The Longest Night
Moksa, 2

She awoke slowly to daylight. From where the sun hung in the sky it was already far past noon. Her body felt old and tired, like a band stretched far beyond its limits.

She turned her head. Some had left their cots, though many still remained asleep. She went to sit up and the world rolled wildly, though she sat still, and she had to close her eyes and hang on to the cot. The ache in her legs made her think she was losing them. The back of her head felt like it was constantly exploding. Her face and throat felt as if they had been cut and her hips felt as if a hot iron was being pressed against them. She had been broken and beaten, but most of all she had pushed too far, carrying him all that distance.

The sudden thought made her pain seem far away. He’s dead, she thought once more.

She sank back into the cot, motionless, breathing slow. She did not move.

A soldier’s legs stopped by her cot. He knelt, looking her in the eye. “My name is Goran. How you doing?”

No answer.

“If you want, the mess hall is across the way for lunch,” he said. He had a Slavic accent of some sort. “Or there are showers through that door,” he pointed to the back of the room. Showers.

No answer.

“You want me to take you?”

“No.”

He lingered for a while. “All right.”

He left her. She remained. Why did you go? Come back.

Further she sank. Hopefully she would sink right through this cot and stop existing for a while. Raw tears filled her eyes. You need to get up. You won’t die just by hoping. Maybe she was meant to survive for the rest of her life.

Her life. She thought about the letter her mother had last written her. She thought about Jeffries. Don’t let him slip through the cracks…don’t spend your whole life wondering. If she had died before she found him again, before she showed him how she felt, would it have been worth it?

She did not believe in an afterlife. But she couldn’t help but think about a world where she could go to be with him. Would any of it have mattered if she had died that day on the road during the earthquakes? If she had slit her wrists and let them bleed out in a lonely gas station off a highway? Would she have been spared the pain of his death?

But what if she had survived, only to never replace him? Nothing would have ever gotten better, nothing may have gotten so much worse. But nor would there be those fleeting moments that she had with him, the beauty he gave her life by a simple look. The truth would never have had a chance to breathe out in the open.

Memory recall. Just the ability to think up his face, his voice, feel it flutter in her stomach – that was her keeper.

It would matter. If she died now, it would matter. He would be forgotten, no one would know the things she knew about him.

She pulled herself up slowly, subduing the pain for another time. She would continue.

It was hard to stand. Everything felt like hot rubber. But she pushed herself forward to the showers. I never thought I would shower again, she thought briefly before she opened the door.

The entire bathroom looked as if the deadline for construction came too quickly. The walls were still slate grey from drywall, and only half of it was tiled. There were people there already: two women and a man. They kept their heads bowed, just like the day before. That was how she knew that they weren’t doing it out of privacy for each other, but out of misery and shame from the past two years of their lives. That would stay with them.

She walked towards a shower in the far corner of the room and slipped off her coat, then her sweater, boots, and pants. She folded them neatly on the floor and turned the tap hesitantly, as if she was expecting it to be a hoax. But water poured from the spout and splashed against her skin as soon as she touched the tap, and she tilted her head back, letting it cascade down her chest. The pain across her body felt as if it subsided grudgingly from the warmth, her neck and hips pulsing with relief. It was a liberating feeling, but the dirt did not rise off her skin easily. She rubbed at her arms and face, untangled the knots in her hair, scraped away the grime, but a distinct layer stayed behind. She knew it would take a while before she would be completely washed clean.

She grabbed a towel from the rack by the door and dried herself off before putting her clothes back on. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other as she limped to the mess hall.

Breakfast was on the long tables out of tin foil packs. Hard boiled eggs and brown bread. A soldier stood guard in front of a door at the back. The food.

“Here,” Reid said from behind her. She turned to him, slightly caught off guard. He held a tin foil pack and a bottle of water out towards her. “Eat.”

“Thank you.” Turning to the closest bench, she sat and unfolded her meal. She took a tentative bite out of the brown bread. Oh…holy hell. Bread fell apart on the tongue like snow, except it tasted like ambrosia rather than wet dust. She could never truly appreciate just how much of a miracle bread was before the world ended. Her eyes closed as she chewed, but she could feel Reid still standing behind her. She didn’t look back or acknowledge him. Eventually she heard him walk away. She hadn’t the room to feel guilty about it.

She finished her meal and left the mess hall. When she stepped into the long hallway, she realized she had no idea what to do next.

