Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(74)
Another breath and I was under the freezing water, before gasping for air in the tight space beneath the canoe, the sound made more desperate by our aluminium cover.
“Okay.” I could hear Jill’s teeth chattering. “I’m going to push us to an apartment nearby. We’ll take refuge inside until nightfall.”
“We’ll follow,” Jill said, her voice a cold shell. “Under the canoe.”
I nodded and ducked back into the water before I could think. The cold permeated less now – it had already dug into my skin, a numbness that made my muscles loathe to respond. I kicked anyway and grabbed the canoe, pushing it in the current toward the apartments, my hiking boots growing heavier with each push of the frigid current. My satchel dragged too, a wide hand on the small of my back urging me to go under. There was no buzz, the spotlight was gone. This was our only chance. Our oars drifted alongside me, tied to the canoe but eager to escape.
I spat out a mouthful of water as I reached the balcony, and my arms trembled as I knocked on the canoe roof and hauled myself out. It was then the buzz echoed off the water and my head jerked – I couldn’t see them anymore, I couldn’t know.
“Get out now – they’re coming.”
“Help,” Jill gasped through blue lips. I trembled and almost lost grip, my cold limbs atrophied. But she was up and over the rail, and Sandip found his way too. I tied a quick hitch in the canoe’s rope, leaving it capsized but secured. We scrambled through the shattered patio doors and into the apartment, abandoning our bags with a wet ”thuck,” and kicking dust and dried leaves with each step and drip.
I led us into the second room, a slumped bed atop a metal frame prominent in the room. We ducked into the shadows beneath a high, long window as the buzz grew louder, vibrating through the concrete walls and shaking little puffs of dust into the air. Swallows’ nests above the bed were white with mould and silent, the bed a mess of twigs and droppings. A pink plastic crib on the far side of the room had a lattice of cobwebs between the bars, and the far closet was half-open, shapeless shadows hinting at more within.
Jill squatted and wrapped her arms around her head, chattering with cold. She shrugged him off when Sandip tried to touch her, so I put my hand on her knees instead. The patrol went by again, sweeping lights followed by the pings of echolocation.
I was shaking too. Head against the wall to stay upright, I scanned the small room. How long would they stay? How diligent would their search be? The buzzing ships passed again, and I cringed down, the sound twisting in my gut and contributing to the tremble in my limbs.
“W-what do we do?” Jill whispered into her arms.
“We stay until tomorrow,” I said.
“What?” Sandip snapped, and I glared at the volume. He was bluing too.
“I’ll f-find blankets. We will. Our clothes n-need to dry. And we n-need them to go away.” I got silence in reply, save for the last drips falling from our clothes and leaving a cloying, stuck cold. Time slowed with my blood it seemed, thoughts elusive moths flitting around the light of my mind. The only warmth. They were chattering. No – no, it was me.
They didn’t follow when I got up and threw open the closet, sending a puff of air whose chill I regretted almost as much as the dust that swirled and stuck to my jacket. There were loose, faded shirts that crumpled when I moved the hanger, natural fibres disintegrated long ago and waiting for the end. Soft knit sweaters were hidden behind, clung with webs but whole. One grey, it looked handmade, and another with a dinosaur motif on the front. I kept them at arm’s length from my soaked frame.
“Get up.” It was a barren croak, and I had to lick my lips. “Get changed. Everything wet needs to c-come off.”
I left the sweaters with Jill and crept out of the apartment. The drywall in the hallways was cracked and crumpling, black mould stippled in the corners and along the baseboards. There were signs of long-gone habitation: a clutch of rusted, penknife-jagged cans whose labels had faded into illegibility, and the blackened halo of a fire. It scuffed underfoot, blurred charcoal into wet lines that followed my trail to the next apartment. The buzz of the ships shook the building again, and I slunk against the wall to listen as they passed, shivering all the while.
The next apartment was locked, but another still had its doors off the hinges. A laminate countertop had collapsed under its own weight, crushing the waterlogged cabinets underneath. The small kitchen connected to an empty living room, into which the river waters lapped and reached for a dry bedroom. I pulled more clothing from a closet, puffs of decayed and moth-eaten fabric fluffing in the air with my motions.
My breathing was fast, quick, and quiet, the air stolen by the cold – a struggle to take each one back. I couldn’t keep my limbs from shaking. Another scan – no blankets. Another apartment was gutted, the remnants of furniture and cabinetry visibly cannibalized, a half-burnt drawer showing their fate. I was at the end of the hall and walking on careful, frozen footsteps before I found a box which hid a pair of synthetic blankets sealed in clear zippered plastic. I took them and hurried back as the roving ships passed again, their lights lost in the growing daylight.
Their clothes were hung up, and Sandip turned with a start, clad in the dinosaur sweater and skin-soaked boxers. Jill was squatting beside the bed, the sweater pulled down to her ankles. I thrust the pants out, and turned to strip as I said, “Everything wet. T-take it off, you need to dry.”