A Thousand Nights with You - 4. Some things don't change

Day 42

It is a two metre drop from the air well to the attic, easy enough. I can easily climb back up even without Mark’s help. But the ball rolled very close to the edge which will be another three and a half metre drop if it rolls over. It’ll be nasty if there are any infected below.

Since the attic is not converted into a room, the sides are not covered with a wall. And since I’m the lighter one, I decided to go down to get the ball instead. If anything happens, Mark can pull me up easily.

I landed as softly as I can on the wooden floor. Every step I take the wood creaks, I had to tread slowly. This family had used the attic as a storeroom. More stuff to scavenge, I thought. I scoop up the ball and take a look around. Quite a few things caught my attention: A life-sized blow-up doll with a big hole in the mouth, some old PS3 games, some gardening seeds and a stack of DIY books. I also found a large backpack filled with camping stuff like a sleeping bag, mag light (and the battery still works!), a portable stove and a rolled up tent with pegs. I took the backpack and tried to squeeze in all the books I can find. I take a longing glance at the seeds and I scooped it up as well.

“What’s taking you so long?” Mark poked his head in and said.

Feeling utterly satisfied with my booty, I threw up the ball and the bag over to him with a broad grin. Then I heard a loud slam on the door.

I froze.

“Did they see us coming in?”

A woman’s voice spoke in the distance. Someone entered the apartment, someone who is not infected. I leaned over to the edge to listen better.

“What’s going on?” Mark asked. I gestured him to stay silent.

“I hear noises. They are looking for us. Where are you going Steve?”

A man with a deep voice spoke. Behind me, I heard Mark dropped down from the air well. Then another man replied,

“I’m just going to check around the house. Just to make sure. You stay here with Sharon.”

“There are three of them.” I whispered to Mark. He crouched up quietly and walked towards the side. He started pulling up the ladder outside the attic.

“What are you doing?” I hissed at him softly. If the infected corner those people inside this apartment, the only way they can escape is through the rooftop. “You’re cutting off their escape!”

“We don’t know if they’re bad people.” He glared at me.

“We don’t know if they’re good people.”

I grabbed his arm but Mark ignored me anyway. He pulled up the ladder and kept it before the man come to this part of the house. But the strange thing is that he never came. We heard some noises below, and it sounds like it comes from the kitchen. After a while, the man spoke again.

“No one is here.”

He didn’t even check the whole house, how could he tell them that?

“I think they’re gone too. I don’t hear anything outside.” The woman said.

“Let’s check if we can find any supplies here. I’m starving.” The man with the deep voice spoke.

Mark looked at me. Both of us crawled back into the shadows as they walked around the apartment. After a while, we saw a big man with grey hair stood by the window, he is wearing an army uniform and had a big gun slung across his back. He puts the gun and his bag down on the sofa, then he looks out at the window holding a bottle of milk. He look disgusted when he brings close to his mouth, then he smelled it.

“Fuck. That’s all the food they have?”

He swore and threw it out of the window.

“You shouldn’t have done that! What a waste!” The other man shouted.

“Calm down Steve.” The woman intervened.

The woman seems to be in her late thirties. She has dark blonde hair tied to a bun and she looks rather pretty for her age. Mark is staring at her the whole time. She is the first woman we have seen ever since the world had ended. Suddenly, a packet of nuts dropped out from the bald man’s backpack.

“What is this?” The man with the deep voice and grey hair bellowed. He took the backpack from the bald man and opened it. “You’ve been hoarding food all along? You little bastard!”

He slammed the balding man against the wall, his face was red and the veins on his neck were bulging.

“No wait, Matt! Please, Sharon is pregnant…”

Both of us watched in horror as the big man punched him over and over again. Blood comes out from his nose and his mouth.

“Please, stop-” The bald man continued to plead as he was being beaten up.

“Stop Matt, please! I’ll do whatever you want. You’ll kill him!”

I looked at Mark, quietly asking if we should do something. Before he said anything, the beating suddenly stopped. The tall man smiled at the woman, stroking the woman’s chin and smiling. He is saying something softly that we can’t hear properly.

The bald man orientated himself and lifted a vase. He smashed it against the tall man’s head. Blood trickled down his temple. He turned around to grab his gun. The woman took up a table lamp and swung at the back of the tall man’s head. She kept hitting him until he dropped to the floor with his blood spilling all over.

