earthset, linked

Here you go. Click and read if you have the time.

(Er, there’s a letter missing in my name LOL.)

(God. Typos! What the.)

(But have no fear. *sinister laughter* View after the cut. )

Earthset

Philippines Graphic

June 15, 2009


It must have been a feeling in the atmosphere. Like the world was dying. Like something was coming to an end. Did they see it in his eyes? Eric thought that was it, at first, then dismissed the idea. Not in this cramped train with the cramped passengers, their brains too tired to be paranoid. If there is a bomb here somewhere then so be it, Eric thought. So be it.

It’s the elevator syndrome, he imagined Maureen telling him. Maureen of the bookshelves and the lofty dreams of a doctorate; Maureen of the encyclopedic memory. It is okay for a person to stay with other people in a small space, even if he ends up facing them, so long as he doesn’t look them in the eyes.

But if he were facing Maureen he would—

It happened when the train Eric was on was entering Buendia Station. The train’s lighting was busted so the darkness was complete when they entered the tunnel, save for a couple of bright cell phone screens and the flashes of yellow light sluicing through the windows from the walls of the tunnel. That was when Eric felt the hand hold his. Eric’s left hand was resting on his sling bag on his lap, and he was staring straight ahead, thinking of Maureen, thinking of bombs, thinking of nothing.

The hand was already covering his fingers before he realized that it was there.

Somebody was holding his hand. Even in his muddled state Eric thought that was strange. The hand was soft, not very big, could be a woman’s, or a man’s. Could be anyone’s hand. Are you scared? he wanted to ask the hand’s owner. Do I look scared to you?

Eric waited for the hand to move down, searching beneath his sling bag to his groin, but it didn’t. For some reason Eric’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them away fast. Without turning his head Eric turned his hand palm-side up and laced his fingers with the stranger’s. They held on tight as the darkness of the tunnel seeped into the train. Don’t worry, that hand seemed to tell him, and Eric was grateful. Everything will be all right.

Then they emerged into the station, into light, and the hand slinked away. The person sitting beside Eric stood up and got lost in the crowd pushing itself onto the platform.

*

Something weird happened to me today on the MRT, Eric imagined himself telling Maureen when he got back to the empty apartment. Somebody held my hand. He imagined Maureen rearing back, shocked. It’s not dirty or anything like that, Eric would tell her. The person just held my hand because it was dark. It was actually comforting.

Then write a story about it, he imagined Maureen telling him with that smile of hers.

“I can’t write anymore,” Eric told the empty room.

*

Eric was sure the reporter was going to call again, but he didn’t unplug the phone, or turn off his cell phone. He was thinking maybe he could drive home the point better if he simply didn’t pick up.

Eric opened the refrigerator, wondered what he could possibly eat.

“It’s for an anniversary piece,” the reporter had told him. The obnoxious bastard. “An update of sorts. Everyone who attended the mass last year has agreed. If you’re not comfortable in a group setting we can maybe set up a one-on-one?”

“I didn’t even attend the mass,” Eric said, and already he could hear the mental ballpoint pen click, a fresh page turned, the bastard ready to take notes. He should have just hung up.

“Why?” the reporter asked.

What for? Eric wanted to scream at him. So I can compare notes? Oh, yours lost a limb; mine was blown up to smithereens.

*

Maureen didn’t cook so every night after he got home from work they would walk to the nearby fast-food joint and order.

“So what’s the story about?” Maureen had asked the last night they were together. Eric worked at a bank, but he was features editor back in college and he wrote prose in his free time. That year he was planning to join a writing contest sponsored by a bookshop.

Eric liked talking to Maureen about his stories, even if they were not finished yet. Back in college he considered this practice a jinx, but not with Maureen.

“It’s a sci-fi piece,” Eric said. “The world at its end, blah-blah. Humans move into lunar colonies. I know,” Eric said before Maureen could say anything, “it’s cliché, it’s been done before, but the story’s still fuzzy. I’ll think of something to make it new. Some extra,” Eric rubbed his fingers together and wrinkled his nose, “something.”

“How do they move onto the moon?” Maureen asked.

Eric was stumped by the question. He thought about it for a moment, already hearing Maureen’s giggle, and shrugged. “Kurt Vonnegut once said that science fiction writers know doodley-squat about science,” he said.

“Breakfast of Champions, I believe.”

Eric bobbed his head up and down. “Man,” he said, laughing, “he was right.”

*

Whenever Eric ate at that joint after that night he would choose a table with the trays and the leftover rice and the sucked on wishbones still on the tabletop. Eric would sit there and wish no one came by to clean them up. The mess made him less lonely, made the daydreams easier to conjure.

