A Thousand Nights with You - 3. Mirage

Day 14

Mark woke up by my stomach growling. The midday sun blazes down in a fierce column of light from the air well above. He sat up and grabbed the baseball bat next to him by instinct. His eyes are still adjusting to the light as he blinked.

“It’s just me.” I said, feeling embarrassed for startling him. After eating only algae for so long, Mark’s biscuits only made my stomach craved more solid food. But at least I don’t feel so weak any more.

The moaning below has died down quite a bit. And even if they had torn down the door, they could have wandered off by now. Mark rubbed his eyes and put on his clothes. The grime on the jersey had dried under the sun, turning the dirt cakey and flaky.

“I’ll go down and check. Stay here.” He said to me.

“No, I’ll go with you.”

I would rather face them than to be left alone here.

“You don’t have a weapon.” He said.

I looked around my room and found a tiny screwdriver. He raised an eye brow and then he passed me his baseball bat. “Take this instead.”

“How are you going to defend yourself?” I asked.

“With this.” He took out a handgun from his backpack. “I will try not to use it. It’s like dinner bell for them. If you see anyone, just smash their head. Don’t hesitate, even if you recognize them.”

I nodded solemnly. Both of our lives are in my hands. Before we let down the rope ladder, I took the small table mirror to check below.

The coast is clear.

Mark came down after me, moving as quietly as we can. We heard something topple in the distance and both of us crouched down behind the sofa immediately.

“It might be the neighbours.” I whispered.

He shrugged and pointed ahead. We tiptoed towards Tristan’s room which is only a few metres ahead.

There is no one inside.

BANG!

I jumped.

“Stay cool.” Mark held my shoulder. “It might be the neighbours.”

I smiled when he echoed me. But it did little to stop my knuckles from turning white and my body from shivering. Focus on my toes, I thought to myself.

We stayed still for a minute. And then I looked at Mark, waiting for him to tell me what to do. In my head, I rehearsed swinging the bat at them. What if there are many of them? They could be anywhere inside the apartment, kitchen, bedroom, dining room.

“Let’s check the front door. If it’s still intact, that means no one got in.” He whispered.

We skipped past my parent’s bedroom and sneaked down the corridor. Mark kept an eye on our rear, just to make sure nothing surprises us from behind. From our end, we could see the front door is ajar. Shit! Now we have to check every single room.

My parent’s room, cleared.

Bathrooms, cleared.

Kitchen, cleared as well.

CLANK!

My heart skipped a beat. I raised the baseball bat close to my shoulders. The sound definitely came from my home. And it sounds like it came from the living room. Both of us crouched near the wall and I took a peek over at the corner.

The frail looking body and white frizzy hair belongs to Mrs Trellis, but her right arm hanged unnaturally by the side. It is as if her shoulder bone is snapped. When she turns around, I covered my mouth to stop myself from crying out loud. Half of her face seems to be chewed off, and the other eye socket is empty. Her night gown is soaked in dried blood and a deep wheezing came out from her dislocated jaw.

Mark tapped my shoulder and whispered. “Do you know her?”

I nodded and swallowed my tears. Mrs Trellis often offered me cakes. Her husband died three years ago and her children were no longer living in the state. She had a Jack Russell, named Toby. I often go over her place to babysit her dog when she is away. Right now, her skin is grey and patches of black mottled pigments are all over her face and neck.

He took the baseball bat from me and crept up towards her. She is obviously blind, but as soon as Mark comes closer, she got all riled up and claws at the air randomly. Mark charged and swung the bat, smashing her head with a loud crack. She dropped to the floor with a thud.

“Help me, Daniel.”

The pool of blood spreads quickly from her head. I stepped over it carefully and Mark indicated for me to lift her legs.

“What should we do?”

I felt like a murderer, even though I hadn’t taken that swing. I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering.

“We have to throw her body over the balcony. We can’t let her rot here.”

Her gown flaps like a white dove as her body falls down to the street. She landed with a loud thud. The infected turned towards her for a few seconds without much interest, and then they go on about their own ways. Just like that, she was gone.

Mark stands beside me and watches her body below. I can hear his heavy breathing, and when I touch his arm, he jumps. His skin is cold and his jaws are clenched.

“We have the fix the door before more of them comes in.” He snaps out and says in a hurry.

