The Crest
Chapter 52: Goodbye Maggie

They walked to where the enclave met Old Portland city. A razor-wire fence separated the two sides, a contrast of dominions. The enclave contained living trees, ash-swept streets, orderly houses, and water; old Portland by contrast — now a dusky gray in the afternoon, run-down, lawless, seedy, and waterless. They passed through the gate to the old city, shuffling through the ash, the heat omnipresent, sweat dripping.

“I thought our leave passes would never come,” Margot noted.

“Yea, I know, Wild Bill seemed angry with us,” Keegan replied.

“Why?”

“I have an idea.”

“What? He can’t take away our leave.”

“Ha, think again, sister.”

“Oh well, we’re free as birds for a few days.”

They walked to a bar in Old Portland City. Six of them, Lenore, Ben, Keegan, Margot, Agathe and Emilio. Beatrice and Markus noticeably absent. The trek gave them time to stretch their legs, allowed their mind to get off that dismal piece of fortified wall called the Crest. The walk provided a psychological break away from the daily drudgery on the ridge top that consumed their lives, and from time to time, sucked their souls dry.

“It’s weird being in the open.”

“Totally, I feel exposed.”

“Down here, we can walk forever it seems.”

“No enemy to look for.”

“That’s why they call it leave, you leave all that shit behind.”

They heard gunfire down the street and stopped.

“Don’t worry, that’s local gunfire,” Keegan told the group.

“Local gunfire is good?” Ben inquired.

“Yea, gangs fighting gangs mostly. They’re too preoccupied to bother us.”

“Whew, that’s a relief,” Ben remarked sarcastically.

The shadows of Old Portland crept around them, a parking garage now a multi-use plaza of sorts, a homeless encampment, a garbage dump, a drug den, a garage for abandoned shopping carts. They passed the abandoned gas station, its underground tanks exposed and siphoned of their precious liquid.

On Hawthorne, they strolled past the I Found God brothel. They stared at the line of lonely humans waiting for their chance, wanting the thrill, seeking a vivacity in their lives that disappeared with the Shift. The six defenders read the list of products posted on the bordello wall. The banner showed exotic sexual poses with catchy names: Apocalyptic Acts of Carnality $100.00 or barter, Day of Reckoning Perversions and Debauchery $150.00 or barter, End Times Salvation with Lascivious Angels $200.00 or barter, Doomsday Deliverance $200.00 or barter, and Orgiastic Saturnalia $250.00 or barter.

They walked on, intrigued yet disgusted at the same time with the brothel. They passed the faded psychedelic mural and finally to the Void.

The bar seemed run down since their last visit, the paint more faded. The 60s posters, the album covers, the symbols of an era, all a little more decrepit. The place was packed with defenders celebrating before the encounter that they knew loomed, living on borrowed time. They could hear the radio playing in the background.

“Welcome back.” Maggie the elderly bartender recognized the group. Her skin seemed pale today, and she lingered, but her eyes remained vibrant.

She looked at Keegan. “I was wondering when I would see you guys again. Couldn’t stay away from the good vibes, huh?”

“How are you, Maggie?” He noticed the palsy in her hand. Her face leathery, and her long gray hair wispy like the ocean spray.

She smiled at him. “Just goin’ with the flow, love.”

Keegan gave her a hug.

“Now that’s what this old lady needs.”

The pod sat at a table and the elder hippie Maggie brought them beer. They drank, got silly.

Keegan thought about Beatrice and Markus. He’d invited them several times but they never wanted to come.

“A toast to quadrant 28.”

The group commemorated and drank some more.

More toasts. “To the calm before the storm.”

They clanked their glasses and drank.

“Let’s hear it for the deer guardian, Keegan,” Margot babbled.

The group approved the animal toast and raised their glasses again.

It went on and on like that.

Keegan started a new conversation. “What do you think happened to Beatrice and Markus?”

“Don’t know. They hardly ever come out with us anyway,” Agathe said.

“Do you talk with them on your break?” Keegan asked, thinking about Sergeant Wild Bill and his traitor suspicions.

“Yea, but they kind of keep to themselves. They pray a lot,” Agathe said.

“They pray in the flanking tower?” Keegan inquired.

“Yep, they seem old-school. Like they can’t figure out the Shift and all that shit. Fearful,” Emilio interrupted.

“You mean like the end of days type stuff?”

“Yea, like they’re both longing for something they can’t have. They say we should prepare,” Agathe said.

“Prepare for what?”

“They never say, and they certainly don’t like me smoking pot in front of them, pretty prim if you ask me.”

The crowd in the Void grew louder. The rundown hippie bar called The Void was a Taj Mahal, a pleasure dome compared to The Crest. The defenders found wisdom and clarity from a bottle of beer.

Outside of Beatrice and Markus, Keegan’s pod seemed confident. Perhaps defending themselves with an M4 on the Crest did make them appreciate their unsophisticated lives more.