*

In the story which he started to write and couldn’t finish, contestants of Pinoy Big Brother knew nothing about the planned mass migration to the moon. But they knew of the social unrest even before they entered the House; for some of the contestants, it was precisely the reason why they chose to enter the House. Inside the House they’d be protected, and there wouldn’t be news of horrible things. But some of the contestants have had enough and decided to stage their own version of a revolt. In one episode a man and a woman (which the producers wanted to present as a couple) sat in the living room talking about mundane stuff—nail polish, favorite Hollywood films, the latest eviction. Then suddenly the man nodded and the woman stared straight at the camera. “Why are you still watching this shit?” she shouted. “Why don’t you look away and do something more productive? What, you haven’t seen two people talking about Bronzed Platinum before?” After the woman’s rant a hand reached from outside the frame and covered the camera with a towel. The producers switched cameras, but by then all the other cameras have been covered as well.

The rest of that episode became nothing but a series of sounds: people whispering, the clutter of utensils, chairs being pushed, a woman humming a song, laughter.

But the producers kept on airing the episodes, even without the visuals. And people kept on watching. It calms them, the viewers told the sociologists who studied the phenomenon. Especially the older demographic. They say the show reminds them of their childhood.

*

Will the air smell different before the dawn of that final second, before the meteor strikes, before the fire and the deaths? Eric had wondered if the customers of that mall sensed something different before the nothingness set in, if Maureen sensed something different. Experts went in, collected scraps of this and that, found traces of what they at first believed to be RDX but turned out to be something else, something useless, telling them nothing. The police released their final report: gas explosion. Gas explosion. If it were gas they would have smelled something, Eric thought. He would have smelled something. But the day he dropped Maureen off at the mall entrance the only odor he remembered was the scent of Maureen’s hair as she brushed it back to give him a chaste kiss on the lips, that lush smell of lemons. Maureen walked toward the stairwell, disappearing into the throng of people and families milling about, and Eric walked back to the taxi bay to get to work. After the explosion Eric’s ears rang for hours.

He ran back in along with the crowd, but by then police had miraculously materialized and cordoned the area. Media men, photographers, the twack-twack-twack of helicopters. The final report said the blast originated from the basement, beneath the stairwell. Maureen was heading toward the stairwell when Eric turned away.

Why did he have to turn away? He could have just walked backwards, like what he did during their college days, smiling that stupid smile of his. Tragic stories peppered the news. There was the taxi driver who dropped off two passengers. The passengers got off, the blast came, the passengers slammed against the vehicle. The driver survived, both passengers died. One was pregnant. They interviewed the pregnant woman’s husband. If they could have been there a minute late, he said to the cameras, a minute late. She was seven months along. Just two months more.

Are you taunting me? Eric wanted to scream at him, at the television screen. If they could have been there a minute late, the husband said. I know what you are trying to say, Eric wanted to shout. I should mourn you, I should stop feeling sorry for myself. We’re widowers both but my marriage to Maureen was too short to create a child. You deserve to feel shattered more than I do. Oh yeah? How dare you. How dare you taunt me like that.

*

The company allowed him to take an extended vacation. It took Eric three months to drag himself back into a mall, and when he did he immediately noticed the K9 stationed at the entrances. Now you’re doing this? Eric wanted to shout at the young man holding the leash while the dog sniffed his backpack, but Eric knew the young man was just doing his job, it was not his fault.

*

Sometimes, Eric told Maureen’s father during the funeral, I wish it were terrorists. Because then I’d have someone to blame. I cannot blame chemicals, can I? I cannot blame carbon atoms, I cannot blame combustions.

*

The phone rang again. Eric waited a beat, then picked it up.

“What?” he barked.

“Kuya?” a voice said tentatively.

“Edward,” Eric said. His brother, still in college. Before the accident, Ed would call only if he was having money problems. “Is there something wrong?”

“That reporter called again.”

“Don’t talk to him.”

“I told him not to call us again or I’d call the police.”

Eric took a deep breath. “That should work, right.”

They shared a laugh that ended too abruptly.

“So,” Ed said. “What are you doing.”

“I just got home.” Eric had been sitting in his kitchen for more than an hour, staring at the wall.

“Oh.” Ed paused. “Do you want me to come over?”

Ed hugged him tight when they met up in the hospital after the blast, which surprised Eric. They were close, but not like that. Apparently Ed thought he was inside the mall with Maureen. Since then, whenever Ed dropped by to visit him Ed would think of ways to put off leaving early. Eric remembered his brother standing at the door on the way out of his apartment and stopping to straighten his shirt, his jeans, over and over, as if the night were their mother and he wanted to look presentable.

“What for?” Eric said, and winced at the tone of his voice.

If Ed had picked it up, he didn’t show it. “I don’t know,” his brother said. “To keep you company?”

“No,” Eric said. “No. You don’t have to do that. Thank you, though.”

“Okay,” Ed said.

“Okay.”

Ed seemed to want to say more. Three seconds passed. Five. Eric felt a hopelessness settle in his chest. The feeling wasn’t alien to him now, but he still felt it whenever it came.

On the other line, his younger brother took a deep breath and said, “Okay. ‘Bye, then.”

Eric hung up without replying.

*

In the story that he couldn’t finish, all the peoples of the world ride away from the dying Earth, lush still with forests and deep seas but dead in its soul, rotten, drying up with its thinning atmosphere and many wars. They ride away in capsules with the Moon as their destination. In the capsules, they hold hands, the dark of the chambers punctuated by the soft yellow glow of the sun. Don’t worry, they tell one another as their speed increases. Everything will be all right.