She cried and cups her mouth with both hands. “Oh God, I killed Matt.”

The bald man limps and picks up his glasses. He hobbled towards the woman and hugged her. “It’s not your fault Sharon.”

She continued to cry and shakes her head. “We shouldn’t have left the school. There are soldiers to protect us.”

“There are too many people and too little food, honey. And Matt said the soldiers are hoarding all the supplies. As soon as the chopper arrives, they will abandon us.”

“I shouldn’t have killed him.” The woman cried in his arms. “Matt kept us alive all this time.”

“I know. But what’s done is done now. There is still some food left. We will worry when food runs out.”

Back in my room, I paced back and forth. The knowledge that there are people out there who survived gave me hope. Maybe the world hadn’t ended after all. What if mom is still out there hanging on like me? It was a foolish thought but I was drunk with hope.

We toyed about revealing ourselves to the two survivors. If we did, we would have strength in numbers, and real adults. Mark glared at me when I emphasized the word. Not to mention the big guns that they have.

“The one they robbed from the guy they killed, you mean.” He folds his arms and leans in one corner. He has a point. “Besides, how are we going to feed four people. Five, if you include their baby?”

“We can always grow more algae, there’s enough space up there.”

“And what if they don’t want to share?”

I know what he is trying to imply. The bald man had hoarded food secretly. What if they decide to get rid of us and take everything themselves? But then, they might have a good reason. Maybe the tall guy is a crook? I thought about the same thing when I first saw Mark as well. But I was desperate enough to trust him.

“I trusted you, didn’t I?”

His expression is a mix of anger, surprise and touched. He is probably angry at me for lumping him with them. We are friends now, and we trusted each other. But I wanted to let him know that we were strangers a month ago and both of us took a chance.

“Fair enough.” He said. “But I didn’t steal food from friends. To me, this is as good as killing someone.”

“Would you do the same? I wanted to believe they are good people. Just like I wanted to believe in you.”

I didn’t understand what I’m saying. But Mark seems to get it. This is the first time in a long while that we had seen anyone else who survived and everyone who's uninfected really seems like friends. He puts his arms on my shoulders and said,

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll keep tabs on them. If they are really in deep shit, we’ll drop some food secretly. We can always show ourselves later if they are decent folks.”

Mark was being gentle with me, and I appreciated. I know I'm being naive, and I know he's probably right. But he saw a spark of hope in my eyes and he didn’t trample it. I was grateful. That night, I went to bed and imagined all the people who are still holing up somewhere, believing that they are the only ones left in the world. I smiled because now I know we are not.

***

The next morning, we went on with our usual chores; farming the algae, drying them in the sun, scraping those for lunch and dinner. But the silence seems to hang heavily between us. Yesterday's discussion wasn’t really an argument, even though Mark and I had our differences. And I tend to follow his decisions anyway. All this while, I’ve been whining about adults telling me what to do with my life. But now that they’re gone, I cling on to the closest adult I can find. And the irony is that Mark is even barely one. I just needed to feel safe.

He seems to be quite distracted since yesterday. He tossed and turned for half the night. I wondered what bothered him so much? He didn't care much about them and seems reluctant to make our presence known. Would he really be happy with just the two of us living out in this concrete tomb? What kept him going in this world where there’s so little to live for?

When he said he didn’t want to hang out after our morning chores, I wasn't too surprised. But I admit I felt a little stung because we always hang out together. But I understand that there are just times where people need to be alone. I don't want him to find me annoying like Tristan did. My brother said when I'm older I would understand why guys need our 'downtime'. Like right now, I just want to catch up on my readings.

In the early afternoon, I laze on the rooftop couch on my belly, reading one of dad’s books about building an eco-home. I sip a mouthful of the algae soup as I flip a page. In my mind, I imagined turning the rooftop into a lush tropical rainforest. If we find more survivors, we could even build a mini-village here. There will be real people hanging at the ‘pub’ and the ‘stadium’. If there are more kids around, we can actually play football. Now that Mrs Trellis is gone, we know there are at least 3 apartments on the top floor that’s free of the infected. That means we can house up to 12 families, if each occupying a room. In the midst of my fantasy, I suddenly realized I think of Mark as my family since he has been my room mate for the past month. And my cheeks suddenly felt hot.

