A Thousand Nights with You - 32. Ghosts from the past

Day 500

Her name was Bethany. We met her three weeks ago when the factory went up in flames.

Correction.

I met her three weeks ago. Mark had known her for years. What were the odds of finding someone you knew alive? And I could tell that Mark and she had quite a history from their awkward reunion.

On that night, we ran towards the burning factory, hoping to make ourselves useful and hopefully ingratiate ourselves into Olympia. It was an outbreak, just as we had thought. But the fences weren’t breached or anything. It’s as if the outbreak started inside. We tried to climb over the fence, hoping that the snipers would be too busy with the chaos to notice us. It turned out that we were wrong.

She didn’t pop us on sight, which was lucky for us. But we didn’t get far before she appeared behind us, aiming her rifle straight to our heads.

“Beth?” Mark recognized her voice even though we couldn’t see well in the dark. She flashed her light at our faces and her face turned pale. I couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad to see Mark. But they had stared at each other way longer than I liked. Mark almost forgot I existed until I tugged his forearm, reminding him that we had an outbreak on our hands. It was a tough fight, but wasn’t a long one. There were many armed guards in this settlement but it was hard for them to tell who was infected and who wasn’t in the middle of the night. The newly infected didn’t have that same lacerated grey skin as the others, so they shot anyone who looked frenzied and aggressive. Mark made me carry a gun, even though I sucked at shooting. Carrying something in our hands is a sure sign that you’re ‘clean’. You drop everything in your hands the moment you’re turned. We entered the hive mind and helped by herding the infected into a cluster so the soldiers could fire in a single direction. They didn’t know we did that, of course. We were told to lay low down here until we find Jacob Philman. And yes, we didn’t forget we’re on a mission to win the Olympians over too. But I had a feeling Mark forgot about all that the moment he saw his old flame. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

It was barely midnight when the survivors retreated back to the settlement bridge. The electricity running through the fence was cut off during the fire so the horde broke in through the west. We hardly had time to cross the bridge before they drew it up. The stadium island was brightly lit with flood lights. Rovers and tanks were parked outside huge tents. No one was allowed to enter the stadium complex until everyone declared ‘cleaned’. We weren’t sure what that meant at first, except that we had to spend almost the entire night out in the cold. We waited and waited. That’s when I had the chance to take a good look at her.

Bethany could’ve been a college cheerleader. She had that look which you know she used to be a popular girl. She’s still pretty, except for that long angry scar that runs from her neck all the way down to her shoulders. Like most women these days, her hair was clipped short like a boy for safety. We didn’t really talk until they lined us up for decontamination. We had to queue up naked outside a medical tent with people in hazmat suits collecting our ‘biohazard materials’ (clothes), regardless whether they were bloodied or not. Men, women, old and young were made to stand naked out in the cold. It was a good thing we stashed our medications in the bushes before they took everything away from us.

Bethany wasn’t shy about stripping out from her uniform in front of so many men. Everyone was looking at everyone else’s body. But you can tell from their wide-eye fear that they weren’t checking each other out. They were looking for wounds and bite marks on the person next to them. Everyone was paranoid and badly shaken. The only exception was Mark. He’s definitely not looking at her body for bites and cuts. I know that because his eyes were lingering only on a few body parts. It didn’t take long for Bethany to notice Mark gawking at her, and he didn’t even bother to hide or feel apologetic about it. She turned her eyes on his body too, and then on mine.

“Interesting scars.” She commented at the faint bite marks we had on our bodies. We made those on each other when we were starving and frenzied.

“I would say the same for you.” Mark said, looking at the bullet wound on her right chest and the claw mark across her thighs.

“I’ve been out there before I found this place. The infected weren’t the only dangerous ones, you know.” She folded her arms, suddenly feeling conscious about the marks on her body. There’s a story behind her scars, one that she’s not willing to tell. So she changed the subject.

“What happened to your eyes?” She asked. People who didn’t know us would say that our eyes were unusual or creepy. The polite ones would say it’s exotic. But Bethany knew Mark, and she knows something happened to us to make us look like this.