*

Maureen, I know doodley-squat about science but I think I know a bit about Einstein’s theory of relativity. Time and space, all that. One twin travels at the speed of light, the other stays put. The one who remains age faster.

I imagine souls, if they exist, travel at the speed of light. Maureen, you are traveling so fast I can no longer see you. So I imagine you, now, on a swing, in a field somewhere, lost in space and time, traveling in your infinite speed and grace. Every arc of your swing, every leap and push and fall will be equivalent to a hundred years for me, the one who unfortunately have to stay put and age, without you. And when I come, when I become light enough to travel fast, I will appear behind you, Maureen, touching your lemon-scented hair, still fragrant after all these years, ready to push you up, and you’ll say, like we’ve only been apart for a second, “Oh, there you are, Eric.”

*

In the story that Eric couldn’t finish, the peoples of the world arrive at the lunar colonies, at the end of the First Lunar Day. Together they stand on the strange sands of the new world, and watch the Earth set on the horizon, a blue and white globe, a child’s marble, watch the Earth glow against the vast blackness of the sky, watch that glow diminish and disappear.

*

It was the kind of ending that Maureen would have liked, Eric thought.

*

Eric’s apartment had only one window, but it was facing the wrong way. Even so, Eric knew the sun was just beginning to set. If only I can write again, Eric thought to himself. There was a bottle of brandy in his kitchen, plenty of ice, several more days like these in the future, and already Eric was sick of it, sick of the thought of it. The phone rang; he ignored it. He sat in his kitchen, waiting, not knowing what it was he was waiting for.

END

* * *

And a bonus, because you’re so patient.

War-torn

Philippines Graphic

May 5, 2008

Daniel saw the Catholic school before the cramps came. By then he was too happy to worry about the state of his leg muscles, or of his feet. He sat on the remaining piece of an island a few meters away from the school and marveled at his luck. D-8 had been ruined, yes, but not this part. The Catholic school was intact, along with the Area Library on its right and a few more houses. He could stop walking.

When the pain receded he moved toward the school and sat down on the stairs leading toward the entrance, making the dust fly on either side of him. Even the town’s church was no more, just a red roof and one soot-black bell. The Catholic school used to be connected to that church. The priests used to say, “The Academy may fall, but the Church never will.”

Wrong.

But then, Daniel thought, they were expecting the Devil, not bombs.

He walked around and into the all too familiar rooms, listening to the wind swoosh through the empty spaces. He read the graphs and the tables, the BEST WORKS left encoded in the e-boards. That meant the juice generators were still working. He found a snack machine on the second floor, already littered with its own broken glass covering. The sight of it made Daniel want to cry in joy; he knew he was too weak to even raise his hand. He reached carefully into the rack and took out a can of Sprite. The soda burned his throat, but he kept on drinking. Only after finishing the can did Daniel realize that a broken snack machine meant a Somebody Else.

“Who’s there?”

Daniel dropped the can, startled. The voice came from the door beside the snack machine. It sounded like a boy, and it seemed more bored than scared. It sounded familiar.

Daniel moved forward and found a door opened halfway. The owner of the voice was sitting with his knees up on the floor, holding a cigarette burnt to the filter, wearing a thick jacket. He was Daniel’s age. The boy gave a start when he saw Daniel.

“Hi,” Daniel said, not surprised that the boy failed to recognize him.

“You’re not from B-block are you?” the boy said, looking at his clothes and his wounded feet.

Daniel didn’t know what B-block was, but he thought it would be safer to just shake his head.

“Good,” the boy said. He sighed and stared at the door in front of him.

Daniel looked past the boy’s head and saw an arm flung on the floor. He couldn’t see the rest of the body, if there was a body.

“Who’s that?” Daniel asked.

“Oh.” The boy stared at him, sizing him up again. “That’s Bobby,” he said, and pushed the door away with his foot.

Bobby had cut his throat not long ago. There was still blood bubbling and flowing from his wound. What Daniel saw was his left hand; Bobby was holding the pocketknife in his right. There were red spatters on the wall beside him, and Bobby was staring fixedly at them

“Jesus,” Daniel breathed, and took a step back.

“He went sort of nuts a while ago,” the boy explained. “He said he’s not going to wait till a bomb hits us.”

The boy was looking at the body as he spoke. Bobby’s blood had stopped bubbling and was now simply flowing down the side of his neck, forming a bright red puddle around his left shoulder. Daniel felt like he’s going to be sick, what with the soda churning in his empty stomach.

“God,” the boy said, sighing. He looked at the butt and lowered it, but did not flick it away. “If only I have a cigarette.”

“I have some,” Daniel said, searching his pockets. He took out a badly misshapen box of Marlboro Lights and shook out a stick for him.

The boy did not smile, but his face brightened. “Oh, shit, God bless you,” he said, and took the stick from the box. From inside his jacket he produced a plastic lighter. He had to turn the wheel several times before finally creating a flame; his hands were shaking too much. He lit the stick, took a long, hungry drag, and blew the smoke out of his nose.

