Vices

Vices

Amy Solus

Published by Amy Solus at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Amy Solus

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Humanity has always feared the things it cannot control. They fear the winds, they fear the rains, and they fear the cracking earth and the fiery torrents that spout from it. They fear invasion by new, possibly great and terrible creatures. They fear what they cannot explain, what they don’t understand. Yet in reality, it is themselves they have most to fear, for they truly do not understand one another.

Prologue

Words have always possessed an incredible value in this world, and since the Slay passed over the world, picking at the lives of billions of people and seemingly devouring the world whole, they’ve seemed to become even more than that to me. These words, these words that are the very thread of the fabric that hold my long and sometimes desperate story together, also hold something more for me. They hold an insurmountable amount of hope, and this sometimes tiny sliver of hope that’s been laced through my life has kept me alive. It has kept me strong. And most of all, it has brought me diligence I never thought I’d know. I’ve gone through hell since the end, but I still persevere.

This story is about my life; where I’ve been, where I’m going. It is a story about losing everything and attempting to reclaim what is rightfully yours. God knows I deserve some peace after what I’ve been through.

Life since the end has brought me so much anger, so much hate, and so much pain. I have no family left, not a soul whose blood is the same as mine. Along with my family, I have lost every single person who I had ever considered a friend.

I am a survivor, a lonely vulture in the desert of life-- picking at the dead and everything that was once theirs. I am twenty-one years old and I have the pains that a fifty year old would possess. I am trapped in my own body; slowly dying due to the air that I’ve been breathing in for the past five years. It’s like bleeding inwardly—I know it’s there and I feel it, but there’s no visible sign of it. It’s a ghost, killing in the dark.

You may wish to call me a vagabond, a drifter, or maybe a nomad; but in reality I am searching for something solid, something whole, a new life, or something that could give life to the tiny sliver of hope left in my heart. This is certainly a bleak world. If anything I am on a scavenger hunt, hoping and praying for something to truly call my own in a world where I have nothing. I sometimes fear that this life of mine will end suddenly, without reason, and I am wise to expect that. There’s no such thing as dying in your sleep in old age when you live in a world like this.

I have learned to do things in this life that I never thought would ever really be necessary for my survival. I have learned how to steal, how to trespass, and how to protect myself. I have done what I must to protect myself. These are dark times.

This journey of mine has been hard, but I know I must carry on. For the memory of my family and for the hope of my future, I know that I must. The incredible force within me is driving me, pushing me harder than I’ve ever been pushed before. I know I will live, and I hope to meet worthy folk along the way.

This is my story. You can call me whatever name you please, but at birth I was given the name Aidan-- which, according to my grandmother, means fiery. To be honest, before the end, I never thought my name really fit, but now I’m starting to wonder if it truly does.

Chapter 1

When I was younger, I used to walk through the park and gaze at the simplicity of nature. It was a friend that would wrap its arms around me, keeping me safe and blanketing me with peace, and it was a sanctum I thought would forever be with me.  Something about nature always made me feel as though I was at home, like I couldn’t be unjustly judged or hurt. It was like being wrapped in a cocoon of green; it was my sanctuary. The way the grass swayed in the company of the wind, and how the trees would reach their branches out with a gentleness no human could match.

As the wind whistled through the leaves of the trees, if you listened hard enough, you could hear the trees speaking to each other. I loved the park and the untold secrets it had, but was willing to share with anyone that would listen.  Nature doesn’t hold grudges, and nature does not evaluate how human and decent you are. It does not choose whether you live or die based on where you live, what race you are, or what religion you choose to follow. It is completely unbiased. Nature is the world’s playground, and when I was young, I knew nothing of a world that had no hope, that had no freedom.  I knew only of a world that had open arms and endless opportunities, a world that would exist long after I passed away, and even long after my children’s children walked the earth.

I held onto the preconceived notion that this world was going to stay promising and free, but there were those who thought only of the destruction of this world, and the creation of a new world, with no opportunity, with no love, with no freedom. Only granting power to the few who thought they deserved the right to rule the people and who craved to indulge themselves with whatever they pleased. They held no regard for us or for what we wanted, or even what we needed for that matter.