But before Mark could answer, the people in hazmat suits came to inspect us for wounds, they started asking about the bite marks on our bodies. Many people had scars – bullet wounds, long gashes that never healed properly, surgical cuts – it’s our badges of honor for surviving the apocalypse. But only the infected had bite marks on them.

“C’mon, these are old wounds. If they’re infected they would’ve turned long ago.” Bethany said when they kicked up a big fuss about allowing strangers into Olympian compounds without the proper protocol.

“Where did you get those?” The soldier demanded.

“Dogs. A bunch of horny, rabid dogs.” I said, giving Mark a look at the same time. He smirked when he realized I was talking about him.

“Yeah, and a little poodle bitch with razor sharp teeth.” Mark added with a straight face. The guards looked confused for a moment and then someone started a hyperbole about how aggressive the pack animals were these days. Our bite scars resembled nothing like dog bites, but as soon as our blood test shows no sign of HRN virus, they let us enter the decontamination chamber.

The huge tent had a clear plastic zipped-up chamber and they made us go inside a dozen at a time. They sprayed some nauseous, biting orange powder and we felt like we had entered a gas chamber or something. At the end of it, we looked we got ourselves a fake tan

After we’re dressed and decent, Bethany brought us to see General Langdon. Anyone who seek asylum in Olympia goes through him. He wasn’t wearing his army uniform, but the bland jumpsuits that everyone in the settlement wore. I would’ve thought he’s the janitor if he was holding a broom. From the flustered way he talked to us, I could tell they hadn’t had a new arrival for a long time. Most of his questions were directed at Mark, since I’m just a kid to them.

He told him that we were from Sandpoint, and we’re looking for Jacob Philman. We have a referral letter addressed to him. General Langdon knew about Sandpoint, being their trading partner and all. But he thought Jacob Philman was our distant relative or something. He asked Bethany and the guards if they knew any Jacobs around here. None of them did. So he suggested that we check with the resident registrar on the third floor. There are more than a hundred thousand people cooped inside here. Good luck finding him on our own.

We are a little surprised because we thought Jacob Philman was some scientist or researcher in Olympia since he was supposed to take care of our medical needs. Surely the General would know such a prominent figure? We had a referral letter, but we suddenly thought we should take a look inside before handing it to anybody.

After the General cleared our entry, he said we should go to the registrar clerk office to get our ID and uniforms. But before he signed the papers, he suddenly remembered I was there.

“Sorry, who’s this kid again?”

Mark said, “He’s Dan.”

When different groups meet, there is an unspoken protocol for introductions. The leaders would do the talking, and they would introduce the members by their relationship to him. It gives the other party a sense of hierarchy so they know how to treat them. Normally, they would say things along the lines like ‘he’s with me’. That means they travelled together but don’t know each other well.

If they said things like ‘he’s family’, that usually means they’re related by blood, often distant, if not adopted. This meant whatever hospitality offered must be extended to them as well. Same goes for hostility. Or, they would say, ‘we’re together’. It means the same as above, except that they would share everything - living space, food, danger, and it usually meant that they are romantically intimate.

“Dan.” Mark repeated. “Daniel Woodforde.”

The General blinked, and look at the files again. Then he looked up and smiled, “Of course. That’s your brother. How could I miss the resemblance?”

He must be referring to the eerie glow in our eyes, because we shared no resemblances. But to strangers, it’s the only thing they noticed about us. Bethany threw a suspicious glance at him, but she didn’t say anything. She obviously knows Mark doesn’t have a younger brother. Mark didn’t say anything to correct the General.

Why did he tell them my surname was Woodforde instead of Reynolds? Why does he want them to think we’re brothers? Was he feeling ashamed of me?

We were sent to the temporary shelter when it was close to dawn. It’ll take a while for them to sort out housing arrangements for us. Bureaucratic crap, Bethany said. But it can’t be helped.