“Shit,” he said. “Thanks. There are plenty of snack machines in this place, but none of them holds cigarettes. It’s a Catholic school, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Daniel said. “It’s my high school.”

The boy coughed out the smoke in surprise. “Really?” He coughed again, made a face. “Me, too! How come I’ve never seen you before?”

Daniel smiled. “Well, you were in the honors class. And I’m, uh, let’s say, several floors beneath you.”

The boy grinned weakly. “Not that it matters now, anyway.”

Daniel agreed. “Your name’s Julius, right?”

“Uy. The guy knows me.” Julius laughed, looking at his shoes.

“I think everyone in school knows you. You’re that guy they’re always sending to the contests. You have banners practically every week.”

Julius stopped laughing. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.

“Daniel?”

He nodded. “Bobby and me were classmates,” he said. He moved to take a drag, then hung his head instead and started to cry.

Daniel shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Julius breathed in dry gasps, covering his face with his left arm. Daniel could see his left ear turning red.

“Julius,” he said. Julius’ shoulders shook. Daniel squatted beside him and touched him lightly. “Julius. Why don’t you just get out of this room?”

Silence. Then Julius took a deep breath and began wiping his face. “Sorry,” he said. He kept his face turned away from him and stood up. Daniel sprang to his feet and backed away.

Julius pulled the door close and rested his forehead against it. Daniel stood nervously behind him, wondering what he’s going to do if the boy started crying again. But Julius did not cry. After a moment, he straightened up and headed toward the stairs.

*

Daniel followed Julius, partly because he didn’t want to get stuck with Bobby, and partly because he was afraid Julius might throw himself down the stairwell. At first Daniel walked behind him, like a shadow, but when they reached the main grounds, Julius started smoking again and Daniel, believing he had calmed down, stepped to the side and walked with his hands in his pockets. After a moment he took one out and patted Julius on the shoulder. Julius surprised him by turning his head and smiling at him.

There was a slight wind, and it blew the dust in sheets. They flew into their bodies like curtains. When the wind dropped, Daniel saw the flag settling against the flagpole. It was fixed with the red band on top.

He lowered his eyes. At the base of the pole were large words spray-painted in black: HEY, UNCLE SAM, WHERE’S OUR FOOD? and beneath that, THE OCCIDENTALS SHOULD NUKE THEMSELVES.

“B-block,” Julius said, and walked on.

They were approaching the canteen, a square, single-floor building directly behind the flagpole. Julius reached the swinging doors first. Through the windows, Daniel could see nothing but black and some long, gray shapes that were probably the tables.

Julius, as if remembering something, paused after placing his palm on the left-side door. “Do you eat meat?” he asked.

Daniel nodded, wondering.

“Good.” Julius pushed the door, and Daniel felt on his exposed skin the strange coldness of an unused room. “Because that’s all you’ll ever find here.

“Not even rice,” Julius continued, as the door swung shut behind them, his voice echoing. He took off his jacket and dropped it on a table. “Puta,” he whispered afterwards, because the dust blossomed around the lump of cloth and flew to his nose. “Anyway, even if they did leave a sack behind, we wouldn’t be able to boil it because there’s no fuel. And no electricity, as you can very well see. The school should have run the appliances on juice, like the e-boards, but the admin’s a bunch of fucking tightwads. It would be nice if there were vegetables. Even raw vegetables—heck, I don’t care. Bobby found a tiny carrot the other day but there’s an insect living in it. You got a light capsule, Daniel?”

Daniel had sat down; he didn’t take his jacket off because the metal chair was freezing and it’s cutting to his bone. When Julius said “light capsule”, he felt the coldness reach his stomach. He didn’t bring any.

“No, sorry,” he said.

“That’s okay. I have a couple here, I think—“ Julius took two square glass bulbs from his jacket pocket and tossed it in front of him. They glowed instantly the moment they made contact with the tabletop, illuminating at little more than a quarter of the room. “—but they’ll run out of juice one of these days. I mean, look at that.” He pointed at one of the bulbs, which was flickering slightly.

“Light capsules,” Daniel sighed as Julius walked toward the counter. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of it. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Hoy, come on,” Julius said. Daniel could only see the top of his head because he’d dropped to a squat behind the counter, searching the cupboards. “I’ve heard of a woman who had grabbed her cat instead of her baby. You got a Raider after your Asian ass. It’s normal to get messed up.”

“I took my time packing,” Daniel said. “I was alone in the house.”

Julius peeked over the counter. Daniel saw him looking at him, but he didn’t meet his gaze. Both fell silent.

“Okay,” Julius said. “Um, looks like we got vegetables.” He stood up, holding cans. “Green peas. You want to eat it now, or do you want to save it for another day?”

Daniel shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“Hey, you’re the one I’m trying to feed here. I’m full.” Julius shook the can tentatively.

Daniel smiled. “Save it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Julius said, and crouched again. Daniel heard him close the cupboard door.

