by Jacob Scherer
You wake up yet again to the ambient hum of the vacant city. Weeds flourish in cracks and corners, the remaining pigeons nest in abandoned taxis, and you swear on your life that you’ve seen something swimming in the river. You get up and shake off the perpetually settling dust of crumbling buildings. A sigh flows out of your lungs, as you decide to move on from your safe haven. Your mind travels down to the basement, dragging your weary body along with it. Cans of food fill the shelves, a treasure trove of unperished perishables. You conservatively fill your bag with them, and after gathering your sleeping bag, your hand-crank radio transmitter, and your thoughts, you set off into the vast ruins.
Faded facades of looming structures are all too familiar, bringing back memories of what feels so recent. Twelve years later, and yet you can still smell the aftermath, a mixture of napalm and uranium. The apocalyptic odor lingers even through the embrace of your gas mask. You peer through the smudged eye windows as you pass by building after building after building, each in varying decay like a redwood forest after a fire. You stop every ten blocks and fruitlessly try to reach someone through your radio, as you have done for so long before.
“Hello? Are there any other survivors?”
No reply.
Your trek continues through towers and tunnels, stores and shelters, parks and parking lots. You finish all the cans you brought with you, and go through 2 different grocery stores entirely. Time drags along, like trying to swim a mile through honey. Hours pass. Days. Nights. Weeks. Months.
“Someone please respond, are there any survivors out there?”
No reply.
The cans have run dry. All the food in the shops is dressed from head to toe in mold and maggots. Your shoes have completely worn away, and the soles of your feet are starting to bleed. The landscape of imposing towers feels like a maze with no exit, billboards seem to stare back at you, each locked door or gate is another brick wall in this vast prison. You can think of only one exit from this purgatory.
You go to the closest open building, and set off climbing the stairs. Flight after flight tries to bring you down, but you know that Jacob’s Ladder will lead to heaven. The door to the roof opens like the gates of Saint Peter, and the ledge is your path to eternal peace. You drop your bag, leaving with it the torment of all the lonesome years. Before you step forward and accept your fate, you decide one last time to wind up your radio and send out one final message.
“This may be the last thing I say, so I’ll ask again: Is there anyone out there?”
No reply.
“Anyone at all?”
No reply.
“Someone, please, just say something.”
No reply.
You drop the radio. The ledge welcomes you. As you step closer and closer, your heart beats like a drum. Sweat and tears coat your cheeks. You decide that this is it. You start to lift one foot.
I reply, “Hello?”