A soldier standing at the door behind her boomed, “Wondering where to go?”

Those who had not lived out there did not know what it meant to be quiet; everything they said was loud enough to shatter the damned. She turned to him, trying to hide the anxiety he gave her. She nodded. “Next door on the left. You’ll get a private orientation and an apartment.”

“Thanks.”

She approached the ajar door and stepped inside. A few people sat on plastic chairs just outside another door, which had a glass frosted window and a piece of packing tape across it that read Dr. ANDERSON. She sat on the next available chair and waited her turn.

Only twenty-four hours had gone by and now the world had lights, heat, food, water, doctors and scientists, soldiers, hope, love, joy. She bowed her head. Not anymore. His face was so clear behind her eyes…

“Miss? You can come in.”

She looked up. The door was open. A dark haired man was sitting at the desk inside, beckoning her. He was broad shouldered, healthy looking, but had a pale complexion that contrasted with his messy black hair and the dark circles under his eyes. When she entered his office and closed the door, he said, “My goodness, what happened to you?” He had a soft, deep voice. Like his. He stood. “Has someone here hit you?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “I…no.”

“Has anyone taken a look at that yet?” he said, circling the desk and standing a foot in front of her. She instantly backed up a step, but he didn’t notice the gesture and closed the space between them. He looked at her with a knit brow, investigating each of the bruises and cuts on her face. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

“I’m fine.”

“Regardless, we still have to disinfect those cuts,” he said sternly, going back around the desk. Catherine got the sudden impression she was standing inside an 8 ball that someone was shaking ruthlessly. She toppled before she even noticed that her legs gave way.

He rushed back to help her to her feet and into the chair. “Did you hit your head or anything?”

“Yesterday.”

He checked the back of her head and tittered. “You’re going to have to get some bed rest, and I’m going to make sure you do. It’s a good thing we found you when we did. Otherwise you could be…in big trouble.”

As he spoke, he fished through the drawers in his desk and pulled out an antiseptic, some rubbing alcohol wipes, and a few bandages. “This might sting a bit, but it’ll be for your own good, I promise.” He then continued to mutter under his breath about how ridiculously careless the soldiers were for not sending a visibly injured civilian to his office to treat wounds. She directed her eyes to the floor as he applied the wipes and creams to her face. It stung, but she was too far-off to show notice. Sometimes stars sparkled in her peripherals.

“For your orientation, my name is Doctor Anderson, and…well, no one seemed to care less about why we’re here, or what we’re doing, but would you like to hear the details?”

She met his eyes only briefly. “Jeffries told me a little.”

The doctor blinked, stunned, then leaned back on his heels and nearly gawked at her. “You must be Catherine. Reid told me about you.”

“Oh.”

He cleared his throat and fumbled with the first aid materials on the ground. He picked up a bandage, unwrapped it, and licked his lips before continuing. “My apologies, I do not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded nervously. “Well, if you know the general idea of why we’re here, you probably have other questions of your own.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll answer anything to the best of my ability,” he said, leaning back to view his handiwork. When he seemed satisfied, he stood and went back to the desk, depositing the wipes, cream and bandages, then continued to search for something else.

Catherine looked at her hands lying limply on her lap. She didn’t think she’d be able to speak without crying, so she spent the better part of a minute staying silent, trying to steel herself, as the doctor continued to look for what seemed like nothing in particular. Then: “Why did he have to leave the park?”

The doctor paused, then let out his breath in a slow exhale. “Jeffries left the park about a week ago to track one of our specimens. A deer. He left the facility ahead of schedule because, well…he was tired of waiting, and the deer was in prime health for the trip. He didn’t tell anyone where he was planning on going, but we knew. Jordan and I, anyway. One of the principal things he was looking for was the interaction with a healthy organism and the environment. We are testing for the virus. We believe it has run its course and died. This was a major test.”

She wanted to say, “I killed it,” but her mouth stayed closed. For some reason, she felt that stating the truth would be admitting fault for Jeffries’s death. What would it matter if he knew, anyway? But…If he would have followed the schedule…

“Did you replace what you were looking for?” she asked weakly.

“Jordan is still testing the samples he had on him, but we have our fingers crossed. Two others went west to run other experiments; they should return any day now.”

She closed her eyes. “Why did the soldiers come to Fort McMurray yesterday?”

