Lamentations - Part Two

On the day Emil showed up at the oasis, his face permanently morphed into a grin and his haircut a travesty, Alistair had been examining his hibiscus for further signs of collar rot. He was so startled at his cousin’s sudden appearance he almost crushed the flower. It had been a whole month since the pilgrims had stopped coming, and he hadn’t interacted with Emil in over a year. Of all the people who could have freed Alistair from his solitude, fate had chosen the one most like likely to drive him further insane, and he thought that even before Emil opened his mouth.

Emil went on to explain how it was thought that the PCR had been playing around with a superbug and it got out. The entire PCR had died, but not before the domed settlements of the new colonists had erupted in pandemonium. The First had to flee further into the desert. After three weeks, they returned to their homes to find them ransacked, broken, and ridden with dried PCR corpses.

Of course, Alistair didn’t want to believe him. Emil had brought news footage and bulletins he had stored on a looted personal device. Alistair saw the photos Emil had taken after the mayhem; it made him want to believe it even less.

“But why didn’t we die?”

Emil shrugged. “Who are we to question a miracle? None of us got sick, and I used to work in the Capital dome, you know. I mopped up their messes, I should have been one of the first to go.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed—he just couldn’t understand. “Like, we’re immune? How?”

“Brother, you’re asking a janitor.”

Alistair had snapped. “Please, just please, don’t call me your brother.”

“We need your help with something. The Agricultural Authority has a library of seeds, but most of us don’t know which ones are still healthy. Will you come with me to get them?” The First had not been allowed to draw enough water for large scale farming, so they had been dependent on the PCR for most of their food. But now, the PCR wasn’t controlling the water, and they sure didn’t need the seeds.

Alistair pulled his knuckle out from between his teeth. “Emil, I want to see my family. Hearing that half the world has just croaked has me a little freaked out, and I want to know that they’re safe.”

Emil sighed. “Cutting through the Capital is the quickest way. You might as well take the minor detour the Agricultural Authority to help your family.”

“But, the bodies…”

“All the bodies are dried up. The sun sterilized everything for us.” Emil had whipped out the personal device again to show him pictures of the PCR’s domes: they were cracked and whole panels were missing.

“But, this is a superbug…we’re really immune?”

Emil promised, “You won’t get infected. No one with the orange hair of the First has gotten sick.”

Alistair had gathered his things in a numb state and they set out. They had paused before descending into the canyon that would take them roughly half the distance to the Capital.

“I always thought,” Emil had said, “that so many people were unnecessary. Really, with so many, half the time is spent oppressing, the other half is spent trying to rise up. Take down, build up—it wasn’t efficient. With just us, you can’t get any more efficient.”

“You’re sick.” Alistair’s numbness had faded, his chest heaving from the realization that approximately 100,000 human souls had left Elegua. “Why can’t you mourn the dead?”

“With the PCR is gone, the damned Outskirts will soon be gone. It’ll just be ‘home.’ What more could we want?”

“This is what you wanted?!”

This is what you wanted?!

The words reverberated around them, throbbing in their minds like a headache. Alistair clutched his orange locks in exasperation. Emil observed the canyon below him, his eyes squinting against the wind.

Emil cleared his dry throat. "We need to get moving."

Alistair finally lowered his hands from his head and faced his cousin. Emil placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder, his voice warm and understanding.

"The roads of Zion are in mourning."

*

The sun was setting. From here on they would be traveling south of the rocky ridge known as the Broken Fan, using it as a shield when the sun came around again. Eventually they would take the naturally formed pass through its middle to reach the Capital.

The inside of Alistair’s nostrils stung from the aridity. He took a long drink of water, though he knew it wouldn’t do any immediate good. Thankfully, Emil was content with being silent for now, which let Alistair keep his own mouth closed to prevent his spit from drying up. With night upon them, the drop in temperature would alleviate some of his discomfort.

Alistair had learned that Earth’s moon reflected so much light that it could guide travelers at night; that is, before light pollution took its place. Elegua didn’t have any moons that appeared very large in the sky, but so many stars shone so brightly through the atmosphere that he almost wondered if the sky wasn’t white splotched in black.

After an hour or two of silence, aside from the shallow breeze and the scuffling of their feet against sand and gravel, Alistair and Emil found their camping site. Many of the First would come to this cliff to camp because of the view it offered of the expansive valleys and arroyos. They had done so as far back as the earliest surviving records. Carved into the rock walls were archaic poetry, humorous slander, and lines from a simple two person game, among other things.

Those from the PCR never went anywhere except from dome to dome. So it was to Alistair’s surprise to see the cliff covered in colonial debris: ripped packs, splintered containers, and torn clothing. Dark stains zigzagged around the cliff, leaving off at its edge. Emil picked up a cracked canteen and launched it over the side. A bouncing crash came several seconds later.

“The superbug drove some of them out of their domes. They must have thought we camped here because there was a source of water, or at least shelter. It didn’t occur to them that maybe we found Elegua beautiful…”

Alistair nodded in agreement. His imagination filled in what Emil had left out. Someone had gotten here first, only to find that the camping site wasn’t as fortifiable as they thought. They were attacked by someone else who wanted their preserved food and water store. Or maybe they were just passing through, wanting to get to the canyon and the wilderness, and were ambushed by their fellow colonists.

“What about the First? What did they do?”

Emil walked over to the edge and looked down, searching for something. “They did what they did best. They stored water and rationed it. None of the PCR were strong enough to follow them that far into the desert.”

Alistair’s throat tightened at the thought of the new colonists crawling on their stomachs into the arid expanse they had hated.

Emil picked up an empty can and tossed it over the edge with enthusiasm. “You going to help?”

Alistair drop-kicked a bottle that was half-full with some black liquid. The weakened plastic burst and the liquid spluttered out as the bottle sailed through the air. Finally, the remnants of the colonists’ confrontation had disappeared into the crags beneath. To mark the occasion, Emil picked up a sharp rock and carved “Emil the Rival” into the ridge.

When they were young, Emil had scratched the very same into the hull that had been the First’s spaceship.

PART THREE