We close the front door as softly as we can, afraid to attract any more of them. The hinges are intact but the locks are damaged. For a few hours, I held against the door with my body weight while Mark moved every single piece of heavy furniture to block off the entrance. It takes a long time, but eventually the entrance hallway is choked with so many things that we can’t even see the door anymore.

His face glistens with sweat after moving the last cabinet. Mark leans against the wall and wipe his face.

“What do we do now?” I ask, feeling terrified of seeing those creatures up close again.

“We live.” That was his reply.

 

***

Day 21

 

Sweat rolls down his rippling back, making his bare body glimmers under the sun. His skin and hair were bronzed over the days working at the roof top. Mark tried to build a make-shift toilet with a few planks of wood. We have to relief ourselves elsewhere since the flushing system don’t work anymore. He seems to be a pretty good handyman.

“Dad’s hardly at home. So I learnt how to fix things by myself.” He said.

“I’m not good at fixing things. I like to tear them apart and see how they work. Mom always scolds me for that.” I chirped.

“You’re a mommy’s boy huh? Surprise, surprise.” Big grins from him.

“Your mom must be proud of you, being good at fixing things and all.” I said, but Mark keeps quiet and continues hammering away. He looks sullen after that, and I thought that I probably said something stupid. With Mark, you can’t really ask him questions. He’ll tell you if he wants to. Otherwise, he’ll just clams up and does his things. His resemblance to my brother ends there. Tristan loves attention and he loves to talk. Ask him something and he’ll tell you how many times he farted that day.

Other than being a tough shell, Mark is an easy housemate to live with. He pays attention to details and I feel a lot safer with him around. Take last week for instance. After we got sealed in, the only way to get out of the apartment is to climb up from the air well in my room. I was being a wimp, afraid to get out at all. But Mark insisted that we explore the place, we need an escape plan just in case the infected corner us in the apartment. In the end, he went up by himself, and I joined him because I was scared to be left alone.

The rooftop was half the size of a football field and it used to be a junkyard. No one ever goes there except to dump junks and unwanted furniture. But right now, the junkyard turned out to be a treasure trove for us. While Mark was working on the make-shift toilet, I used every sheet of metal and containers I can find to grow and sun more algae. By now, we have quite a decent algae farm at the rooftop that we can have two decent meals per day: A full cup of algae with salt, algae with ketchup, or algae with mayo. Take your pick.

Hopefully, by the end of the month, we can grow enough to eat four times a day. Since the army rations will run out eventually, we decided to save it for emergencies.

Like my birthday today.

Mark puts down his hammer and handed me the green plastic army ration and said,

“Happy birthday.”

“T-thanks.” I muttered and looked at the blue sport shoes that I was wearing. It was Tristan’s last gift to me. I looked up at him and said, “I’m surprised you remembered it.”

He shrugged, “Not many things to remember these days.”

Like I said, Mark is good with details. To be honest, I was afraid that he would be one of those jocky jerks I’ve seen in school. They treat you like shit if you aren’t part of their crowd. Maybe he was like that when he’s younger. Or maybe, I’m one of the cool crowd now. In any case, giving me the biscuit is a big gesture. Even for birthdays.

It was too tempting, but I hesitated a moment and handed it to him. “We have to be careful with our food.”

“Oh come on, live a little.” He punched my shoulders lightly. What a surprise. He’s always the one worrying about food and safety. I held up a finger and asked him to wait.

“I know how we could celebrate.”

Mark watched me climb down back into the apartment. When I returned, I handed him a bottle of red wine. His eyes widened with glee.

“You had these all along and you kept quiet?” He gasped and laughed.

“Well, wine dehydrates our body. It doesn’t count as supplies.”

“To hell it doesn’t.”

Mark said we don’t have to be worried about water anymore. He got up and beckoned me to follow. At the other side of the rooftop, he pointed to the large water container tank. Then he said,

“The tap might be off, but we can collect rainwater from the tank.”

He climbed on top of the huge tank and pulled me up to show me the water inside. There is not much left, but more than enough for both of us. Behind it, Mark had also gathered all the pails and tubs from the pile of junk to collect more rain water. He pointed to the bath tub and said,

“We can throw our dirty laundry there and soak it when it rains. Let’s just hope the rainy season continues for a while.”