“Breakfast,” he said. He placed a can of meatloaf on the table, produced a fork, which he gave to Daniel, and clamped the blade of the can opener on the lid.

“Bon appetit.” Daniel saw the can slide toward him and caught it. He plunged the fork into the pale meat.

Daniel looked up. “Are you sure you don’t—“

“Go on.” Julius sat on the chair across him, grinning. Daniel saw how red his eyes still were. “Eat like a Westerner.”

Daniel laughed and shoved a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth. He felt his mouth fill with saliva. He shoved another one in, thinking he would drool, thinking how embarrassing it was to think he would drool over something as vile as uncooked meat.

Julius drummed his fingers on the table, tugged at his shirt, at his shoelaces. Daniel watched him for a while and finally said, “You want another cig?”

“Can I?” Julius replied immediately. “I know it’s your last box—“

“It’s all right.” Daniel placed the box beside the two light capsules, and Julius all but grabbed it. “I don’t feel like smoking right now.”

“Weird.”

“I know. Maybe I just got sick of the dust.”

Julius stared at him, left hand poised to light the stick already in his mouth.

“What?” Daniel chuckled. “Oh, for God’s—of course you can smoke here, Julius.”

And so he did, and Daniel continued shoveling meatloaf into his mouth until he couldn’t taste it any longer.

“Are you from this Area?” Julius asked.

“No. I’m from D-7.”

“Really?” Julius said. “Wow. I thought that place had been—“

Daniel looked at him, and Julius fidgeted.

“It’s okay,” Daniel said. “It’s the truth. It’s pulverized.”

“That’s the day Bobby started acting funny,” Julius said. “We saw the bomb fall. It was a big one. We thought no one would survive it.” Julius took a drag and blew smoke to the side, away from Daniel’s food. “How did you—“

“I was in the basement. And I was far from the epicenter.”

Julius lowered his voice. “And your family, Daniel?”

Daniel shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“How about you?

“My parents died before all this,” Julius said. “I lived with my grandpa, but he had a heart attack a week before the bombs came, so—“

“That’s terrible.”

“I actually think it’s better.”

The words hit Daniel like a punch.

“Oh,” Julius said. “Oh, shit, Daniel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Julius looked stricken. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Do you have any siblings?” Daniel said.

Julius stared at him, then shook his head.

“I have one. A sister,” Daniel said. I want her back, Daniel wanted to say, but what came out was: “She makes me laugh.”

“I’m sure she did,” said Julius, and, without knowing it, he had hurt Daniel again. Past tense, yes. Outside the windows, the wind blew the dust toward the south.

You’re everywhere, Daniel thought. I can’t collect you.

Daniel dropped the fork and started to cry.

*

“Daniel—“

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

Julius stayed with him throughout the ten minutes he spent mourning for his obliterated family. Ten minutes was a long time in a quiet, cold room. Daniel’s tears fell over the meatloaf and formed a puddle inside the half-empty can.

After his sobs subsided, Julius bodily forced him out of his chair and out of the canteen, walking him briskly toward the building they had come from. Julius left him on the second floor corridor and entered the room where they had locked Bobby up. Bobby was starting to smell.

Daniel couldn’t stand it. He moved to the left and sat down with his back against the hot floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the school grounds. He didn’t care if the glass burned into his back.

Julius burst out of Bobby’s room, searched the corridor briefly with his eyes, and smiled brightly when he spotted Daniel. He was carrying something.

A puppy, Daniel thought as Julius came nearer. A toy puppy.

“Hi,” Julius said. “Watch.”

He touched something on its belly, and it came to life—growling at first, then openly yapping in machine-gun speed at Daniel.

“Sorry,” Julius said. “It only got me and Bobby’s face in its memory chip.”

“You built that?” Daniel said.

“No. We found it in the principal’s office. Bobby and I just got bored one day and reformatted its memory chip.”

Daniel thought for a moment. “I’ve always wondered why you were in the honor’s section.”

Julius laughed.

“Here, you want to hold him? Oh, wait.” Julius pushed another button, and the dog stopped barking and began wagging its tail instead.

It jumped onto Daniel’s lap. He touched it, and realized that no matter how perfect the mechanical dog seemed, it was still clearly old enough to be in a junk shop. He could feel its age in its jutting ribs, in its loose parts and springs jingling and twanging inside.

“It feels like it’s going to fall apart,” Daniel said, handing it back to him.

“Yeah,” Julius said. “I’ve been thinking of turning him into a mini-bomb. Shove him down a Raider’s throat.”

They shared a laugh.

“I said my grandfather died a week before the bomb came, right?” Julius said, suddenly. “And I said it was better?”

Daniel remained silent.

“It wasn’t better.” Julius was looking beyond him, beyond the windows and the wreckage. “He had the heart attack while he’s still with me, in the house. Everyone’s going mad, so I didn’t call for an ambulance. I left him on his bed. I stayed with him for a week, before Bobby finally found me and pulled me out of there.” He sighed. “I would have waited for the bombs.”

