Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(62)

Johnny had been with her since before The Crash. They’d met at some sweaty queer dance party in the West End, around the time they’d both started transitioning. They’d stuck together as the whole damn world fell apart around them. He was strong and funny and sneaky then, a great looter early on. Until the pyres had burned away the last of the dead. They’d both seen friends and neighbours and so many legions of unknowns go up in flames.

He got a funny look on his face one day, looked around like someone had called his name. They were in an alley, had just looted a stockpile of canned food Johnny had found in the basement of some building. He thought they’d been caught, grabbed Sarah’s hand tight and ran.

Soon after, Johnny told her. “It’s like chatter. I don’t know, I can’t describe it. I think it’s an ear infection.” And so, Sarah saved up a bunch of stuff from tricks to barter for some medicated eardrops. No change. He tried to push it out of his mind.

Two streets over in the Annex, their old friend Su Ling was living in the attic of an old Victorian with whatever girlfriend of the week she had at the time. They used to go over for dinner sometimes, pool their food together and have a feast. Well, a meal.

One night over something that was almost borscht, Su Ling said she was leaving. “It’s time. It’s just death here.”

“But what’s out there? You gonna farm or some butch shit?” Johnny laughed.

“I’ve never even been out of the city since The Crash,” Sarah said, picking at a beet with her fork. “What’s even out there?”

“I have to. It’s not right here—” Su Ling tried to explain.

Her girlfriend cut in, “She thinks she’s going psychic. She hears—”

“Marla!” Su Ling snapped. “I just. I hear this, like, talking in my ears. It’s worse in some parts of the city. It’s like city noise. I gotta get out of here, and get some fresh air. It’ll be quiet in the country.”

A full minute passed before Johnny opened his mouth and let it spill out that he heard it, too. But there was no relief in sharing, all it did was unnerve the four of them further.

Su Ling left a week later with her pretty girlfriend in tow.

? ?

Derrick is usually easy. He is quick, relatively clean, and polite. Skinny, white hipster boy with manners, a seemingly unending supply of canned food, and the faintest hint of a paunch coming in as he hovers around 30. He gives her four cans of beans and a mason jar of moonshine for the date when she gets to the collective house.

Sarah’s pulling her best post-apocalyptic Amy Winehouse – hair up in a messy bouffant, floral print retro dress that’s damn near mint condition, except for the small tear in the seam just under her armpit that she really needs to fix up before it rips further, and beat-up burgundy cowboy boots.

The date goes quickly. Rub, tug, blow, repeat, and it’s over. She gets up and goes over to the gold-framed mirror on the wall of his room, one long crack down the middle of it, cutting her face in two.

“You ever been outside?” she asks, fixing her hair in the mirror’s reflection.

“Like out of the city?” he says, still lying there in the afterglow.

“Yeah, some place rural. The country or something.”

“My buddy and I went out to this farm in, like, Aurora,” he says. “It was a pretty sweet set-up, but it’s way too much work. The city’s harder, I guess, but you don’t have to get up at dawn here and work in the sun. My back!” He laughs, and she can see him through the mirror, rubbing his stomach.

“You’re just a city boy at heart, huh?”

“Not cut out for working. I’m the first to admit I’m a trustfund baby.” His voice darkens only a little. “Or I was. Anyway, I like the city better. Make some booze to trade, and I can get up whenever I want.”

? ?

The roof of their building is covered in gravel and plastic bins full of abandoned attempts at rooftop gardening. Neither of them have green thumbs, no natural inclination to keep things alive except each other, so it’s all dead and dried out, growing weeds instead of tomatoes. Johnny passes Sarah the mason jar, wipes the booze from his mouth with his other hand.

She takes a sip of the bitter drink and watches the patch of sunset light slowly moving across his brown skin. Johnny’s dirty white tank top is off, tucked into the waist of his jeans, and he’s leaning against the raised ledge, resting his head on folded arms. In that moment Sarah can see beyond the drama, the craziness, the pain, and all the wretched processing to the beautiful boy she took home one night, so many years ago. This forever, she thinks. And she drinks more of her trick’s moonshine.

“All right,” she says, and coughs for a second. “All right, I’m in. We can try it.”

“Try what?” Johnny asks, letting one arm droop down over the ledge.

“Let’s leave the city. Let’s go outside. I’m in. I’m with you.”

Johnny turns to her and, slowly, a big smile spreads across his face. She can’t remember the last time she’s seen his eyes so bright and alive. They kiss and laugh. He runs his fingers through her hair, presses his forehead against hers.

“It’s going to be so great!” he says, beaming at her. “We’ll get fresh food! We’ll grow things or pick berries or something! We can go anywhere. Anywhere! No more worrying about getting mugged or burglars or anything. I’ll get a bow and arrows and we can hunt for our food.”