Rule number 10: Don’t stop moving.
If someone had told me two years ago that I would be sharing a bed with an attractive member of the opposite sex, I would have called them a liar and a charlatan whilst running them out of town. But I did. Granted, sharing a bed and a blanket is all we did. Now, if they had told me that it would take an apocalypse and me almost getting electrocuted for that to happen I would have said “Yeah, that sounds about right.” It’s strange enough that a woman would willingly sleep in the same bed as me. Stranger still to find that I’m the only one in it come morning. Just me and a scratchy, purple blanket. I think I’ve been had.
It is an apocalypse tradition to begin each day with the first song on the ApocalistTM. Elton John’s ‘I’m still standing’ is a fitting start to the new day I think. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me that I can barely stand right now. The throbbing, lead weight that is my left leg hinders that. Thus, with great struggle and much cursing, I make my way back into the room with the green mattress.
A quick, perfunctory scan of the area concludes that it is empty of any other people. Dishearteningly so. I don’t know what I expected. Why did I get my hopes up thinking that I could actually trust her? She’s probably leading Victor back here now. “Stupid, stupid stupid,” I say out loud, berating my self for being so naive.
“Oh thank God, I’m glad you see it too. I was starting to think I was alone in the world.”
I didn’t hear him come in. I don’t usually do. “Eoin, I swear on all that is good and right in this world, now is not the time!”
“Not much o’ that left here anyway so swear all you like.”
Rubbing the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, I contemplate throwing one of the books lying around in Eoin’s direction. “I’m not even going to ask where you were this time. But why are you here?”
“Not a very nice way of greeting your best and, if we’re being honest, only friend. I’m so hurt.” Then after an exaggerated gasp. “Are you lashing out because your girlfriend left you?”
“She’s not my girlfriend, I’m just working with her.” At least I thought I was.
“Not with that attitude she’s not. Even after the downfall of society as we know it, you still can’t get a girl. What a shame, your maiden-less days continue.”
Deep, calm breaths. You don’t want to do something you might regret later. Just breathe it out. “Did you come here just to insult me or was there a purpose to your visit?” I ask, holding back the urge to strangle him at the same time.
“Don’t worry, I can do both. Anyhow, I heard her slip out about an hour ago. She left a note on the pool table, lad.”
My eyes dart over to the table in question, cautiously hopeful. And sure enough, there it is. I move to pick up the tiny square of paper with one word scrawled on it in simple script: “Out.” Short and sweet. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. I think Eoin hears it too because the next words out of his mouth are: “Happy now, lover boy?”
I am but I can’t let him know that. So I try to steer the conversation in a different direction. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here. Do you miss it?” A wealth of emotion behind that one question. Like a penny dropped into a pond, I saw the ripples form in the air between us.
Eoin, addressing what I didn’t say as much as what I did, answers slowly. “You know I do. But this isn’t my place anymore. I can’t stay here.”
“Why not? It’s as much yours as it is mine. This place needs your random anime trivia, and your consistently bad celebrity impressions, and your even worse cooking.” This place needs you.
“You always had the food covered because we both knew I can’t cook for shit,” he says, laughing at the same time. “Do you remember you kicked me out of the kitchen after I burned the soup?” He’s trying to redirect the conversation, and I let him. I can’t force an explanation. “Yeah, I remember.” I say wistfully. Then a bit more lighthearted. “That was the last straw. I also banned you from touching any of the food until I was done with it.”
“That was probably one of your smarter decisions. You know tomorrow’s Thursday, right?” Now I know why he’s here. Thursday is like any other day trying to survive the wasteland. Wake up, scavenge, outrun the hordes. The only exception is the second Thursday of every third month. For any decent survivalist with their nose to the ground that particular Thursday is trading day in The Refuge. And there’s always something to be traded there.
“I hope you’re at least telling the new girl about our adventuring. We did way more than just that stuffy, old book in the corner. She’s got a lot to live up to if she’s gonna replace me.”
