The Day I Wore Purple

11.3 Jonathon

With every breath, moisture accumulated in Jon's mask.

Ian moved methodically toward the front doors, stirring dust with every stride, circumventing the lopsided desk in the center of the room—

The desk...

What was this incessant feeling of deja vu? He felt it earlier when he dipped his hands in the pitcher. He felt it again with the mug of pens in Emmanuel's office, the beams in the rubble, the footprints in the ash. Nearly every noun spoken since he woke carried traces of familiarity—"hospital," "carcinogen," "tree"—as if each word held some profound meaning if only he could remember. Even the way Emmanuel blinked his eyes teased him with an epiphany dangling just out of reach. And now the desk...

They reached the front of the lobby. Outside, facing the endless waste, a pair of lifeless bots slumped against the glass. Their skin—once heralded as most durable material on Earth—had dissolved or melted or succumbed in some other way to the exotic elements reigning outside the walls.

"Does that bother you?" Jon asked, nodding to the exposed metal innards of the Ian units.

"Not at all," said Ian. "They'll be operational again someday."

Jon blinked away the tears from the chemical burn.

"Would you like to go outside, Mr. Nightly? I can carry you anywhere within a 1.13 mile radius."

He shook his head. "I think I changed my mind."

"I understand."

The rubble extended to all three visible horizons, and Jon was glad Hannah wasn't there to see it.

Hannah. He had to convince her to go back inside. He had to tell her that she had no obligation to deal with any of this; the proxies, his illness, this terrible new world. He'd ask the bots for nutrients so they could share one last meal together... then he'd make her go back. "Do you know where Hannah is?"

"I do not."

"Are security systems working?"

"Essential systems are still online."

"Great. Then you can help me find her."

* * *

Jon clutched the edge of the door and peered into their old room.

Hannah was asleep on her mattress and still dressed in yesterday's silly getup. Her tubes were unattached and laying on the ground.

"Wait outside," he told Ian.

The bot left.

Jon pushed himself along the wall, latched onto the corner of Hannah's mattress, and pull himself to her side.

His smile was forced, but also genuine. He nodded to no one, over and over until he made himself stop.

With a series of cumbersome moves, he removed her clothes. One at a time, he hooked the tubes with his feet, lifted them to his hands, and reattached them to the ports in Hannah's stomach.

* * *

this disaster. this darkness. this death.

why was hannah so afraid of that word? was it because it was the one concept she didn't understand? she loved jon, but she couldn't follow him down this path without some trifle of knowledge... some bit of information to grasp and comprehend and trust. the words they spoke; death. dead. dying. die. was it a place? a person? could she see it? could she touch it?