It’s not human to kill billions of people. Some say that war is natural, but purging the earth of its rightful inhabitants is very unnatural. I remember when I could walk down the streets and see people. Watch as children tried not to step on cracks. Watch the businesswomen scurry around, rushing to make a deadline that would allow them the raise they desperately wished for. Watch the teenagers saunter around like they were invincible; laughing at things adults wouldn’t even smile at.

I miss that world.

I was sixteen years old when the fabric of my reality was torn into shreds.  I was in the stage of my life where I felt invincible; like I would make all of my dreams come true.  All I thought I would have to worry about in my future was if I wanted my husband to be blonde or brunette, and if my house was going to be blue or green. Things were simple. My dreams were simple. My dreams did not include survival.

Back then, I thought of how I would become a successful artist, or maybe write for the newspaper. Even then, I had a love for the truth-- finding it, knowing it, and spreading it. I could hardly stand listening to my friends’ gossip and spread rumors about girls. Even if the girls they spoke of weren’t too kind or had little to no self-respect, I couldn’t help but feel like they shouldn’t speak poorly of them. We can’t see into each other’s minds; we cannot understand others we hardly know.

My thoughts always wandered to if they spoke of me poorly behind my back, and if they really liked me as much as they said they did. Having taken part in gossip was a great way for people to break my trust, and when my trust is broken, it’s not easily built up again.

I felt as though people focused too much on the negative. They never smiled at one another just to smile. They took for granted the sun and the sky. They stopped paying attention to the blue birds and the scurrying squirrels. When they heard countless tragic stories of death, they mourned and prayed. They thought nothing of their child’s 12th birthday or their spouse’s newly earned degree. They only thought of the negative and of themselves.

The news told stories of hate and despair and the people told lies of one another. If only they would’ve opened their eyes and fought through the fog that had accumulated in front of their eyes; they could’ve put a stop to the hate, and to the growing sense of superiority to one another. Why couldn’t we just try to understand one another? But instead, like so many times throughout history, they continued on being herded like sheep by the cunning, power-hungry shepherd.

Chapter 2

The sky was a bluish gray hue from what I could see. Ever since the abomination struck, there had been a hazy smog that sat between the sky and the land, making it difficult to see, and even more difficult to breathe.  It was early fall and the leaves should've been falling off the trees, but the trees in this town were charred and decimated-- a product of the chemical warfare used by the government. They stuck out of the ground like skeleton hands reaching toward the sky grasping for some unknown force that could give them life. They were reminders of the death that had swept through this once fruitful land.

On that fateful day as I was wandering through the countryside, I happened upon a small town that seemed deserted, most likely with nothing to offer me. But unbeknownst to me, that city was the place that kept something I desperately sought after-- a gas mask. 

After dispersing chemicals through the air to kill off stragglers, the government’s dream was complete. They killed off most through systematic murders, but there were always some leftover, some which had the guts to run. They were smart, though, they knew the chemicals would linger, and they certainly did.

I had found that gas mask out of pure luck. As I was treading through that god-forsaken little speck on a U.S. map, I saw a body lying face down in the middle of the street. The once main-street was cracked to a point where if you stepped anywhere, the ground would crumble underneath you. I was careful not to step in one of the six-foot deep potholes. After having worked my way down the precarious piece of concrete and closer to my target, I could see that the corpse was wearing a gas mask, which made me think that this person may have been a government worker.

The body was close, yet through the smog it seemed to be yards away. I crept towards it, fearing this could be drawing me into a trap, until I noticed its chest didn’t move up and down in the most familiar manner. Well actually I suppose it was more due to the fact that their back, or anything for that matter, wasn’t moving. The stabbing tension in my head eased and I walked up to the lifeless cadaver.

The cadaver was the body of a middle aged man. His arms were long and lean, but strong. This was the body of a survivor.