“They were looking for Jeffries. And for the deer, if they could. We only have so many resources here, so we rarely use anything. But there are even less of us left, and Jeffries…Our soldiers started searching but found nothing within the acceptable perimeter. I gave permission to follow the two trails they did replace with all we had left. They said they would only head as far south as the reserve, but they then picked up on another unusual trail on the highway headed towards Fort McMurray, and they pushed their limits just a bit farther. I think it was the most excited those men have been in months.”

Catherine didn’t care about the soldiers’ excitement, and the doctor must have read this on her battered face. “Excuse me,” he muttered.

She let it go. “Why are you still here?”

He settled into his chair. “This is the world’s Ark, if you will. This facility was converted shortly after the infection became a pandemic. The park was shut down to public use in order to conduct our research on environmental condition and interaction more thoroughly. That is what the government contracted us for. Our soldiers are not soldiers so much as peace officers hired as security personnel with basic training. This is where our livestock live, our farms grow, our heat is generated. It is also the only place we can make regular vaccines for the virus. We’re not sure of the state the rest of the world is in, so we take our research very seriously still. We’re waiting for a sign that the virus is eradicated from the environment before we dare move south. Those animals are one of our few hopes, and Jeffries was very passionate about his work. He…we were…well. I was hoping we would get results from the deer, but the water sample will do well for us. Besides, we found a whole settlement of people in Fort McMurray full of—healthy…individuals. All of you will help contribute to our research extensively. Oh, no, don’t take it like that. Yes, your blood will be extremely helpful in identifying markers for resistance, but housing this facility with more able bodies will make a difference in other day-to-day tasks. You all have skills to share. Besides, this facility was altered to house many more people than we have. Another team of researchers and officers were supposed to arrive before the earthquake hit. We have too many beds and too much food just for the thirty of us.

“Which reminds me, I have a key to give you to your new apartment, don’t I?” He sounded tired, though, like he was just as exhausted on the subject as Catherine was herself, and wanted nothing more than to get away from it.

He looked over a bristle board of keys and plucked off one labelled 32A. He slid it across the counter and sat down again. She looked at it but didn’t make a move to grab it. She finally met his eyes, and felt herself crumbling under his sympathetic gaze.

“Jeffries was a good friend of ours. Of mine. A diligent scientist. I heard that you tried to save him, Catherine. I…thank you.”

Her smile was small and shattered, and she closed her eyes while she did it.

“Follow the eastern corridor; it will take you to the residential area. There are three halls – A, B, and C. A is for civilians, B for the research team, and C is a poorly constructed barracks, or so Reid tells me in choice words. The rooms are ordered respectively, so you should have no problem replaceing it.”

She rolled the key around in her palm. She was afraid that if she spoke her voice would break and give her away, and her weak balance would fall apart again.

“I’ll contact you about getting your vaccinations,” he continued. “I’m sure you’re safe, but it’s just a precaution for your health and everyone else’s. So. Would you…want someone to walk you to your room?”

“No.”

“At least take something to lean on; I won’t have someone walking around freely with a possible concussion.” Doctor Anderson laughed shortly, then killed it just as quick. It was too rude a sound.

He crossed the room and opened a closet adjacent to his desk. He pulled out a cane, then handed it to her. She nodded once and took it quietly, then stood to leave the small office.

“I’ll speak to you soon,” he said. She gave no reply.

She went directly to her room, holding the cane under her arm the entire way. Her apartment was simple enough to replace. She opened the door and observed it carefully: a single, undressed bed in the corner, a desk, a wall mirror, a closet. It was five steps to the opposite side of the room. She gently pulled the closet doors open, examining its contents. It was filled with sheets and clothes, plain tunics and pants. They resembled scrubs. Like Mom.

As she merchandised the closet, Reid stepped into the doorway and knocked at the door. She looked to him, but didn’t greet him or ask his business. Again, the colour of his eyes caught her.

He dodged hers. “Doctor. Anderson told me you’d be here. I thought you might want this back,” he said, holding her pack out in front of him. “Unfortunately, we can’t give you your weapons unless we certify you. Strict rules.”

“Yes.”

When she didn’t move to take the bag, Reid placed it on the desk by the door, nodded quickly, then left the room.

She closed the closet doors, fighting to keep control. She could feel her throat restrict and her nose burn. Feeling the wave of defeat come over her, she rushed to close her apartment door before she broke down completely.