Daniel wanted to say, That’s horrible, but Daniel thought Julius was lucky. He wanted to say, I’d give everything to see my family lying complete on my bed. I’d give everything to see them whole, their faces in one piece.

*

The night came, and it came suddenly. The dark swooped like a bomb, and this time Daniel was not ready for it. The only light they had were two dying light capsules in Julius’ hand, and Daniel held onto his shoulder as they climbed up to the third floor, where Julius kept his things and the blankets.

The room they entered was facing the Area Library, which was on the school’s right wing. They pushed two tables toward the windows and the walls and covered them with blankets and some clothes to make their makeshift bed soft. They talked before going to sleep because there was too much time, too much, too much. Two hours later Julius said good night and shook the capsules, and Daniel was left lying awake in the dark.

After what felt like an hour of staring at nothingness, Daniel sat up slowly and drew the blinds. More nothingness. He tried to make out the shapes in the distance, and in the process saw—or imagined seeing—a tiny yellow dot. Another light. There’s another person out there. Heart thumping, Daniel touched Julius foot and shook him.

“Julius.”

“Mm.”

“Julius.”

“Mm. What.”

“There’s somebody else out there.”

Daniel took one of the capsules beside him and struck it against the glass. “I saw a light.”

Light bloomed in Daniel’s cupped palm, and Julius, as if electrocuted, snatched the capsule from him and pushed his hand away from the blinds. The strings twanged, and Julius shook the capsule furiously.

“Did they see you?” Julius said when darkness surrounded them again.

“What?” Daniel couldn’t see him, but Julius sounded scared. “I…I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Did their light flicker? Did it disappear? Did it change color?”

“I don’t know!” Daniel groped for the other capsule—the weaker one—and threw it between them. Julius’ face seemed to jump at him. “Julius, what is going on?”

Julius shook his head. “It’s B-block.”

That term again.

“But what is this B-block?” Daniel said.

“Don’t you have them in D-7?” Julius replied. “B-block is a rebel group.” Silence. “Do you remember the Bayanihan Compound the government built here five years ago?”

“For the squatters?” Julius nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Residents called it B-Compound. Or B-block. In exchange for the shelter, and for tax exemption, they were employed in the D-8 nuclear plant with little pay. Work conditions were poor, so they developed cancers and such. They were the first to rally against nuke technology when rumors about local nuclear bomb making began to spread. And now they’re the ones suffering the most for something they’ve warned against years before. Are you sure you haven’t heard of them?

“I did,” Daniel said. “I just didn’t know the term.”

“The surviving residents of B-block kill people,” Julius said softly. “They believe it’s time to claim everything the government has failed to give them, and the government has failed to give them a lot. They move from one house to another. I don’t know how many of them are left. They came here before Bobby and I; they’re the ones who broke the snack machines and spray-painted the messages around the flagpole. I think they left right away because the bombs started coming and they thought it would hit the school. But once food runs out where they are now, or once Raiders started heading their way, they’ll move back here. And they’ll kill us, because we’ve had our share before. Do you understand?”

“They want everything for themselves.”

“Yes, but that’s because they’ve never had anything before anyway.”

“Payback,” Daniel said.

“That’s right.” Julius gestured at the capsule. “We should save this.”

Julius shook it, and it was dark again.

None of them moved for a while. “Sorry I woke you up,” Daniel said.

“That’s okay.”

“I want to leave this place.”

Daniel heard Julius sigh “But where will you go? We don’t know what Areas had been destroyed, what Areas are still standing. A bomb might be dropped on you while you’re still walking. At least here you have food and water and a room. As for the B-block, we can try fighting them, right? And there’s still the possibility that someone might find us.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

The tables jerked as Julius lay down again. “It’s better than worrying,” he said. “Go to sleep, Daniel.”

But Daniel didn’t. At least, not for a few more hours.

*

The morning became much more gloomier now for Daniel; other than the bombs, he now had rebels to contend with. Meanwhile, Bobby’s rotting progressed, and his death-smell crept from beneath the door and escaped through the cracks, clinging to the walls and the stairs and the windows, giving the building an atmosphere of fate they could almost taste. Daniel helped Julius push the snack machine to bar the door, removing the food first, lest they wanted to eat and drink Bobby.

But perhaps we already are, Daniel thought. Perhaps Bobby has already infected us.

For breakfast they went back to the canteen and attacked the can of green peas. No more saving anything for another day, because that day might never come. They ended the meal with a chocolate bar, and while trying to lick the fudge off their molars, Julius began thinking of things they could do the moment they got out of that place and the war ended.

“We could go to Australia,” he said. “Australia is a Neutral country; it’d be nice to live there. We could go to the beach. Do you like the beach, Daniel?”

“Not really. I can’t swim.”

“Oh, Christ, Danny, how pathetic. You can’t swim? Anyway, we could go to the forest and watch the ‘roos—or whatever’s left of them. I heard the few hundreds left are just clones. We could get a new surname, pretend we’re brothers. What’s a good name?”

“Ayala. Araneta. Cojuangco.”