The radio echoed in the bar. They listened and reminisced. It dawned on the band that this might be their final gathering for a while. The other defenders in the bar thought the end game was near too. They joked about their lives on the Crest, the food, the boredom, the weather, the smoke.

“They’ll be here soon,” Lenore told the group, getting serious now.”

“In a few days from what I hear,” Ben remarked.

Lenore broke into tears. “Whatever happens, I love you guys.”

They cried, somehow, they grasped that love was all they had. The world was degrading, but they would not degrade with it. A long lifespan wasn’t likely for them, so why waste it squabbling.

“Let’s toast,” Keegan declared.

They raised their glasses.

“To quadrant 28, the most courageous pod on The Crest.”

“Here, here,” they said.

Ben proposed another toast. “To quadrant 28, no matter what happens, to the very end.”

“Here, here.”

The mood in The Void grew raucous.

Keegan watched the bartender, Maggie. She moved cautiously, she seemed to grimace in pain. She brought more beer. The bar was busy now, full of defenders escaping corporeality one last time. They were a bunch of eighteen-year-olds going on fifty; a throng of emaciated bodies, forced to accept the facts of the harsh world.

Keegan couldn’t stand it any longer, he got up and helped the old woman clear tables. She smiled in appreciation.

He wondered how her generation of love carried on in the generation of apocalypse. Maggie, a standard bearer of an age, a love druid. He stared at the matriarch and felt her loneliness. She seemed buoyed with the belief that her generation changed the world, subsisting on memories of a wonderful decade.

He thought about her. Did she have a partner to keep her company in these lonely times?

Maggie and Keegan struggled to serve all the patrons. She faltered, stopped, and caught her breath. Soon, the rest of the pod helped and Maggie took a seat.

“How is it up there?” she asked Keegan, referring to the Crest.

“Not bad. We love the scenery,” he answered.

She laughed. “I hear rumors that they’re coming. Everybody in town preparing for the worst,” she said.

“That’s wise,” Keegan remarked.

“Thank you for what you do up there,” she said.

He grew morose, thinking about the coming days.

“The Void will still be here when you come back,” she joked.

The night wore on toward closing time. The crowd grew sparse. She pulled Keegan and Ben aside. “I have something for you guys.” She handed a pair of keys to each of them.

“When you come back, the place is yours,” she said.

“Huh?” Keegan was dumbfounded.

“I’m done and there’s no one I’d rather give this place to. It’s yours if you want it. You are both honest.”

“We can’t take this,” Ben said.

“Yes, you can. I’ve no one else to give it to, I can’t sell it, I’ve got an invalid husband upstairs, and besides, gangs will take it over unless someone watches over it. With a little hard work, you can make this place profitable. Who knows, you might even improve the neighborhood a little. You’re both from Old Portland City so you know what I’m talking about.” She smiled.

The closing time arrived, and in the early morning light, they embraced the old woman for one last time. The radio played softly now. They listened to a forlorn song.

Maybe the sun’s light will be dim

And it won’t matter anyhow.

If morning’s echo says we’ve sinned,

Well, it was what I wanted now.

The six pod members walked out onto Hawthorne Boulevard and Maggie locked the door for the last time. She took a deep breath and went upstairs to her second-floor home. There, she looked at her frail husband lying on the bed. She smiled at her partner of forty years. He smiled back.

“How are you, my love?”

His eyes brightened, even though he could not talk. This woman was his sole purpose in life.

Maggie freshened up and put on clean clothes. She thought of her world...her life. It’s okay, I did the best I could. She lit a candle and straightened up the room a little, tidied up the table, picked up some clothes, and put some old books back in the bookshelf — Cervantes, Rousseau, A.A. Milne, V. Frankl. She took out the letter she had written days earlier and placed it on the desk. She then got out the drugs the doctor suggested. It took her weeks to replace the pills she needed for this occasion but eventually she found a supplier on the street. She ached, she could no longer take the pain that consumed her body, nor could she give her husband the care that he deserved.

With her shaking hand, she poured the packets of medicine into two glasses of wine and mixed them with a spoon. She positioned her husband upright on the bed and kissed him on the cheek.

“Goodbye, my dear,” she told him. Then she helped him drink the wine. It took a long time for her partner to finish the glass, struggling to swallow. Then she gently laid the man back on the bed.

She looked at her dear companion as he slowly drifted off.

“I love you,” she said.

He heard her soft words and smiled. He stared into her compassionate eyes for the final time.

Then, the aged flower child, and devout wife sat in the easy chair beside her husband. She slowly drank her wine, contemplating the way of things, the Void, the festivals, and her life on Hawthorne Street.

“No regrets,” she said quietly. She finished her glass and lay down beside her husband. Then, she reached out for his hand and closed her eyes for one last time.