It must be the sun.

I felt the heat stinging my bare shoulders and my tee shirt hung limp over the couch handle. The mirror leaning against the pile of junk reflected the sun from the side, making it hotter than it already is. I get up planning to shift it, but end up staring at my own body instead.

I look like an alien, I thought.

I hated my own unsightly proportions; hands too long, head too big and the baby fats from cheeks taking forever to melt away. For the past year, parts of my body are racing to outgrow each other and the result is a very humiliating visage. I flexed my scrawny arm, imagining the little bump bigger than it really is. With two fingers, I tried to picture the size of Mark’s biceps and compared it to mine. Still a long way to go, I sighed.

How did I get so attached to him? I’d ask myself. I barely knew the guy for a month.

Maybe he’s the only one so far who hadn’t made fun of my squeaky voice. Since last Christmas, I sounded like a girl with a perpetual sore throat. It deepens, but not really. Everyone made fun of my voice, even Tristan. I haven’t forgiven him for that, even though he said my voice will turn normal, e-v-e-n-t-u-a-l-l-y. Until then, I’m free game for jokes. But Mark didn’t joke about it.

He might just be a really nice guy. Or perhaps he’s worried about more important things, like not starving or getting eaten by the infected or surviving through the winter. Who cares about how I sound when death is constantly looming?

Get a grip! I could almost slap myself. Don't brain fuck yourself to think that he likes you. I had to remind myself umpteen times. In the real world, cool guys like him don’t hang out with dorks like me. Period.

And I normally avoid guys like him so that I don’t feel like a complete loser. But how I wish my body could be ripped like his right now. How I wish my voice has his rich and husky timbre. How I wish he would see me as his equal, and not the ‘kid’.

Arggggggghhh!

I shot up from the couch and slammed the book on the floor, the senseless moodiness swelled in me like I'm a walking bomb. Shame, guilt, excitement, the nebulous knots in my guts are so tangled that I can’t pick out one thread of emotion from another. I hated myself for hating myself. Does that even make sense? And just as suddenly, I felt a pang of separation anxiety. I needed to see Mark right now, but I needed an excuse.

Hey Mark, do you want to work out? Why? Oh, I need to work on those arms to pull myself up.

I thought about saying that if he’s playing with the hoop. But he wasn’t there.

Hey Mark, I think the water tank is leaking. You think we should check it out?

He’s not working out either. That means he’s in the apartment. Taking a nap perhaps?

Gosh, I need a nap. Mind if I join in?

He’s not in my room. That is strange.

I seldom find him loiter around the apartment. Even with the door barricaded, we never felt quite safe below. I checked the kitchen and the bedrooms, he wasn’t inside. I checked the living room and the study, he is not there either. Weird. The only places I haven’t checked are the bathrooms. But there is no reason for him to be there since nothing works inside anymore.

It turns out that he’s really inside.

Mark dropped the dirty magazine the moment I swung open the door. He pulls up his jeans in record speed but not before I caught a glimpse of his engorged cock, red and throbbing at full mast. My jaw must have dropped to the floor. I had seen him naked but I had no idea it could grow so big; another thing to add to my long list of inadequacies.

“Don’t you fucking knock?” He growled as he fumbled with his zip. He probably didn’t know the lock on this bathroom was spoilt. To be honest, I wasn’t planning to perv on him, and my reply was as lame as it was truthful.

“H-how do I know you’re wanking?”

“Geez. What else is there to do?”

He answered with a deep shade of red when he glared at me; he was too embarrassed himself to notice my own embarrassment.

“That’s true.” I mumbled and shrugged.

The awkward silence hangs heavily until our gaze met. Then both of us started cracking up. He picks up the vintage copy of playboy as I said to him in a very matter-of-fact manner.

“Are you really going to spray your spunk here? You’re going to stink up the place.”

He rolled up the magazine and whacked my head.

“You sound like my mom.”

I chuckled. “Tristan used to get it a lot from mom too. The place we stayed in Africa, has a erm… very different sanitation system.”

“I don’t want to know.” Mark sniggered.

“Your mom, I never heard you talking about her. Where is she when it all happened?”