“Shit. If there’s a B-block nearby, you would have been knifed to pieces.”

Daniel laughed.

“You know it’s funny,” Julius said, but he started to cry. Daniel watched him in silence. This seemed to be their new pastime now, he thought. Crying for no particular reason.

Julius covered his face for a moment and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Daniel, I, these things—“

“I know.”

“—these things just get to you.”

“We’ll get out of here, Julius.”

Julius looked up.

“We’ll get out of here,” Daniel said. “We’ll go to Australia. We’ll go to the beach and I’ll learn how to swim.”

Julius searched Daniel’s eyes and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we sure will.”

*

It was around three p.m. when the Raiders came.

Daniel and Julius were sitting in the shade outside the canteen, sharing Daniel’s last cigarette stick with each other. The smoke mingled with the perpetual dust, and Julius, pretending they were hitting on a joint, suddenly stood up and jumped about, flapping his arms, making the dust cling to his hair and to his clothes. Daniel was just about to burn him with the butt when Bobby’s mechanical dog—which somehow found its way to the defaced flagpole—started yapping at the sky. Daniel’s knees quickly turned to jelly. He knew. He knew even before the groans came, before that sound that could not be mistaken with any other sound.

When the two ran out of the shade, two black specks were already hovering above the ground, ten miles from what’s left of the church that could not fall but did, ready to release.

Daniel never looked back to see the bomb fall, worried he might turn to salt, or dust. All he knew was that Julius shouted “Come on!” and they were running into the school, with the dog in Julius’ arms. They flew up the stairs, past Bobby’s stink, past the classrooms, as the bomb left the center jet’s underbelly and traveled from point zero to ground zero, a millisecond of fury, shorter than a blink, shorter than a laugh or a fulfilling drag on a cigarette, shorter than Daniel’s forgettable sixteen years and shit, thought Daniel, shit, it’ll all be decided by what will happen in this millisecond, this instant, all my life reduced to this—

The bomb hit the target on the south side of Area D-8, forming another crater, the shock wave boiling the air, traveling outward and erasing the church completely. The blast destroyed the canteen and lashed against the main building’s left side, breaking the enormous windows, sending a considerable piece of it past Daniel’s right calf as the two boys ducked into a corridor. Daniel cried out when the shard cut through his flesh. Outside, the flag on the flagpole caught fire and waved frantically in the heat.

“Daniel,” Julius said, and took off his jacket to wrap around the wound. “Daniel,” he said again, and broke into tears.

“I’m fine,” Daniel said. “It’s just—“ Not a scratch, because Daniel could already feel his blood soaking through the thick cloth.

I want to stay awake, Daniel thought, or said, he couldn’t tell, and felt a swirling in his stomach and a wetness on his forehead and fell inside a living room where his sister was smiling at him.

Daniel, Daniel, she said. Daniel.

*

The world was shaking when he came to. It was dark, but with plastic bristling against his entire right side, Daniel knew he’s back in their third-floor room, back on the makeshift bed, lying against the blinds. His injured calf throbbed, but not so much—it was now wrapped in gauze, or something. How did Julius manage to carry him up to the third floor? The shaking continued, and Daniel wondered if they’re in the middle of an earthquake, wondered if the walls were going to crumble and be replaced with walls of gold. Then there was a jolt, and he felt Julius’ hot back push up against his left arm, moving, moving, the silence pushed away with a tiny moan wrenching free.

Daniel didn’t know what to think, or feel. Past voices within these very walls forbid such things, and they whispered to him. They had always whispered to him. The Lord God the Lord God. If only Julius would stop.

Eventually he did. He came and Daniel heard him gasp and bite on something soft. The earthquake ceased. The silence crept back. Daniel wanted to inch toward the blinds, but he was afraid Julius would know that he knew.

With his mouth still stuffed with cloth, Julius cried.

Daniel was startled. Maybe it was because of the voices. The Lord God the Lord God.

Daniel felt his chest fill with lead, weighed down by love, or hate, or disgust. The voices whispered. Shut the fuck up. Daniel turned to his side and placed an arm over Julius.

He felt him stiffen, the sobs abruptly cut short. Daniel did not remove his arm. Julius sighed, lay on his back. Where is he looking? thought Daniel. It was too dark. Julius breathed easily, deeply. He moved closer. Daniel felt his ears against his nose. What will I do? What is there to do? What what what. Daniel kissed his cheek. It is comforting here; there are no bombs, no war. Julius turned and kissed him on the lips.

His tears brushed against his eyelashes. The voices revolted. Okay, Daniel thought. I’ll imagine a girl. Will that lessen my sin? But he had never kissed a girl, not like this. Just a peck, a fleeting smell of cologne, lip balm, cherry. Julius clutched his shoulder. I will imagine nothing.

Julius’ hands are warm and smooth. Look away if You don’t like it. Go do Your smiting somewhere else. Go smite the Raiders. But not here. Not us.

*

Julius was tying his shoelaces when Daniel woke up the next morning. With the weak light came the smell of burned rust, powdered stone, the non-sound of dead birds and beetles. Julius noticed Daniel observing him and smiled.

