A Thousand Nights with You - 1. In seven days

Day 11

The nights are pitched black these days. Not a single light remains in the entire city. Not from the cars that piled up and choked the streets below, not from the broken street lamps or from the buildings across the road. The penetrating darkness almost felt like you are being suspended in outer space, only if the world is silent as well.

But there is the constant moaning, haunting the streets day and night. I missed the sound of the cicadas, the noisy bustling traffic and the distant banter in our neighbours’ flat. I missed human voices.

Mom and dad didn't even make it past the first day.

When all the riot and panic started, they went out to see what happen, just like everyone else. There were screams and gunshots, people flooding the streets, cars honing loudly. Five minutes after they left the house, they called me and told me to lock the doors and switch off all lights. Don’t come out, don’t let anyone in, no matter how hard they bang the doors or scream or beg.

Mom was crying. Then she cut off the phone.

Then within an hour, fire and smoke appears in every other street corner. From my window, I can see people being dragged out from their cars and being torn from limb to limb.

Their cries and screams are still fresh in my ears.

Some were dragged out and had their cars stolen. Those left on the streets didn't survive very long. People went crazy within seconds, turning violent on each other.

Dad called again and told me to stay put. They would come back for me as soon as they find Tristan.

And for another two hours, there were nothing but screams all around. Close, far, above me, below me, beyond the walls, those were my neighbours' voices. I could even recognized Mrs Trellis’s agonizing wails. She went on for at least a few long minutes before it turned into a soft whimper and then nothing. All I could do is to hide under my blanket and stop myself from shaking. Any moment, I expected them to break into our home and tear me apart.

I kept quiet like mom and dad told me. I bolt the door and switched off all the lights. I didn't make a single sound throughout the screams and the constant banging on my doors.

Then, I got a message from mom.

I love you Daniel.

That was the last time I heard from them ever since. I wished mom and dad had read my reply.

It was only two days before everything happened that dad said the human rabies would never spread beyond India. Our sanitation systems are good and we are organized. The news said the government had done everything to make sure everyone at the airport is screened. No one infected would go through the borders.

Bullshit.

It all started from the airport. One passenger infected the entire plane after it landed. Then chaos. And it only took forty three minutes after the news broadcast for the mayhem to reach the city.

By the third day, there were less screaming and more moaning. Instead of people running, the streets are filled with slow moving bodies wandering aimlessly. Across the road, there are a handful of people barricaded themselves in their apartments like me. But soon after the water and electricity got cut off, things got desperate.

There must be a few survivors on my block as well because those people across the streets were writing notes and sticking it close to their windows for us. They were communicating. Whoever has a pair of binoculars could read their desperation.

'Fridge’s down, food turning bad.'

'No more water. How is it like over there?'

I watched, but I was too scared to stay close to the windows. Every time I look, there are fewer people left. As food and water runs out, people are dropping like flies. And not long after, there are only the four of them left; an old couple, one woman and a middle aged man. The old couple were the first to stop coming to the windows altogether. The next day, the man jumped out of the window, killing himself instantly.

Then things went quiet for a while.

Few days later, I was woken up by a scream. The woman from across the road dashed out to the streets in desperation. She could either die from thirst and starvation at the comfort of her home or getting killed by them. She chose a quick death instead. I only manage to see her figure for a few seconds before she was swarmed by the infected on the streets.

They ate her alive.

I watched it happen for about two and half hours. At the end of it, there weren’t enough of her left to be seen. There is only a pool of blood on the road trickling down towards the drain. The mangled mess of entrails that remains don't even look like a corpse. Just like the leftovers you might find in a butchery.

I cried.

I didn’t know who she was, and I didn’t even have a good look at her face. But she could easily be mom or dad or my brother. Whatever happened to them, I hope it was quick. I am a coward. I choose to die slowly at the comfort of my bed.

The rain came that afternoon and washed away the blood on the streets. It was as if it never happened.

I never thought I could feel so happy to see water again. My throat was already parching by that time and the summer heat outside made it worse. I was careful to ration whatever water I have left since the tap no longer works. At first, all it came out was brown water, and then it stopped completely.

After the woman died, I gave up hope that anyone would come to the windows any more. The screaming had completely stopped by the end of the first week. I accepted the fact that I am the only one left.

By that time, there is no internet, no television, no electricity, and no one alive. What kept me alive are my junior high eco-science projects; a radiative dew condenser and a small algae farm. It gives me about a few spoonful of food and water each day. Those who laughed at my geekiness are probably dead. But I am not gloating. This is just going to prolong my agony. I won’t survive through the winter with this. Mom and dad were out in the streets when it happened. They probably didn't survive long. Tristan was at school when it happened. He is a boy scout and he is strong. He could still be holding up somewhere in school. I could imagine him alive out there somewhere.

I wanted to believe it. I had to believe it.

Dad always said God created the world in seven days. I never believed that because I had never seen it. But I had seen the world ended in seven days right before my eyes. The smoke and fire were long replaced by ashes and dusts. The putrid smell of rotting corpses was all I could smell. Apart from the moaning, you could hear the crows caw occasionally. They wouldn't have much luck with the carcasses because not even the dogs yelped after the eighth day. Even the blood on the pavements and the tar roads had long dried up.

By the ninth day, I wanted to sleep the rest of my life away.