I smiled broadly. Mark got the water supply all sorted out. I never thought I will say this, but it’s awesome to have an adult around.

We spend the evening sitting on top of the tank and drinking wine from the bottle. Mark is wearing Tristan’s blue button down shirt. From the side of my eye, I almost feel like my brother is beside me. I know he isn’t, but it’s good to pretend that I still have someone.

“Your first booze?” He grinned after I take a few sips. I nodded and smiled at him, probably more widely than I ever intended to.

“Good. You’re a happy drunk.”

From where I sit, I could see the vast blue sky above. The familiar city skyline remained the same. None of the mayhem and carnage can be seen in the horizon, only this beautiful mirage of civilization. We bask in the warm sun and cool breeze in our faces. I could smell the raw brine of his sweat like the sea.

I looked at his smiling face. For a moment, I thought the setting sun cast a glow on him. My heart thumped and the blood flushed my cheeks. It must be the wine, I thought.

Lines of sweat rolled down his sternum through the valley of his abs, meandering like little creeks towards the trail of hair above the fly of his jeans. Mark looks at the far distance, lost in thoughts as he sips from the bottle quietly.

I suddenly feel like running my fingers through the stubbles along his jaws.

But instead, I handed him a small towel to wipe his face. He smiled and ruffled my hair. He puts on the shirt but didn’t button them, allowing it to billow in the wind. The bottle by our side is almost empty.

“I need to pee.” I said.

“Me too.”

“Is your toilet ready?”

He turns towards me slowly with a silly half-smile on his face. “I have a better idea.”

That impish smile, the agile grace he climbs up and down, the way he held my hand to get me down the tank, the clothes he wore, it made me missed Tristan even more. People are funny like that. I find Tristan annoying when he’s around. I find mom naggy, and Dad boring. But all I can think of right now are the times they are around for me.

Mark led me to the edge of the building and unzipped his jeans. I watched him whip out his dick and peed down to the streets. Below us, the infected moaned and stirred as they felt his golden shower. Both of us laughed. I pulled down my shorts and joined him.

We sprayed at the infected crowd with our piss; it’s the most juvenile but visceral way to get back at them. The plague had taken our lives, our future and our family. But here we are, our muted chuckles, the mounting moans below, the sound of his flapping shirt in the wind, pissing at the edge of the world; we are taunting death itself.

We are drunk, young and alive in a city full of corpses and ravenous cannibals.

Even though that might change any minute, neither of us cared. We are grateful. I can’t describe the feelings of being able to laugh with someone else again, or to hear another person laughing. It’s the first time I really seen him let loose. Somehow, I like to think that it isn’t just the alcohol. Perhaps it’s the way his jaws are always clenched when he’s alone and how he seems to be amused when I follow him around like a puppy. Maybe I’m just a silly kid imagining all these things.

He shook his dick several times before tucking it back to the thick tuft of pubic hair underneath the jeans. I can’t help but look at the sparse hair of my own. One day, I’ll look like him, big and strong. And I will be his equal. That is, if I could live that long.

***

Day 42

Mark and I hang out at the rooftop pretty often these days. In the beginning, we spend most of the time building more racks to grow algae and condense more water. But once food and water is not the immediate concern, we need to find other things to occupy our time.

Our body has grown used to eating less somehow. I don’t look so gaunt any more. By now, many of the infected has grown too weak to move around. Or so it seems. I guess they are still living humans, and without food they can’t last very long. The streets are quite empty these days and the moaning have stopped. We feel a lot safer than before.

We spend a lot of time making the roof top comfortable. We tried to create little hang out places by shifting some sofas and wooden tables into corner. Then I moved up all the alcohol in the cellar and we called it the ‘Pub’.

Let’s hit the pub.

When Mark said that, it means time to drink and get wasted. He does that with his buddies a lot. I told him he must have a lot of buddies. Cool guys like him always do. But Mark says he only have one or two friends at a time. I smiled broadly because it made me feel special. I’m that one or two buddy he has right now.

Often, we would lay down on the sofa and talk. He would tell me about his dad. He likes to talk about him a lot. I can tell he really looks up to him. Mark says that he changes school every few years whenever his dad gets posted to a new military base. Growing up as an army brat is tough because you don’t make many friends. By the time he gets close to someone, it is time to move again. At first, he tried to keep in contact with them. Facebook, Instagram, skype, but out of sight, out of mind, everyone moved on and eventually forgets about him. He has a brother too, but he is eight years older than him and had moved out long ago. I didn’t quite believe him when he says that he’s used to being alone.