“Morning,” Daniel said.

“I left the dog downstairs,” Julius said.

Daniel grinned. “As if someone would take him.”

“Hm.” Julius remained sitting on the floor. “How’s your leg?”

“Better,” Daniel replied, and tried to slide off the tables.

“Here, let me—“ Julius sprang to his feet and helped Daniel get off. Daniel winced when he set his right foot on the floor. They stood there looking at each other, barely seeing each other because of the shadows. Daniel raised his right arm and embraced Julius; he did the same. Daniel tightened his hold, wanting to eliminate the hollow, empty spaces, the cold, the smell of sulfur.

Why just now, he thought. I had sixteen years. Why just now.

“Are you all right?” Julius asked.

“I’m great.”

Daniel felt his smile against his ear. “What time is it? My watch stopped.”

Daniel raised his hand from Julius shoulder and tried to see. “Well, what do you know. Mine stopped, too.”

Julius pulled away. “What?”

Daniel sagged against the tables as Julius checked his wristwatch again. “What time does it say on yours?” he asked, pushing buttons.

“It’s stuck at one-thirty-four,” Daniel said.

Julius looked up, and just the sight of his face almost made Daniel scream in fear. “Oh, God,” he said. “Mine too.”

Julius moved to the bed and fished something out of the discarded clothing. The light capsules. He threw them to the floor, like a pair of dice. Both remained dead.

“No,” said Julius, as Daniel expressed surprise.

Julius turned to the e-boards and pressed the power button. Nothing.

“Damn it!” Julius whirled out of the room. Daniel could do nothing but follow him. He dragged his right leg, all the while demanding an explanation.

“It’s a pulse,” Julius said, and entered the classroom next door.

“A pulse?” Daniel thought of gamma rays, destroyed satellites, as Julius went from one room to another, cursing each time. All of the e-boards and clocks are dead.

“They’ve detonated a nuclear weapon in space,” Julius said, now halfway across the corridor. Far away. “The rad’s disrupted the equipment. They’ve started.” Julius left a room, entered a room. “They’ve started.”

Daniel took a mindless step forward and screamed in pain. Julius ran back to him, held him steady.

“I’m fine,” Daniel said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get the dog,” Julius said. “I could break it, use parts to fix things, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Okay? Wait here.”

Julius went down the stairwell on Daniel’s right, the closest stairwell there was, the only stairwell there was, Daniel amended, remembering yesterday, the bomb peeling the ground. He leaned forward and saw the gaping hole at the end of the corridor.

Downstairs, Julius screamed.

Daniel flew down the stairs, biting his lip against the pain roaring in his calf, hearing only Julius, and a strange gnashing of metal teeth. He saw Julius lying on the floor of the classroom directly below the one they’re staying in, the mechanical dog’s mouth clamped on his neck. For a split-second Daniel was frozen, seeing only Bobby, Bobby with his throat cut, Bobby with the blood bubbling, flowing. Then he realized that the blood he’s seeing was not Bobby’s but Julius, and he grabbed a piece of metal from the floor and hit the dog, hit it and hit it and hit it until its radiation-ruined microchip ceased giving commands and it slid off Julius chest. Daniel knelt beside him, eyes wet, hands shaking, and took off his shirt to stop the blood. Julius stared at him, breathing hard. Daniel clutched his hand.

Something hit him on the back of the head, and Daniel fell facedown on Julius. When he opened his eyes a second later he was being dragged away by the feet. “Look what I found!” a young man’s voice said gaily, and Julius’ eyes said No, no. His hands moved and tried to hold him, tried to pull him back. Daniel felt Julius’ palm, but he couldn’t get a grip, couldn’t, couldn’t. Skin gave way to cold, hard stone. Julius wept.

Daniel was thrown on his back beside the broken windows and saw two boys and a girl standing around him, in dirty clothes. “I told you I saw a light the other day,” said one of the boys, and Daniel thought, B-block.

“Ooh, look,” said the girl, looking from Daniel to Julius and back, “they love each other,” and kicked Daniel in the ribs.

“Huh?” she said, circling him as he doubled up in pain. “Am I right? Do you love each other?”

She kicked again. Soon, the two boys joined her, stomping him to the floor, causing him to cough up blood. One foot hit his right calf, and he felt the wound snap open and the blood rush past the gauze. As the blows covered him he could hear Julius crying. Then Julius stopped. Daniel looked past the legs and saw that Julius eyes were open and unblinking.

“No,” Daniel said with all the breath he’s left. “No, no, no.” The kicks became stronger, as if wanting to push his cries back into his lungs, as if wanting the job done fast, now that the other one’s already dead. Daniel turned toward the glassless windows and saw a solitary Raider in the distance.

“Oh, shit,” the girl said, seeing it too.

The nuclear bomb exploded less than a mile from where they were, and Daniel did not turn his eyes away. It exploded like the sun, like a ball of fire, and Daniel felt Julius’ hand in his and he’s waking him, stirring him

Julius, Julius, Daniel said. Julius.

We’re home.

END