I knelt down next to him, and turned him over. This poor fool had probably been minding his own business, one of the few with the luxury of a gas mask to filter out the unclean air, when probably out of the blue he had been struck out of pure fear. He had long gashes in his stomach, most likely from another survivor wielding a knife that they had clung to, being the only weapon that our great government permitted anyone to possess anymore.

The gas mask had become a symbol of the government. The government did not care to save its people—only the important ones, only the ones who could work and the ones who would beg and grovel and stay in their place. The government could breathe easy. We could not. Although, there were others who had been spared, chosen from a lottery of death, who were alive and incorrupt, but those were few and far between. Those who were given the gift of their life were still pawns, completely at the mercy of their leaders, because if they did something their lords didn’t approve of, they would be sent away and never heard from again.

The smell of rotten flesh forced its way into my nostrils, which brought me back to the present. Out of disgust I stepped back and noticed a rather curious sight reflecting off the window of an old general goods store, whose paint had been ripped clean off and whose sign held the only word, Run. One thing I hadn’t come across since I had left my home is electronic equipment. It seems odd that in a world that had previously been at the peak of modern technology, it would all up and disappear-- but that’s how it worked. And as I stood there looking at the little flashing red light reflecting off the window, something clicked in my head and I knew I was being watched. I had to work fast.

As I struggled to remove the gas mask from the poor sap’s head, I heard a noise-- a blast that pierced the air and made my heart sink. The sound of the gunshot rang in my ears and made me panic and scramble to remove the gas mask.  The only people with guns were part of the government. Right then, I understood why they this person laid dead in the middle of the street with a gas mask placed conveniently on their face. The government is full of cunning trappers.

I had heard about the government creating their own secret police to take care of stragglers that should’ve been removed at the time of the purge, but I never thought they’d be out here in the middle of the plains.

The government had a very sick sense of humor, always trying to pin the weak against the weak, making us afraid to trust one another. Making it impossible to fight back against the real evil-- them. They had probably killed that man as an example, showing that even if you think you can breathe safely, that small comfort is not yours to keep and if they find you, they will kill you for your childish ignorance.

I finally tore the gas mask from the cadaver’s face and scrambled up on my feet. I heard another shot ring out and I dashed behind the nearest building. It looked like it had been a small butcher’s shop or maybe a deli, but all that was left of it was its chipped blue paint and the sockets that had once held the windows that had been eyes for the neighborhood butcher.

My breathing was rapid and I tried to calm down out of fear that they could hear me. I knew I needed to look out and see if they were still nearby, but I was petrified. As I was about to move to look and see if they were near, I heard a voice.

They ran off.

Damn cowards. They think running will save them. He laughs. We’ll find ‘em. They won’t get out of here, one person against a hundred—a goddamn joke.

I couldn’t tell if there were two or more, but the man who had spoken second was definitely the man of higher standing. He had an icy cruel tone that almost all those working with the government possessed. A tone that could send a family to their deaths or that could rip apart a man who had disobeyed orders. But there was something about this man that set him apart from the other men; this man was the epitome of egregiousness. There was something completely terrible and great about him. And the scary thing was, I could tell all of this just by the tone and pitch of his voice.

His words hung in the air, which made the silence even more uncomfortable. This man ignited a sense of fear in me I hadn't felt since the cleansing. It was a fear that I would always remember. I noticed that I could finally move my legs when I heard a footstep from ten or fifteen feet away. It was obvious that someone spotted me, so naturally I broke off into a dead sprint in the opposite direction.

When I was in school, I had enjoyed running, so this shouldn’t have been hard for me, but I hadn’t had the sense to put the gas mask on, so my breathing became heavy and labored. I hastened to snap the mask around my face and with great difficulty I finally got it on. It had been a long time since I had been able to take in a deep breath and not feel trespassed upon.

After getting a couple good breaths I picked up my speed again and dashed down a small side street and up an alley. My surroundings were all a blur, and the police that had been after me were nowhere in sight. After turning down a couple more side streets I hit a larger street and stopped. I looked around, and there was no sign of life here either. I placed my hand against a brick wall to hold myself up, when I heard another sound. It sounded like people running, and it sounded like a lot more than two.