“No one could ever replace you.” I know that much is true. “And I don’t think anyone could ever match your personalised brand of crazy.”
“You’re damn right about that! And now, my exit music please!”
“Single ladies, right?”
“Don’t patronize me, lad. You know the one.” I do know the one. At his request I play ‘Sexy and I know It’ as he makes his exit out of the Observatory. “You know you can come back any time!” I shout after him. “Tell the new girl her bandage-work is shoddy!” is his response. He would know. He used to be a med student. A fact he likes to work into conversation whenever he can.
I honestly don’t know what he likes so much about this song. He’s the only reason I even have it in the Apocalist. But I wouldn’t delete it for all the money in the world. Which ironically has now been rendered virtually useless.
As soon as Eoin leaves I have my first shower in days. Perhaps not being able to smell myself is a blessing after all. Though I cannot say the same for anyone else. After a fierce wrestle with a comb and my impossibly curly hair, I soon set about getting to work on our next plan of action. Some time later Selena drops in from the hole in my roof to find me hunched over a map of the country laid out on the pool table. A series of red X’s are dotted all over it, the majority of which congregate in the eastern province of Leinster. Careful yet curious footsteps approach the table next to me. Several cereal bars bounce onto the table simultaneously.
“Um what are those?”
“Breakfast,” the Duchess says in a tone that indicates I should have figured that out already.
“We need to work on your idea of breakfast. Cuz this ain’t it, chief.”
“You’ve really gotten around huh,” the Duchess remarks, ignoring me and admiring my handiwork on the map. I snatch one of the bars anyway. What? I’m only human. That and we finished my last packets of noodles on that extravagant dinner last night. Supplies are dangerously low. She points a gloved hand to an area completely devoid of red X’s. “What’s that place?” I have to lean in and squint closer at the map’s irritatingly small print before I can answer. “It’s…Fermanagh?” I conclude, somewhat unsure. “Doesn’t exist.” I tear open the bar’s wrapper to reveal a cascade of cereal dust and two bites’ worth of actual cereal bar. Another thing that doesn’t exist.
Now it’s her turn to lean in and squint. “What do you mean it doesn’t exist? I can clearly see it on the map.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t exist.” Tipping dust into my mouth before I continue. “I mean think about it. Have you ever actually MET someone from Fermanagh?”
“Well no, not really.”
“Exactly! Proof by contradiction. Fermanagh’s just an old folktale they made up to make sure Ireland had an even thirty-two counties. They must be rolling in their graves now knowing we don’t even have thirty-two counties anymore!” I cackle at the irony. “Right,” Selena mutters. “A folktale.”
Right as the contents of the final wrapper descend into my open mouth, Selena asks,”Where to now, Scratch?” I bristle at that deplorable nickname. It’s not even creative. My protesting continues in my mind but out loud I rebuttal with: “The Refuge awaits, m’lady.”
“There’s nothing there that can help us find her.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I say, wagging a finger in front of her face. Her eyes follow the moving finger with an expression which conveys an intense desire to snap it. We may have slept together but we are by no means friends. Not yet anyway. Putting the offending finger away at breakneck speed, I continue. “But that will have to wait until tomorrow.” “Qué? Why not today?” I note the shadow of urgency and desperation evident in the rising pitch of her voice as she speaks.
“Because we won’t be welcome there until tomorrow. You’ll understand what I mean when you see it for yourself.” I can tell that she wants to push further but chooses not to. “So what do we do until then?” She asks in the same tone a child does when asked to wait until after dinner before they can have dessert. Smiling wide, I’m more than happy to provide her with an answer.
“You’re just in time to see the show. Watch the magic.” Cracking my fingers, I half-walk half-drag myself to the seat in front of my workstation. It squeaks as my weight falls into the chair.
“What show?” The curiosity in her voice well hidden but still audible.
Selena stands behind me with her arms folded wondering just what kind of magic I can elicit from a tangle of wires and the rest of the out of place objects lounging on my desk.
“You’ll see.” I promise.
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