Scarlet Dreams

Chapter 2:

The moonlight of the previous night had not done justice to both the majesty and the ruin of the library. It’s incredible how eight years of neglect can leave a once beautiful and sturdy building so completely destroyed. The explosion that had torn away the northwest corner of the library had let in the elements of rain, snow, and the growth of vines that had wrapped their way up and through the twisted metal that used to be the roof..

Anne is still sleeping after having taken the middle watch so I could get a couple hours of rest. Finding safe and restful sleep is never easy these days, so I’m going to leave her be while I begin my search for any work produced by Dr. Staples. Thankfully the stairs to the second floor are near the southeast part of the library, so they’ve been mostly spared from the elements. As I make my way up the concrete steps I can’t help but feel a pang of grief about the state of this library. I was in my junior year of college when the replicants began their genocide of humanity, which meant I was well accustomed to spending my evenings in university libraries just like this one. Unfortunately, I never got to finish my degree in archeology at the University of Chicago.

My father had been so proud of me for getting into such a prestigious school, even if he never understood my fascination with ancient civilizations and the ruins they left behind. I’ve often wondered if humanity survives, will there someday be an archeologist who finds the ruins of twenty first century humanity and has to guess at what apocalyptic collapse caused us to abandon monuments to knowledge like this one? Or will we be able to leave a record that explains our ruin?

That reminds me, it might be worth keeping a journal to document our struggles so far and the hopes I have for finding a solution. Maybe I’ll start that once we are safely back home. Until then, I have to find what I’m looking for.

Thankfully the second floor of the library is mostly traversable. The closer I get to the northwest corner, however, the more I’m forced to climb over collapsed bookcases and debris left from the explosion. Finding anything by Dr. Staples in this ruin is going to be far more difficult than I previously thought. The bookshelves in the research section have been decimated by the explosion and the fire that must have spread afterwards. The shelves that survived the fire have been ravaged by the elements that have come in from the destroyed roof above them.

The closer I get to the section the more discouraged I become. Thousands of research journals and bound dissertations are scattered into heaps, most of which appear unsalvageable. The only journals that appear to still be intact are buried deep beneath collapsed shelves and rubble from the explosion. The most promising trove of knowledge is hidden beneath a large twisted metal beam that collapsed from the ceiling, knocking down several bookcases which must have shielded them from both the fire as well as the elements.

By the time I get to a place where I can see this pile buried deep in the ruins I am partially out of breath from fighting my way over rubble. I sit on a partially intact wooden table that must have once served as a study group table as there are words carved into the wood. They are illegible beneath the grime and the decay of the wood but I can make out a few letters. I fold my arms as I catch my breath and try to puzzle out in my mind how I’m going to extract the tomes of knowledge resting a few yards away. I can’t tell if the metal beam is being held up by the collapsed bookcases or not. There is a good chance that moving the bookcases or removing the journals will cause the beam to collapse further.

Being crushed by hundreds of pounds of metal doesn’t sound like a great way to die, and even if I somehow survive, the sound from the collapse will certainly draw attention from any replicants in the area. Maybe I should have waited for Anne to wake up before I began this exploration of the ruins.

Just as I begin pondering if I’ll be able to accomplish my goal alone I hear a low voice below me say, “Silas? Where are you?”

Anne is awake and she’s standing near the library’s front desk, peering around with a look of concern. I smile down at her and quietly call out, “I’m up here!”

Anne looks around for a moment before she looks up and sees me. Her face immediately turns from concern to annoyance. She’s not happy that I began this effort without her, I’m sure.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” She asks as she walks around the front desk and heads towards the stairwell. I don’t reply to her question but instead return to puzzling out the best way to proceed. I wait patiently as Anne fights her way over and through the rubble. By the time she gets to me she is also partially out of breath.

“I figured I would let you sleep a while longer. It’s not like we often get the chance to really rest.”

Anne frowns at me. Her long dark brown hair is tangled and frizzy from sleeping on the backpack. I don’t mention this because it will only annoy her and I love when she looks like this. It’s just another of her many endearing qualities.

“This place is a mess,” She says, scanning the area around us. “Are you sure we can even find something readable? Most of these books either look burned or waterlogged.”

“There are some in there,” I say, pointing at the pile resting beneath the metal beam.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Silas, there’s no way we can get to those. We would need a crane to move that beam.”

“Not if we clear a tunnel through the collapsed bookcases. I think we could crawl in there and pull everything salvageable out of there.”

“I don’t know, Silas. That beam doesn’t look stable. The entire roof could come crashing down on top of us if we aren’t careful.”

“So we should just go home empty handed?” I ask her, feeling annoyed at her pessimism.

“I didn’t say that...” She answers, giving me a sheepish look. “I just mean maybe we should focus on the things we can easily get to. Some of these might still be readable.”