Our shelter was one of those pitched tents outside the stadium complex. Not too far away from the medical tent and it was surrounded by barbed wires. It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement but we had far worse on the road. There weren’t much company except for a few other tents - an old man with some creepy looking warts, a grizzly looking man who looked slightly crazed and a woman who had three prosthetic limbs. The survivors from the factories who suffered wounds were being housed here too. Some had burn marks and some were grazed by stray bullets.

Mark didn’t hold me to sleep that night. I could tell that a lot was in his head and I was staring at his back the whole night, watching him breathe slowly, but I know he’s awake. Neither of us could sleep, and I stopped pretending that I was trying.

“Is something wrong?” I asked him.

“No, who do you say that?”

“You seemed distracted.” I nudged my face against his back.

“No, I’m not. Go to sleep, Dan.” He said without turning back.

“Why did you tell them my name was Daniel Woodforde?”

He turned his head slightly and said, “You’re married to me. Of course you’ll take my name.”

I smiled and I rubbed my forehead against his back. We never put a name to our relationship. It was nice to hear him say it out loud. He turned around, pecked my cheeks and told me he should go get our backpacks before someone found them in the bushes. Despite his assurance, I still couldn’t sleep that night. I lay there quietly, waiting for him to return. It took him a while to come back and I could hear his foot bristling against the grass. He was outside the tent, but he didn’t come in. There was a long silence for a while, and then I heard a familiar rhythmic pounding of flesh. He was jerking off outside. I pretended to be asleep when he came in. And when he lay down, his back was facing me just like he had before.

I wasn’t sure if Mark was happy to see Bethany again or not. He stole glances at her occasionally when he thinks I’m not watching. And yet, he goes a great length to avoid her. Do we want a tour around the settlement? No. Do we want to join her for the communal dining? The food is much better than the rat stews at the shelter. Still no.

For the past few weeks, I had wanted to ask him more about Bethany. How did they meet? How long did they know each other for? Did they had sex before? What was she like in bed? None of these questions made it to my throat. Sometimes, he came back to the shelter later than usual and I wondered where he went. I wasn’t sure if I should ask him these things. You’re supposed to trust each other in a relationship, isn’t that right? How are two boys supposed to behave in a relationship? Neither of us knows crap. All along Mark pretended like I was his little wife. It felt weird but I played along since that’s how he sees our relationship.

But now someone from his past showed up. A real girl. I wondered if he felt the whole thing between us was just a make-believe fantasy. I wish Tristan was here. I doubt he knows any better, but at least he’s on my side.

I thought Bethany would’ve stopped visiting when Mark was assigned to the constructions team to work. But she still came to check on me now and then. Those who didn’t have a job, work at the temporary shelter by default. It was otherwise known as the pariah land because those who stayed here were the unwanted people - those with infectious disease, the sick and dying, those who deemed to be a danger to the general populace. I felt lonely at the shelter since I don’t get to see Mark until night falls and he’s usually dead tired by then. So I didn’t mind her social calls now and then.

“It’s a good thing your ‘brother’ found a job. Otherwise you’ll be scrubbing toilets for the rest of your life.” Bethany leaned against the tree, holding her nose as she watched me scrubbed the stains inside the latrine.

“He’s not my brother.” I said, scrubbing a little harder than I should. “And I’m still scrubbing toilets.”

“I know, Mark told me.”

“He did?” I paused and looked at her for a moment. When did they talk? I thought he was avoiding her.

“Yes. He said he owed you his life.” She tilted her head, trying to see my reaction. I shrugged like it was no big deal.

We kept quiet for a while. I thought she would leave, but she stood and watched me. Then she asked how old I was. I told her sixteen. She said I looked younger. And I said I get that a lot. It wasn’t a compliment. No one think we’re a couple because of my petite build and baby face. Mark looked older than he is. We would make an odd couple.

It didn’t take me long to realize Bethany was just as curious about me as I was about her. She was fishing for information by asking these little snippets. And since I couldn’t probe Mark, I might as well ask her. So I warmed up and tried to talk to her more.

After a few days, she told me that she found me a job. It wasn’t easy, she said. I just turned sixteen, which means I’m too old for school and too young to work. Other sixteen year olds were trained and schooled in their fields. I had nothing. Because of my petite build, construction and security teams didn’t want me. The food production teams get to cherry pick their workers because they didn’t want anyone to steal. Sanitary & maintenance team was the same shit job I had now, only that I had to cover the whole settlement.