Staying awake only means I need more food and water to survive. It means listening to the moaning, it means to feel the fear and the sadness. I could forget about being hungry and thirsty. And at least in my sleep, I can still dream of mom and dad, and Tristan.

I missed them.

I wanted to be a scientist.

I wanted to go to high school, even if it means being made fun by Tristan’s stupid jock friends.

I wanted to know how it feels like to kiss Nora. Even though I'm chubby and geeky and she would never go out with someone like me.

None of that matters any more.

They are probably dead. Soon, I will be as well. And they are never coming home.

When things start to quiet down, I find myself walking into their rooms and looking through their things. Receipts, diaries, birthday cards, postcards, these little vignettes could still give me some more memories about mom and dad. I find myself going through dad's school annuals, sitting on their bed and marvelling how they looked when they were younger. Then I found mom's stash of all the ticket stubs for the movies and concerts which she had gone with dad for their dates. I took a small photo from the family album and put it inside my pocket. One day, when food and cold finally made me too weak to get out of bed, I could at least take it out and look at them: Mom holding me as a baby and dad trying to keep Tristan still as a toddler.

Tristan's room was a lot more interesting. Dirty magazines, presents he got from his friends, a pocket survival guide for scouts. That probably look handy if we had lived in the country side instead of this big urban city. Other than the junks he kept, the only other thing I found useful was his tubs of protein powders which he used to gain muscle mass. The moment I saw them, I scooped at them like they were candy bars. Compared to the algae, they tasted absolutely heavenly. Before I left the room, I found a small wrapped gift box under his bed. When I opened it up, I cried. It was a pair of sports shoe, meant for my birthday next week. Even though Tristan's gift came with a sting; he always said my fat ass needs some exercise; I knew he cared. I pretended to be annoyed by his sarcasm and sense of superiority because I could never be like him.

At first, I felt lucky to have survived. Right now, I wasn't so sure any more.

The nights were so dark these days that I can’t even see my own fingers. That’s when the moaning really gets under my skin. It was so loud that I can’t tell how many of them are there, or how close they are to me. They might be beyond this wall and Mrs Trellis could be one of them moaning right now. They all sounded the same after they got infected. It’s like their lungs are flooded with phlegm and the only sound they are capable of is a low guttural wail.

Most of the moaning comes from the street, but from time to time, I hear them from my neighbour's apartment below and beyond my walls. Those were the worse nights when I am surrounded by their chilling cry of hunger. This building used to be filled with white noises; the muted blast of the neighbours' stereos, or the volume of their television, karaoke or their weekend house parties. Sometimes, on my bed, I would try to remember how they sounded like.

At night, the putrid rotting don’t smell so bad when the air is dryer and cooler. Staying on the top floor helps because hot air rises and cool air descends. Right then, when I closed my eyes, I could still imagine the world hadn't ended. I could almost block out the moaning with a little imagination. For that few minutes, I pretended that everyone is just asleep, until I jumped at the bang on my door or on the wall beyond. Sometimes, the slow thumping on the front door sounded so much like dad knocking when he forgot his keys. Once, I tried to peek through and saw a stranger with grey mottled skin and blood shot eyes, standing lifelessly outside. I regretted seeing them up close. I couldn't get the image off my mind. After that, I try to stay inside my room upstairs as much as possible.

Last night, I woke up in the dark again. Still the moaning.

I hummed a tune to myself softly, just to calm my nerves a little. The moon is brighter that night when I look up at the air well above my bed. I held my stomach with both my arms when I felt the stinging gastric fluid. My room was dark and I had to feel my way towards the windows, careful not to knock into anything. One careless sound, the moaning and knocking gets louder for a long time.

The night sky cast a silvery outline of the condenser and the algae tray by the window. I took a spoonful of it and held my nose to swallow the grassy powdery taste. Below, I look briefly at the swarming masses below. They don’t seem to sleep.

Then the flash of light came across the street

I rubbed my eyes to see if my mind was playing tricks on me.

It came again.

It was unmistakeable. A torch light flashed near one of the windows across the road. Someone is still alive out there. Immediately, I fumbled to open the drawer for my own torch light, praying that the battery still works.

I flashed the light near the window and switch it off immediately before anything can see me from below. It took a while, but the light across the street responded.

Morse code.

I remember Tristan used to teach me when we go camping. That’s how we can communicate with the torch lights. I just hope whoever is in the building across, understands it.

I-H-A-V-E-F-O-O-D

It took me a while to get that message across. But there was no response from the person. The light switched on briefly, shone at my direction and then it turned off abruptly.

Then nothing.

For the rest of the night, I sat close to the window waiting for another sign that never came. I had no idea if my message was understood.

I was thrilled that someone else is still alive, but I soon regretted sending that message. Even though it was technically true, the algae and the few droplets of water won’t sustain two persons for very long.

What if there are more of them? What if the light came from the old couple? What if they got killed trying to come over because I told them I had food? It would be my fault.

Or what if the person doesn't want to share? Will I get robbed? Will they hurt me? There is no more police, authority, or anyone that cares. What would I do if the person shows up alive?

My mind was troubled for the rest of the night with a million questions.

By the first break of dawn, I gave up hope to see any more responses. I climbed up to my bed and feel the first rays of morning sun shining through the air well above, warming up my face. I hugged myself back to sleep. Despite my fears, I desperately wanted to know that someone else is alive.

I would rather die than to be alone.