She leans over, shifts around a broken chair and fishes out a thick journal bound in what once was a glossy white cover. She opens it and lets out a groan. She hands it to me and I fan through the pages. Most of them are water damaged beyond recognition and the ones that aren’t will be difficult to discern without knowing what came before or what comes after.

“Fine, we can try your way first. If we find anything worth keeping we can forget about making the tunnel. But if we can’t find anything, I’m going in there no matter what the risk is.”

“Silas... you could die.”

“We are all dead, Anne. It’s just a matter of time before the replicants wipe out the rest of us. Our only hope of stopping the scourge is to find their weakness. No one in the world seems to know more about the replicants than Dr. Staples did.”

Anne looks at the ground and sighs, “I know... you’re right. Let’s start looking. I want to try to get back home before it gets dark.”

I nod and begin the process of rummaging through the debris we can easily get to. I open everything I can get my hands on but journal after journal is damaged beyond recognition. Worse still, none of them appear to be written by Dr. Staples. Anne and I continue like this for the better part of an hour before I’m ready to give up.

“Anne, this is useless. None of these are salvageable,” I say, the exasperation apparent in my voice.

She lets out a deep sigh and says, “Fine, we’ll try your idea, but we need to be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” I say with a grin.

“I mean it, Silas. You get so excited sometimes that you don’t stop to think. You like to rush ahead and it always gets you in trouble.”

“That’s why I have you here, to rescue me,” I say playfully.

“Oh, shut up and start digging,” She says, shaking her head.

We both head over to the spot that’s closest to the pile of journals and begin to carefully remove broken shelves, ruined books, and chunks of brick from the building's exterior that must have been blown in by the explosion. The work is difficult and a couple of the chunks of roof debris are so heavy that we have to lift them together in order to move them out of the way. After another hour of arduous and careful work we finally make our way to the final bookcases that were crushed by the beam.

“How do you want to do this?” Anne asks, wiping the sweat from her brow. It is nearing midday and the sun is high above us, beaming brightly through the glass ceiling. With every passing minute the temperature in the library seems to be increasing.

“I don’t think we should try to remove the bookcases,” I say, giving them an appraising look. Now that I am close to them it’s become more evident that they are, in fact, helping to keep the beam from collapsing completely. Moving them would almost certainly cause it to fall.

“So what? We just crawl in there and start removing things?”

I nod, “I don’t see any other way.”

“Who is going first?” She asks, eyeing me warily.

“I’ll go. This is my insane idea, no need to put you at risk for it.”

“At least you can see how crazy this is. Just... please be careful Silas.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say as I get down on my hands and knees and start to pull rubble out from beneath the bookcases. I focus on pieces that don’t appear to be holding anything up. The process reminds me of playing Jenga with my family when I was a kid, except now the stakes are much higher. One wrong piece removed could mean the difference between life and death. I am able to clear a triangle shaped opening about three feet wide and about two feet high. It’s just large enough for me to crawl through but not large enough for me to turn around. I’m going to have to make several trips to gather all the journals. I can’t risk looking through them while under the beam, so they all have to come out.

Little by little, trip after trip, I begin the process of extracting all the journals. There has to be at least two hundred of them, ranging from maybe fifty pages in size to several hundred. After the twelfth trip under the beam and out again I stop to take a break. Anne has been sifting through the journals as I pull them out.

“Anything by staples?” I ask, unsure if I should hope for good news.

“Not so far, but most of these do appear to be anthropology journals, which is good,” She says with a hopeful smile.

I nod my head and then return to the task at hand. There are only about thirty journals left to pull out, which takes three trips to extract them all. Once they are all out, Anne and I begin pouring over them in closer detail. She is right that many of the journals appear to be anthropology and archeology focused, but none of them seem to include work from Dr. Staples. After pouring over the last of the journals I let out a sigh of defeat.

“I can’t believe we didn’t find anything,” Anne says, giving me a consoling expression.

I’m feeling too disheartened to respond. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer asking for guidance. Nothing comes except a gentle nudge to look in the cavity that once housed the piles of journals that are now at our feet. I turn to peer into the dark recess and my eye catches something I didn’t see before. Pinned to the floor by a large chunk of brick is one last journal. I get on my hands and knees again and crawl into the now open space.

I feel around the journal to see if there is any easy way to extract it from beneath the chunk of brick. To my dismay it doesn’t budge in the slightest when I try to pull on it. Frowning, I look around the brick and realize that this piece of brick is supporting the bent and mangled bookcase above it. Even if I remove the journal without causing too much disruption to the brick, there is a good chance that the missing inch of space that’s currently occupied by the thick journal will be enough to cause the rubble and beam above me to collapse.

Just as I’m about to give up on any hopes of pulling the journal out, my eye catches some text printed on the spine of the journal. It is facing away from me and in order to read it I have to press my cheek against the metal frame of a bent shelf. Even with this effort I still cannot make out the words because there isn’t enough light coming in to read them.

