maybe two or three bars of soap left and a single tube of toothpaste which wouldn’t last more than a week
But there were no other options right now; we had to make do with what small rations we had. Id lie in bed touching the rim of my infected tooth, the irritation of it drove me insane. Until one night I had had enough. I demanded Smith get it out of my mouth immediately. The old man was reluctant, but in the end got a rusty set of pliers from his tool box, boiled them in a pot of water then proceeded to pull the tooth. I screamed in agony as the make shift dentist wiggled and pulled until eventually it tore through my gum and was out. A coat of dark red blood poured from my mouth as I sat in disillusion of what had just happened, until however the pain waved down on me and I screamed louder than Zara. I couldn’t believe I had just ordered him to rip my tooth out with a set of pliers for heaven sake!
Smith quickly stuffed the last cotton swabs in the gap and drenched it with salt. Even though my little condition was by far the most drastic, I wasn’t the only one having trouble with the limited supplies. Sharif’s poor girls’ delicate scalps were so dry by now; their hair was ridden with dandruff. They cried constantly as they scratched at their heads and clouds of white flakes covered the room. Sky tried, rubbing Shahkierah and Zara’s scalps down with teaspoons of cooking oil, but the lack of conditioner and shampoo was taking its toll on the little ones. Smith’s problem did not affect him as much as it did us. The lack of soap was causing the old man’s pits and nether regions to have strong odours. The smell was horrendous and permeated the walls! Sky did not complain about much but her pet peeve was not shaving her legs and under arms. Unfortunately, all the razors in the little shop where long disposed of and she would cover her legs in long tight jeans constantly, no matter how hot and uncomfortable it got in the bunker. Sharif on the other hand seemed to be doing perfectly okay; it was strange, other than his long beard and greasy hair, he looked as if he had just woken up from a spa treatment. I was amazed to see each day how he managed to keep himself so well groomed, even in these conditions. But just like I had mentioned before, he was the most self sufficient man I had ever met, and there was no situation or problem he could not find a solution for, including bad living conditions. Our living situations were far from ideal at the moment, but at least we were exactly that . . . living.
But no matter how tough things got, we knew we all had responsibilities if we wanted to survive. Chores became a norm, and every day we rotated our tasks. Each day comprised of a different set of tasks set for a different person and this did not exclude the girls. No, Sharif made sure the two of them pulled their weight.
I entered the bunker at a leisurely pace; I had just finished my workout and knew what was waiting for me inside. I dreaded the horror of the large pile of clothing in the corner. It was my turn to do the laundry, I slowly procrastinated as I watched the others go about doing their chores .Sharif unpacked the remaining goods in perfect symmetry, with not one can out of line, he then preceded taking stock of our food. Smith mopped up the water that constantly seeped through the ceiling of the bunker; if we missed one day the water would build up and dampen our surroundings. The girls made our beds, honestly speaking it was more Shahkierah that did the beds as Zara pranced around jumping and playing
at her father’s turned back. Sky began the day’s breakfast, I watched as she took out the last remaining can of spam, great I hated the gelatinous meat, but it was better than nothing.
Eventually I had collected all the washing and made my way to the runoff pipe. We had to do our washing with a medium sized bucket and a bar of washing soap, with no hot water and proper detergent id have to repeat and rinse over and over to make sure the clothing came out relatively clean. Smith always complained when I did his washing, he’d say I just rinsed his clothing and complain they were still dirty, Id simply ignore his ramblings and continue with whatever I was doing, I knew his objective, he just wanted me to redo his clothing in an aimless attempt to get that strong odour out of his clothes. He knew as well as I did, that smell wasn’t going anywhere!
After finishing the loads of washing I returned back to the bunker to find everyone done with their chores and seated awaiting my arrival so breakfast could resume. We were having one of my most despised dishes. We had this dish a few times before and each time it completely horrified me, none the-less times were tough now, and survival mode was in gear.
I looked at the plate of food placed in front of me in complete disgust. To the naked eye it looked like a normal fried spam dish, but I knew exactly what was inside. RAT! I hated the idea of eating the filthy little critters, but when protein was down we needed to get it in some form and fortunately rats were in abundance down here. Sharif had to lie to the girls each time, saying it was canned chicken they were eating or he knew they’d refuse, and down here you needed every source of energy you could get your hands on.
While we sat eating our breakfast I looked around the room at the six people I had created a new life with. We had bonded and become somewhat of a family. After my experience with the reaper on the surface I had come to realise just how far they were willing to go for one another. The way they worked together was quite raw, but still very effective keeping in mind the only one of them with previous combat experience was Smith. These people, who were once complete strangers, became a family due to circumstances and would now die for each other at the drop of a pin. I was amazed to see the dynamics which had formed between the families, Smith obviously taking role as leader, yet never relaying an order without first consulting Sharif, who had become the adviser of the group. Sky that was far from the motherly type had left her strong feminist outlook and had become nothing less than a mother to the two little girls.