“That’s why it’s called the S&M team. You clear mountains of shit every day. Mark made me promise not to put you in there.”

“You saw him?” I asked.

“Yeah, of course. This place isn’t that big, you know.”

And she left it at that. I wondered how often they see each other and why didn’t Mark tell me about it. I wanted to ask her how did they meet, what did they do, but I found myself following her quietly instead.

Bethany brought me into the stadium complex. It used to host the Olympics and other mega sporting events but the pools were converted into fishing nurseries while the spectator seats were removed to build houses. They were built so closely together and it made the whole cluster looked like a slum district. You can only tell this place used to be a stadium from the sloping houses on the side.

I shield my eyes from beams of sunlight that were cast down between the solar panels above, encasing the stadium complex like a colossal dome. The houses weren’t built on stilts like Sandpoint but they were four to five stories high, shorter if they were built on the slopes which used to be the spectator seats. The streets were narrow, wide enough only for two or three people to walk shoulder to shoulder. They had street names, like the old days. And up close, the settlement looked like a maze. It’s hard to get your bearings unless you look at the ground and spot pieces of the rubber red tracks or grass patches with the markings of a football field. Bethany said that the narrow streets make it hard for the infected to break down doors. The tight corners made sure they can’t congregate and so they can’t bring their weight down on the doors.

We turned one corner and the other and suddenly Bethany pointed to an apartment with a tilted small balcony and said, “That’s where my parents used to live.”

“They moved?” I asked.

“They died.”

Of course. Why am I being so stupid? I wondered if I should say something, offer some condolences. It seemed hollow since I didn’t really know her. Death wasn’t as shocking and unexpected as it used to be. People didn’t need comfort for their grief. They needed to forget.

For that reason, I found it hard to ask her about Mark. They might be family friends or distant cousins or neighbors. I might bring up her family again. But I was curious how Mark was like before all this happened. Unlike me, Mark had his entire history ripped out from him. As far as I could tell, Bethany is the only person alive who knew him from before. Whatever I knew about Mark’s past was what he had told me. I wondered how much the plague had changed him. Fortunately for me, Bethany started to probe me first.

“Been traveling together for long?” She asked. It took me a while to realize she was referring to Mark and me.

“Ever since it started.” I said. She nodded like she was impressed. Then I returned her question. “And how long have you known him?”

“Since we’re kids. My Dad is in the army, just like Thomas.” She said. And when she realized that I didn’t know who Thomas was, she added, “Mark’s Dad.”

Right. So she and his father were on first name basis. I picked up my balls and asked her, “So…. You and Mark…?”

“Are friends.” She said. “At least that’s what we are right now. You have nothing to worry about.”

She gave me an assuring smile, which made me feel bad about all the animosity I felt towards her.

“Am I that obvious?”

She shook her head and said, “It’s the ring you both wore. I figured it out myself.”

So he didn’t tell her about us.

Now that the cards are out, I felt free to ask her everything about Mark - things that I was too shy or never thought to have asked him myself. Does he wear braces when he’s a kid? What toys did he used to play? Who were his friends? What are they like?

Bethany seemed amused by my grilling. She said she didn’t know many of the things I asked. They’ve been neighbors for a few years, on and off whenever her dad got posted to the same camp as Mark’s father. But they didn’t really hang out when they were young, except when the camps held family open house or gala events, all the army brats would stick together. They only got close during high school and college when they went to the same school. She didn’t tell me outright, but from the way she puts it Mark had tried to follow her when they switched schools.

“Were both of you together?” I asked her.

“I knew he had a crush on me ever since junior high. It was a summer fling for me. But for him, it was something else.”

She saw the look on my face and put a hand on my shoulders, “For Mark, it’s always something else. That’s just who he is.”

I suddenly remembered that Mark had mentioned about Bethany to me before. He called her Beth, and he said sometimes people fall in love for all the wrong reasons. She’s just like his mother, someone unavailable. That means he used to love her.