His face turned solemn, “She left us when I was thirteen. I haven’t heard from her for a long time.”

I cursed my big mouth. Why do I have to ask? The awkward silence grows heavy again, so I try to find something to lighten things up.

“Hey, you found this in Tristan’s room right?” Mark raised a brow as my eyes brightened up like an imp. “Let me show you where he hides his real stash.”

I grabbed his hand as we ran to my brother’s room. I opened his closet and lifted the false bottom. Then I took out a box full of his dirty magazines and I plonked myself onto the bed like a trampoline.

“Really? Who read porn mags these days?”

He took one with the platinum blonde on the cover with super huge tits. I’m about to say ‘you’. But I decided it’s a very lame joke, so I explained,

“Well, we lived in Africa for a few years. There is no internet, so that-,” I pointed to the vintage playboy magazine and said, “was real gold.”

I showed them off to Mark as if they are my trophies when in face they didn’t even belong to me. But I was trying to impress him, and as awkward as it can be, he actually looked like he was. His face lit up like Christmas. Other the grey skinned cannibals below, the only living woman we know is holing up next door with her husband. And she looks nowhere as good as these digital babes.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked as I jumped out from the bed and took out a towel.

“What else is there to do?” I echoed him and he laughed.

I pulled down my shorts and start wanking to the magazine. When I look up, he is still staring at me wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape in shock. I threw a magazine at him and said,

“What are you waiting for? We’d just need to wash one towel this way.”

He smiled and smacked the side of my head gently. Then he pulled down his jeans to join me.

It didn’t occur to me at that time how juvenile my invitation was. Playing with our weenies together is probably something only middle-school kids do. But I didn’t care. I don’t even know if we could live to see tomorrow. Right now, this connection we share feels like a flower growing out from a nuclear waste. We will take whatever joy we can find.

Over dinner, we laughed a lot at our plight. Sharing a towel for wanking must be new lows, even for a teenager like me. But I didn't dare to tell him how much I have enjoyed the time together. He called it 'smart wanking' or 'economy class wanking'. Maybe if I learn how to build a generator, we can play some video porn and upgrade it to 'business class' instead. And we laughed till we felt tears in our eyes.

End of the world or not, some things never change. Boys will be boys. People will find ways to break down walls to connect with each other. And in our case, it is a sewer tunnel and a street full of infected cannibals. Even with hunger and death looming constantly at the back of our minds, I realized humans needed so much more than that to survive. Otherwise, the man wouldn’t have jumped from the window, or the woman wouldn’t have thrown herself into the streets to die. I would also want to imagine that the couple killed the man because they have an unborn baby to protect.

That night, I had a wet dream about the afternoon. But in the magazine, instead of the well-endowed girls on the centrefold, I’m seeing a very well-endowed Mark, looking at me with his sultry green eyes instead.

I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling confused and guilty. I swept a quick look at him and was extremely grateful that I didn’t wake him up. I changed out of my shorts and hide the soiled one under the pillow. What will I tell him if he noticed that I had changed shorts?

I wet the bed? No way!

I had a wet dream? God, that’s equally embarrassing.

Hmm… I could say my shorts weren’t washed properly the last time. It made me itchy. I’d stick to that. Meanwhile, I’d just pray dawn will come soon enough.

The next morning, I got up earlier to smuggle the evidence of my crime into the laundry tub. Mark was still blissfully asleep. When I passed by the broken air well, I heard some commotion below. I climbed into their attic and pressed my ear against the wooden floor.

The couple seems to be arguing with each other. They are debating whether they should go back to the school where the army had based their camp in. The woman thought that the man they killed might be lying to them about the soldiers planning to abandon the civilians when the air evacuation arrives. After all, he was a deserter. If what he said was true, why should he leave when he would get to leave?

Maybe he thought it was the wrong thing to do? Maybe he saw the couple as friends? That’s what I thought to myself. Apparently, you think differently when you're grown up.

I was about to climb back up until they mentioned about Lincoln High. I froze immediately. That’s where Tristan is studying. He’s at school when all everything happened. If the army is there, he could still be alive. And if mom and dad made it there, they would still be alive as well.

My heart almost jumped out from my chest. My head is about to explode thinking about that possibility. I have to tell Mark straight away. After all, he is my family now.