When They Come For Us

Part I - The Pilgrim

The dream always ends with the man standing and walking off into the fog. I call for his return, hoping he might stay, hoping my words are enough to change his mind – but he fades out of view as I wake.

Protected by their palisades, the Haschwan people modeled a secluded society. Forming nearly a decade before with the founding Haschwa family, isolationism grew its roots deep.

Neighbors, friends, and family related solely through Reserve — an unspoken language that, when misread, could tear one's feet from the ground. This silence, cherished by the Bishops, was a ground of loathing for few. And it was glaring, this silence, from the very moment the man stepped past the withering gates.

Looks of disdain flood down from the locals. I am an outsider, thinks the man. Not that he was particularly affable to begin with, however.

He stops there for quite some time, observing as the passing men mumble obscenities and the women returning from schools hasten their children out of view. He gazes past them, watching the fog roll over shifting puddles from some recent downpour. Drips forming from corbels fall to his side. The droplets have some inexpressible quality of serenity to them — reminiscent, to me at least, of tears of Aphrodite – perfectly round, silent, dispiriting. Though, unlike in those stories, the world was entirely too dull; these waters will spring no bouquets or verdure from the barren cement.

After a disquieting attempt to regain control of his thoughts, he continues on his path and pushes west through the crowd's hushed whispers towards the city center. It was an open expanse of concrete secluding a once grand stage to the east with bunches of expired trees in every direction. Each tree, towering in its own right, had lost what had made it so beautiful; where once stood flourishing blossoms and lively firs only remained husks — previously beautiful relics of the old world. And the stage, inexplicably well in-tact, stood as the only unharmed artifact for miles.

The townsfolk had dug up cement in places to reach untainted, rich soil in which they set up community gardens — though none seemed fruitful enough to sustain such a large population. Wilting greens and abysmal tubers — each patch with an awning to shield from malignant rains.

When one starts to forget of their home, such little things as the color of tainted leaves may bring comfort. And again, he ceased for a moment to indulge in the decay of his world. A stretch of crop to the North — the most vast in the settlement, what looked like cabbage or spinach — partially obscured rusted signage: "Trade." Each letter was rudimentary and decayed, constructed from salvaged oaken beams. The man begins toward the shop.

#

Even disregarding the sign, it remained a crudely designed building. Having repurposed the rubble from a once grand skyscraper, it seemed as if it would collapse at any sudden jolt or unexpected noise. The back half of the shop was embedded in the antebellum — and, might I add, persistently decaying — One Utah Center. In this half, one could bathe in prewar architecture; ornate arrangements of plaster flora might even have you forget of the other — less immaculate — side of the room. From the bisection, the building became a horrendous tumor of scrap metal and ply. The clash of romantic architecture and unsightly hovel undoubtedly set tone for the remainder of the settlement yet to be seen.

Despite the unmistakable lack of seal, the building's entry boasted an extravagant canvas as its airlock. Zachary stepped in, sealed the zipper behind him, waited a moment for the particulates to settle, and unzipped the next opening. The canvas had evidently not been cleansed for the better part of the decade; a thick toxic dust settled on the ground – atrophy. The weightless and microscopic flecks of poison were made seemingly immaterial by the light breeze outside, but quickly formed a fine talc in stagnant air. Of course, it was never a wise decision to interact with such powders — breathing it was enough to spread its rot.