XII: A Tribune Serial
Installment I
Written and illustrated by Caty Childress
Twelve hours. In a lifetime of plenty, just twelve is minuscule, minute, a scuff so brief, it might not even appear on the timeline. But these are not the lifetimes of plenty. And twelve hours is a gift greater than life itself.
A nearly fallen soldier, forced to return to a battlefield once unimaginable, a runner turned lover, then runner once more, and a girl, so young that a time before the genesis of this new world is nothing but a hazy dream, converge on a maze of cubicles, and they have twelve hours of borrowed time.
—
“C’mon, kiddo. We’ve gotta pick up the pace if we’re gonna get ourselves to shelter ‘fore the sun goes down.”
“I’m real tired, Pa. How much longer d’ya think it’s gonna take?” In spite of the exhaustion, her pace didn’t falter; there wasn’t the time of day to waste.
—
She used to work here. In the time before, back when everything felt safe, safe enough to fall in love, she worked here. Davey pulled a lighter from his pocket, prized contraband, and flicked it on and off again, letting the glint shimmer, a distraction from the once crowded cubicles, now, nothing more than a brief offer of peace, of privacy. If he wanted to make the most of this stint, this soirée, as she might’ve said, had she been at his side, where she should’ve been, according to the vows made in another life, then he would have to start burning things. He pulled stacks of paper from file cabinets set about making a home in which he could spend the next twelve hours.
—
The girl kicked her feet up onto a dust coated desk as she leaned back in a chair with wheels so desperate for oil that it could no longer move properly.
“Say, kid, how ‘bout we check out the happenin’s upstairs ‘fore we settle for a first floor sorta evening?”
She picked herself up, patting grime from her clothes, and off they went, inspecting each floor for any signs of life.
—
Davey could’ve sworn he heard speaking through the vents, but that just couldn’t be. He supposed there might be rats running rampant. The building was largely theirs for the taking, so, what was the harm in a couple dozen rats joining him for the night? At a certain point, he had come to the resolution that any illness could stake claim over his body. What did it matter anyway if she wasn’t there? Where was the point in fighting off rat borne ailments without his reason for living by his side?
—
“Is something burning?”
“I dunno, kid. Sure smells like it, but I’m not gettin’ a real idea of where it’d be comin’ from.”
—
The sounds were getting louder, changing location in a characteristically unratlike manner. He could make out two voices, very human, coming from the door that led to the stairwell. Davey stood from his crouch over the still young kindling and braced for a fight over who got to stick around on this floor. In the years since this life became the norm, people had grown territorial, never inclined to just work together. He knew she would be disappointed to hear this unfortunate status quo. Weren’t we designed for love? she would say in his head. And he would always think back to her, you certainly were.
—
“Alright, I’m gonna go in first. That way, I can get a good look ‘round if there’s any tomfoolery goin’ on here”
—
The door creaked open. Davey was ready for whatever might be coming his way. Sure, he had been promised twelve hours of peace, but a safety promise from the government wasn’t one from the citizens.
“‘Ello? Is anyone here?”
The voice of a man older than himself – Davey couldn’t get a solid gauge on his age, the man’s face largely obscured by a baseball cap.
“Who are you?” Davey called out.
“Just a man lookin’ for a place to lay my head for the night”
“Well, if you think you can just swoop in to steal my spot, nice try.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to intrude; we just smelt smoke and thought there might be a chance whoever was responsible would either have the kindness to let us join or warn us ‘fore blowin’ the whole joint up.”
He hadn’t considered that there might be someone looking for a place to stay. Some company wouldn’t go unappreciated. He thought for a moment, then, “Who is ‘we’?”
“Jus’ me ‘n my girl. Hey, kid, I think you’re safe to come on in.”
A young girl – couldn’t be more than thirteen – poked her head in before creeping to the man’s side.
“Yeah, I guess. Don’t see why not.”
“Thank you so much, son. ‘S been a long while since we’ve gotten to sit by a fire.”
“Sure thing, man,” Davey shrugged it off while absently poking at his kindling of what could have very well once been his wife’s work documents. She had been a paralegal in this office but dreamed of someday finding her name on the plaque, marking an entire firm as her own. She never did get to take the bar.
“I’m Steve, ‘n this here’s Marie. We’re from the East Valley suburbs of way back when, if you can even remember it. Yourself?” He gestured out to Davey, as if waiting to be handed a response.
“The name’s David, but go ahead and feel free to call me Davey. Everyone I used to know did.”
“You from ‘round here, son?”
“Yeah, I um… my wife actually used to work in this building. This was her floor.”
“Well, isn’t that somethin’. Davey, you said it was?” A nodded response, “It sure is nice to meet ya,” Steve reached out his hand. When Davey took it, Steve clasped his left hand atop, and shook both of their hands with it. He met Davey’s eyes with softness in his own, to which the younger man smiled, more for himself than anyone else.
“Guess y’all can, I don’t know, set up and get comfortable. Might as well make the most of what time we’ve got.”
“Amen to that, son.”
The next installment of XII will be published in the December 20th Winter edition.