“No one ever gets used to being alone. That’s bullshit.” I called him out and said that I might get holed up with my science projects now and then but I’ll go crazy if I don’t talk to someone. Anyone will do, even if it means annoying Tristan.

“But I don’t really have any friends my age to talk to. It gets tiring to know people all over again.”

“I’m around your age.” I beamed proudly.

He raises a brow and grin. I could almost hear him says ‘oh really’?

Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of a stretch, he is probably just three or four years older than me. All right, make it five or six, I don’t really care. But age is just a numbers game. After the embarrassing parts of puberty is over we’re all going to look the same.

Mark didn’t say anything for a while. He guzzles the wine quietly, looking out to the distant skyline.

My plea for his approval might have seems a little too pathetic. I very well know that it’s social suicide for older boys to hang out with middle schoolers like me. Tristan always made sure I don’t embarrass him in front of his friends.

The silence is awkward. I want to swallow my tongue or blame it on the booze. But to my surprise, he suddenly raises the wine bottle and says, “To friendship.”

Then he takes a sip and passes it to me.

“To booze.” I raise the bottle and take a sip.

He laughs and stands up on the sofa, shouting to the city, “To boobs and babes!”

Those are the good old crazy days.

Sometimes, we will lean over the railings, looking down the streets with binoculars. He will point to a grey-skin woman, dark blood caked around her mouth, and says, “I think she’s hot.”

And both of us laugh.

“Would you do her?” I’d ask.

He looks surprised, as if I’m too young to be asking such questions. Then he’d shake his head and says, “Nah. I don’t want my skin to be grey.”

Then we will laugh again.

Another corner, we’d call it the ‘stadium’. Mark uses the ledge above to do chin ups, and he moves all the cement blocks to that corner and uses them to lift weights. I found some white chalks and drew running tracks around the roof top. I hate to jog, but Mark likes company. It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway.

I am amazed by how much things he knows when he teaches me the different exercises that marines used to get stronger.

“You’ll never know one day your life might depend on it.” He pats my skinny arms and says. I know what he means. He didn’t have to elaborate. Neither of us wants to jinx it. To Mark, these idyllic days are like a mirage, a bubble that will burst someday. You can’t really call him a pessimist for always thinking about the worse-case scenarios because he always takes two steps ahead of them. Maybe that’s why he survived this long. I am just lucky to bump into him.

At first, I can’t even pull myself over the bar once. He practically lifted me up by himself. It takes a while for me to do two chin-ups by myself. Mark is very precise in telling me what I did wrong and how to correct my technique. All the time, the words barely get through; I can only feel his hands pushing up my hips. It reminds me of how dad would lift me up so that I can sit on his shoulders and look at the elephants across the plains.

Mark asks how I’ve learn to farm algae. I told him that we lived in Africa for a few years. Dad worked as an engineer and mom as a volunteer for the United Nations. They had sustainable projects to keep the villagers fed and sanitized. In many areas, they don’t have clean water. Sometimes, you can use the condenser when the weather is hot. Otherwise, you can simply use a cloth filter if you drink from the rivers directly. That would keep the worms from getting and growing inside your gut. The people there might not have many things, but they are really good at tinkering stuff. I saw how some kids make their own violins using junks from the trash. It kinds of inspire me to be an inventor. I’m always curious about the world and how it works.

Tristan wants to be a ranger because he likes animals. He even walked with the lions once in the Kenyan national parks. Although they looked big, those lions aren’t dangerous until they are three years old when their killer instincts developed. I didn’t dare to go near them because he says that I’m a wuss. But I think my brother wants to be many things. He never tells you the same answer twice.

Mark gives me a look. I thought I might have rattled on a little too much. But he says to me, “You’re not a wuss.”

The corner where we have large boxes and trays of algae is our ‘farms’. It is right next to the condenser, the water tanks and the arrays of tubs and pails. This is where we come to work every day. In the morning, we will harvest the algae and dry them in the sun. Then, we will collect the dried ones and pack them into algae cakes. That will be our lunch and dinner.