I spent most of my time with Smith; he would talk for hours about the event which had led us to our current existence. He explained the pandemonium which ensued when the rocks fell. He depicted different scenarios of that dreadful day and all I could do was use my imagination to picture the chaos. He explained how in front of his very own eyes he watched as people where flattened by the rocks, how they ran in a panic, how buildings crumbled killing hundreds, and how fleeing drivers drove their cars over anybody in their way. It was chaos personified, fires engulfed the city, and death welcomed itself into New York.
The old man was slowly becoming my mentor and I loved listening to his stories. I was close to everyone in the group but the bond he and I shared reminded me so much of mine and my fathers. My dad and I were not only father and Son, but we were friends. I strived so hard to make my dad proud, and I could see I was falling into the same pattern with Smith. My dad was not the only one I missed though, I remembered my home, my mom, my family they were all in South Africa safe. But how their hearts must have been broken when they got the news about North America, how shattered their existence would be without their only son .My poor mother must still be grieving to this day and my dad oh how his heart must be aching for his boy, his best friend. If only there was a way to let them know I was okay, to let them know I was alive.
That’s why I needed Smith so badly, not as a replacement of my father but someone who brought me assurance that everything would be okay and could help guide me through the tough world we live in, the same way my dad did while I was growing up. Even though Smith’s stories enthralled me he was not the only one I spent time with. Sharif and I also spent many hours together he taught me dozens of tricks and little survival tactics which he had acquired over the years. He was the one who showed me how to make a fire in the passageways of the sewer. I sat for days rubbing dry sticks together until eventually my fingers blistered and bled, every time asking him why I’m wasting my time when clearly there where better sources to create fire like matches and lighters, but I always got the same response from Sharif, ”What if you top side in the dark of the night and you have no matches or lighters, what then?”
He also showed me how to set traps and catch rats down in the passageways. He took his time to explain the anatomy of the reapers, were they where most vulnerable. How to kill them and most importantly he showed me the greatest tool of all, improvisation. He could fashion about anything into a lethal weapon and even though I never dared to ask I knew he had experience in killing before this all happened.
Sky and myself barely conversed she was too occupied with the children and when we did get the time to talk it always seemed to be about gathering water or cleaning pots, some trivial task which needed to be done. We hardly had a conversation just for the sake of speaking, she believed the privilege to relax and chat away had been lost when our world fell to pieces, now the young women only focused on surviving and more importantly making sure those two little girls survived.
I knew Sharif, his girls and Smith from the building but who was this new stranger I now shared a roof with? Where did this girl come from and what was her past life like? I would constantly wonder about this. One day while sitting with Smith I asked the old man about this peculiar strange woman who was so quiet yet so confident. He explained her origins, well the bit that he had gathered at least. If there was one person who would be more than happy to sit down and tell me the story of our mysterious female companion, it would be Smith.
“As you know Sky was a paramedic on the Upper East Side, her job was in Manhattan but her passion was in Brooklyn.””Sky was quite a busy young lady and from what I know she had no one special in her life other than her .45 special, if you know what I mean.” Smith nudged me with his elbow and winked. “When she was not saving lives she was kicking ass as a police reserve in Crown heights, trust me if her gun did not jam that day up top that reaper would be lead drenched right now.”” Cairo, that girl can shoot!” “Look I was the best shot in my entire platoon, but not even I hold a feather to what Sky can do with a gun, saving lives may have been her job, but shooting is truly her talent.”
None of us knew where Sky’s family was, who they were or if any of them had made it out alive, nobody asked and neither did I. All I knew is how she joined our little family, once again thanks to the unfailing stories from Smith.
Apparently when the rocks fell, Sky was in the little grocer across the street buying a cup of coffee before pulling another double shift. Before she could even pay for her beverage the rocks started falling. She told us how the few people in the grocer ran outside to see what the commotion was, she too was on her way out when; a spray of rocks about the size of baseballs came smashing down. She was protected in the confides of the shop but the poor people standing outside where continuously pummelled by the meteor segments, they had no time to flee back into the shop, Sky said it all happened so fast they could not react, until all that was left of them was a pile of mangled bodies in a pool of blood. In a state of shock she ran back and locked herself in the storeroom. She placed her head between her knees and sat there for two days until the city became quieter. After the second day she decides either she’d die in there or come out.
I felt so sorry for her, I could imagine how alone and confused she must have felt, I thought to myself for a glimpse of a second, if Layla made it out alive maybe... I stopped myself immediately, why was I even thinking of her? Why was that bitch on my mind, I should not have cared if she died. I turned my attention back towards Sky,
Even though I did not speak to her much it was nice having that female presence in the bunker. It was nice having a woman’s touch and mostly it was nice to wake up in the morning and look at someone other than Sharif and Smith. But that’s all I would ever be able to do with Sky, look and imagine; there was no way I could get her to even acknowledge me let alone date me.