This town had turned into a labyrinth with a Minotaur waiting for me at every corner. I dashed down streets and jumped over debris, the sound of footsteps seemed to get louder and louder. I couldn’t tell if the acoustics in the mask were just playing a trick on me.

The sounds of my feet treading on the dusty ground mirrored the beating of my heart, fast and panicked. I felt like my heart had been squeezed up into my throat, constricting my breathing and making me feel even more disoriented and lost than I already was.

After slowing to a steady jog, I focused my energy on listening to the pattering of feet on the roads. Suddenly the sounds of footsteps were incredibly near and I started to panic. I rounded another corner and what I was running from was looking me right in the face. There were two men, both probably in their early thirties. They wore the standard government-issue uniform.

The pale dark brown suits that sat upon their muscular bodies were wrinkled and dirty; it looked as though they hadn’t been washed in quite some time. I wondered if they had been working overtime lately-- killing all the stragglers they possibly could.

I noticed the insignia of the newly formed government, a red upside-down triangle with two eyes in the middle surrounded by a dashed circle, and the sight of it sent a shudder through me. Every time I come face to face with the monsters that occupy this newly created tyranny, I can’t help but feel completely disgusted.

The whole process of me looking at those two men took place in about one second and before they had the chance to take out their guns and finish the job, I struck with all of the intensity that I could possibly muster.

My left fist connected with the man on the left’s neck and I swung around and kicked the one on the right hard-- right in the cheekbone. I heard a cracking noise and the fellow on the right cried out in pain and fell to the ground-- incapable of helping his friend with the fight.

The other fellow reacted faster than I had expected, knocking me to the ground with a swift kick to the back of the knee. I was stunned by this guy’s speed. Ever since the end had begun, I had felt that I was much faster, much stronger, and much sharper; but somehow this fellow was even faster than me. I had seen a newspaper article stating that those who had breathed in the leftovers from the toxic gas had become weakened and disabled; but of course that was another lie the government had spread.

On the contrary, we were stronger, faster, and sharper than they were and they couldn’t accept that. They don’t want to seem weak. It’s ironic that the government had tried to completely obliterate us, but really some of us got the better end of the deal. You could sort of say we’re super humans, but then again that may be going too far.

As I stared up at this guy, I wondered if he had been one of the few who had turned themselves in-- one who had joined the enemy side. I looked into his dark-clouded eyes and I saw that the shred of humanity was still intact. He hadn’t become a soulless government official yet. His eyes were cradling his feelings of confliction.

He looked down at me and I could tell he wouldn’t be able to kill me. He was no doubt trained to get rid of stragglers, but this man could have been a straggler himself and he couldn’t commit such a betrayal. He still had a soul.

Run before they get here. They’re coming, He spoke as he grabbed my hands and hoisted me back onto my feet. You have to run. You have to get away from them. They’ll kill you. His words were all jumbled together and once I was on my feet he basically pushed me back into running speed.

All I could think in my head was: thank you. I hadn’t been able to say those words in so long.

I sprinted dead-on as fast as I could for as long as I could, but the town seemed to go on forever. Fortunately there was still no one in sight. The night was about to break and I knew they’d probably give up once nightfall hit.

I decided running wasn’t  going to work unless I wanted to just fall over and die, so I turned a corner and ran up to the nearest door of a house. There didn’t seem to be anyone home, but I was starting to wonder if this was a city completely occupied by the police.

The door knob was rusted and stained, and by the looks of it, hadn’t been turned in a long while, so I decided it was a safe bet that no one was going to be standing behind it. I turned the knob and attempted to pull the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t locked, but it sure was jammed underneath.

The silence was broken as I heard the rhythmic thunder of many feet getting closer and scurried to rip the rug that had been jammed under the door out as quickly as possible. After much difficulty, I finally tore the rug out and scrambled up onto my feet and reached for the door knob. I turned and pulled and the door thankfully opened.

I rushed into the small tan cube-shaped cottage and shut the door with as little noise as possible. There was no sign of any living