“Are you surprised, about me and Mark?” I asked.

“You’re not his usual type, that’s for sure. But then again, nothing surprises me anymore.” She said, and with all seriousness she added, “Not unless you tell me they’re serving real meat for dinner.”

And we laughed.

I felt warmer to Bethany after that. We had something in common after all. At first I wondered why she went out of her way to befriend me. Did Mark ask her to do so? Was she just being nice? Maybe she tries to feel the connection with Mark again through me. I couldn’t figure out her intentions, but I felt easy around her enough to not care anymore. Perhaps she just wanted to know how Mark was like after the apocalypse, just like I had wanted to know how he’s like before. Just like Mark, no one from her old life remembered the way she was. To the Olympians, she was Bethany the sharp shooter who scores a head shot for every 0.9 seconds. Seeing Mark again brought back parts of herself that she long ago buried. I guessed Mark must have felt the same. At least for me I still had Tristan to constantly remind me what a puss I used to be. It’s important to hold on to our past, otherwise the world would have changed us so much that we wouldn’t even recognize our own reflections.

Mark was a whiny kid, according to Bethany. He always complained about school, about the dinner drudgeries, about the stiff shirts his father made him wear for official dinners. He used to be shorter than Bethany in grade school and he had a mean streak during middle school once his height caught up with everyone else. He hated it when people commented that he looked like his brother Graham. And for that reason alone, he was much nicer to people after that. His brother was an asshole.

Why things didn’t work out for them, I asked. Bethany said she liked bad boys with big dicks, so that means Mark only fit half the bill. It made me laughed and she knew that I knew exactly she was talking about.

“I was already seeing another guy when I got involved with Mark. It hurt him badly because we knew each other for so long.” Bethany sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell him then?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. I thought he would get over me by autumn anyway. That’s how men are, isn’t it?” She said.

Despite their shared history, Mark hadn’t told Bethany about our conditions. I don’t know if it was a matter of trust or he felt ashamed. But since he didn’t let her know, I didn’t say anything about it either. I didn’t want her to think that Mark was only with me because he’s infected and he couldn’t be with anyone else. After seeing how he reacted, part of me was worried that it might be true.

She led me through a maze of slum houses before climbing up the stadium edge to one of the tall towers. It looked like one of those places where sports commentators observe the matches or something like that.

The room was a sniper tower. It was also the main one because its panoramic window allows the snipers to target anyone inside the stadium complex. The sniper teams usually have an ammo runner. They are responsible for ensuring the sniper’s magazines are always fully loaded. The ammo runner for Bethany’s team is this skinny kid with a prosthetic arm. He’s can fill up one magazine in three seconds despite his disability. But because Bethany is such a fast shooter, she had requested for a personal ammo runner instead. And that happened to be me.

For the rest of the day, I packed ammos into magazines like clockwork. The skinny kid, Tom, taught me how to pop them under five seconds. That’s all the time I get when I’m on the fields. Any slower the horde would have swarmed the barricade. And if I want to make it past probation, I’d better learn the rope. They didn’t know I have other survival tricks up my sleeve, but I was contented with the mind-numbing repetition of grab and pop, grab and pop.

Things got more interesting after a few days when I was assigned to be an ammo runner with Bethany. We were stationed in one of the sniper towers facing the factories. They need to reclaim that area since that’s where they produced the ammunition. They had ground forces to escort the construction team to rebuild the factory so they would take care of those already in the compound. Our job is to make sure the infected near the fences don’t get too close or too excited. After the initial hour or so, the shooting starts to die down. We spend the rest of our shift chatting away.

Normally, people talk about what’s your favorite weapon, or what do you usually look for when you scavenge, or where was the last sweet spot you encountered. Or, if you’re living in a settlement, they would asked about your choice of crop rotations, what kind of fence you used, how do you deal with all that moaning at night. That’s what I had expected our conversations to be like after we’re done talking about Mark. But instead, Bethany asked me what music I used to like, who I used to listen to, any favorite bands? And also things like how I’d imagine them to look like now, assuming if they are still alive somewhere.