I figured out how to start a fire from Tristan’s boy scouts’ guide book. Using pots and pans, we will fry, steam, grill, and we will make algae cakes, algae steak and algae soup. We try to be creative with our food. It’s the same shit, but mixing it with different condiments can have surprisingly different effects. We have a lot of fun in the kitchen and it gives us the illusion of variety.

“Your teeth are green.” Mark points and laughs at me.

“So are yours.”

After meals, we will fill up our empty bottles with the water collected in the pails. One cup to keep ourselves hydrated and half a cup to brush our teeth. We always use the water in the pails first because we want to fill up the large water tank. It will save our lives during the dry seasons.

Right next to the pails is where we keep all our dirty laundries. Whenever it rains, the tub will get filled with water and we will dump in the laundry powder.

The past few weeks of rain had put us in a good mood. Normally, we will have to ration ourselves to bath with half a pail of water each day, which is to be shared between the two of us. So bathing normally means wetting a small towel and wiping ourselves with it. That’s why when it rains it is basically party time. We don’t have to be stingy with the water.

We will take off all our clothes, run up to the roof like lunatics, sit down next to the laundry tub and bathe buck naked in the rain. It is all about maximizing efficiency. Mark had it all planned out. I will pour laundry powder into the tub and start scrubbing our clothes. He will take the soap and start scrubbing my body and wash my hair. Once he is done cleaning me up, we will switch. He will then continue with the laundry while I will soap up his body and his hair. Not a single drop of rain water is wasted. Mom will be so proud of us.

If we are lucky, the rain will last long enough for us to frolic around for a few moments. But there is once when the rain stop abruptly and he can’t stop laughing when there isn’t any water to wash off the soap on our faces and hair. And I tell Mark that he smells like a wet dog.

To us, bathing and clean laundries are luxury. Drinking water is first priority and we can’t always count on the rain. That’s why we have to be creative. At first, I feel a little shy bathing with a stranger. I have a habit of flashing myself when I’m younger until Dad says I’m too old for that and it’s not cute anymore.

The final corner is where we play ball. At first, Mark tried to teach me how to play football. We even mark out the ground as if it is a real football field. Then we realized it’s hard to play American football with just the two of us. So, we started playing street soccer instead. Like for two weeks straight, every day.

“I’m sick of soccer.” I said.

Mark shrugs. “What do you want to do then?”

I am tempted to tell him that I want to do some reading. There are some interesting engineering books from dad’s collection in the study room. I’ve been dying to touch them but Dad says I’m too young to understand. He’s just being stingy with his collection. But Mark can’t sit still for long and he expects company. He doesn’t say much about how he feels, but I know he gets a little morose when I leave him alone for too long. I felt like that when I thought I was the only one left in the world. Since its summer, I figured I can always read after supper where there’s still sun light.

So I say to him, “Play something else?”

He looks around the junkyard and makes a hoop with some hard wires. He climbs up the pipe and tie the hoop on top.

“Basketball?”

“This ball can’t bounce.” I said.

“Well.” He flashes a wide grin and says. “Just improvise and make do with a bit of imagination.”

We went on for an hour or so. I can never get the ball in, but Mark seems to be having fun. It’s not like he likes to win since we’re playing on the same team. Can you imagine that? So for a moment, we’re team A, and then the next moment we’re team B. Talk about split personality. But I guess Mark likes being part of a team.

“Train hard, and one day you’ll play against me.” He smiles and tosses the ball in for yet another time. Somehow, I doubt his words. By that time, I know Mark well enough. He doesn’t warm up to people easily, but once you’re on his team, you’ll always be on his team.

Maybe I’ve been too obvious that I looked up to him. Cool kids never wanted to hang out with nerds like me. It was more of a spur to get me shape up than a taunt. But I wasn’t ready to acknowledge that.

“Don’t regret the day when I beat your sorry ass.”

Mark catches the ball as it drops and smirks. “Sorry to break your heart, kid.”

He bounces the ball off my head and I try to catch it, but instead it bounces off the wall and hits an air well by the side. It breaks the glass and drops inside.

And it’s not my air well.

Both of us kneel down and look below. It leads to an attic of another apartment, just like my room. From that angle, we can’t see if there is any infected below. That is the only ball we had.

Mark and I look at each other.

“Shit.”

It’s our only ball, and we don’t know what’s lurking below.