Then I told her that I liked Taylor Swift. She gave me a face and said she probably spot a crew cut and a dozen scars by now.

“You can’t go around with that pretty hair and not expect them to grab you for a quick dinner.” She said.

Then we went on to speculate how many scars she would have, where they would be, and if she’s wearing prosthetics, or maybe a hook for a hand. It was morbid, but it was fun making these little small talks with her. No wonder Mark had a long crush on her. She makes you feel so easy to be around her.

Finally, Mark and I were finally assigned to our new housing arrangement four days ago. I was sick of picking out insects crawling into our tents. Bethany gave us some roast jerkies for house warming, but our flatmates were less enthusiastic by our arrival. We didn’t realize we took over the flats of the people who died three weeks ago.

There is even less privacy in the cramped quarters inside the stadium, but at least it’s warmer and we didn’t have to sleep in soiled sleeping bags anymore. We have our own room, which was only separated by a thin wall and big enough to put one single bed and a small closet to keep our uniforms. You can’t fuck or jerk off without the whole flat knowing that you did. Apparently, none of them cared.

Life was harder than it was in Sandpoint. We wake up at dawn, and we work till the sun sets. Sometimes, I had to take the night shift and so do Mark. There are times when we wouldn’t see each other for days. I missed him. And I wished he would really look at me properly even for the brief moments we’re together and awake. We’re often so tired that we just slumped into bed with our work clothes on. I wondered if he was avoiding me like he was avoiding Bethany. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

Sometimes, I’m lucky enough to catch breakfast with Mark, even though we would be at the bench with ten other housemates, all busy talking to each other. They said there’re more than a hundred thousand people, but this place felt like the loneliest place on Earth. It was relative secure, extremely well stocked and armed. They had electricity and water, and they had a lot of supplies from Atlantis. But people worked day in and day out to meet the tight production schedules to manufacture weapons and machinery parts for Atlantis. It feels like you’re running the rat race in a big city except that this time, no one was slogging for their ambition.

Don’t they have off days? Don’t people have communal dine-outs around here? What do they do for entertainment? Our flat mates looked a little surprised by my out-of-nowhere emotional outburst. Mark looked a little surprised too. I wondered how much of that was directed at him.

One of the guys told me there’s an infected cage fight down pruning Street. You can go there to bet your rations if I’m lucky. Or I could visit the brothels down Cannel, or the bars near the nurseries. It didn’t bother anyone that I am only sixteen. Once a month, we have an off day, but the day depends on which teams I’m serving.

I was thrilled when I realized Mark was having his off day yesterday. I got to know about it from Bethany because the sniper teams get a break since the factory reconstructions were completed. I wanted to spend some time with Mark and since we’ll have the flat to our own, perhaps we could get a little intimate. I saved up my rations to make a nice romantic breakfast for us. I even woke up two hours early to get an early turn at the bathroom so that I would be clean and fresh when Mark gets up. But he was already dressed by the time I returned to our room with the breakfast tray in my hands. And when he told me he was going to the bars, I immediately threw up a fit.

“What’s wrong with you?” He snapped.

“What’s wrong? We had our first break and you’ll rather head to the bars instead of spending it with me.” I hated how whiny and needy I sound. But I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, I was sobbing like a five year old and Mark was rubbing the sides of my arms. He sounded a lot gentler when he spoke this time.

“We’re running out of medications, Dan. We can’t last long even with half dosage. We need to find Jacob Philman.”

I rubbed my tears with the back of my hand and muttered, “Why are you going to the bars then?”

“That’s where people loosen their tongue. The registrar said there’s no one here by that name. Jacob Philman probably isn’t his real name.” Then he pushed up my bangs and said, “You’re not old enough to get in. So just stay here and wait for me.”

I nodded like a grounded kid. It was the first time we fight, and it’s over such childish things. Maybe I got edgy because we’re taking less RIs than usual. I told him that I was sorry. He said there’s no need for me to. But before he left the flat, he turned around and said gravely,

“Dan, we need to talk.”