“Anne, I need the flashlight,” I say, crawling backwards and outstretching my hand towards her. She doesn’t hesitate and fishes the flashlight from the back pocket of her faded and dirty jeans. I take the flashlight and crawl back into the cavity. Pressing my cheek against the metal frame a second time, I click the flashlight on and squint to read the text.

To my great excitement and utter dismay, the spine of the journal reads, “Interconnectivity of ancient peoples by Dr. Ann Staples & Dr. Tori Nygaard.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter in disbelief. What terrible thing did I do in my last life to deserve such a cruel twist of fate. I finally find what I’m looking for, except it’s impossible to actually acquire it; not without serious risk to life and limb.

“What? What is it?” Anne asks impatiently.

“I found what I was looking for but it’s pinned under this chunk of brick that is supporting the weight of the bookcase above it.”

“You can’t pull it out?”

“Not unless I want this entire thing to come crashing down. Besides, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to lift the brick to get to it.”

“Hmm... let me look around to see if there is anything we can use as a lever to lift the bookcase,” she says, disappearing from sight. I fidget with the journal a bit more trying to see if there is any give from a different angle. Nothing so much as budges it, but my fidgeting does cause the debris above me to shift and creak ever so slightly. Is this really worth losing my life? I consider for a moment before Anne returns with a long metal pipe.

“Where did you find that?” I ask.

“I think it must have been part of a sprinkler system attached to the roof. It was already sheared off so, lucky us,” She answers with a proud smile. And there it is, the reason that I’m continuing with this potentially deadly task. She deserves to be happy again, and if I can make that happen then I will. I nod and grab hold of the pipe as she slides it into the cavity I’m in. The pipe must be at least ten feet long, which is long enough for Anne to still hold the far end outside the cavity.

“Okay, I think if I can find a good leverage point you might be able to lift the bookshelf just enough for me to pull the journal out. If you can, I want you to hold it still until I’m able to crawl back out, in case this comes down. Think you can do that?”

“I’ll certainly try, but you better be quick. I’m not exactly a bodybuilder.”

I don’t respond as I look around the area I’m in to see if there is a good place to wedge my end of the pipe. I need to make sure it doesn’t shift to the left or right while she is holding it. I clear out a bit more rubble from in front of me and see the perfect spot. There is a small opening between two heavy looking chunks of brick that don’t seem likely to shift easily. I pull the pipe in a few more inches and place it between the debris. I call back, “Okay, I’ve found the spot. Let me shift myself around and when I say go I want you to lift, okay?”

“Okay, ready.”

I slide myself backwards and angle myself so I can get as good of a grip on the journal as I can. Once I find it I say, “Okay, now!”

I hear Anne grunt in effort and the rubble above me groans and creaks precariously as the bookcase begins to move upwards. I don’t waste any time as I go to work trying to pull the journal out. To my dismay it barely moves. The chunk of brick pinning it down is too heavy to get a good grip.

“Please... hurry... I don’t know... how long I can do this,” Anne says through gritted teeth.

“I’m trying!” I call back. Deciding that the window of opportunity to get this journal is rapidly closing, I turn my attention to the brick and push hard against it. With some serious effort I’m able to get it to topple sideways which is just enough for me to get a good hold of the journal and pull it free. I frantically back up, trying not to trip Anne in the process. I manage to wiggle my way out just in time for her strength to give out. The pipe slips from her hands and both of us are forced to watch the massive rubble pile begin to shift chaotically with a horrendously loud groan of bending metal. The shifting mass culminates in a deafening crash. Worse still, the pile doesn’t seem to stop moving as another horrifying groan issues from below us. To my dismay I watch as the floor beneath the rubble collapses under the shifting weight. Like some enormous garbage disposal, the debris rotates clockwise as it tumbles down to the level below.

“Silas!” Anne cries out, taking hold of my shoulders and pulling me backwards hard. I try to find footing to help her but my shoes slip as the floor immediately beneath me begins to buckle. With only a second to spare she manages to pull me back far enough to escape the drop of the floor. A thunderous crash echoes through the empty library as a suffocating plume of dust is kicked up into the air. I try to cover my face but I’m too late, so I inhale a deep breath of the dust. Anne must have done the same because we are both overcome with fits of coughing.

I get to my feet as she takes my hand and pulls me away from the now gaping hole in the second story floor. We manage to escape the lingering dust cloud enough to catch our breath and survey the wreckage.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” Anne asks with a pained expression.

I cannot help but burst into laughter, which then causes her to also burst into laughter. We probably shouldn’t be laughing but the absurdity of the situation and her question is too funny to ignore.

“Come on, we gotta go,” I say, beginning the trek over the remaining debris. Thankfully the stairs were too far away to be damaged, so running down them is easy. We rush into the records room we’d slept in and grab our packs before heading towards the front door. I stop in the entrance and peer out through the glass doors to see if there are any obvious signs of movement. To my relief there doesn’t seem to be any, but I don’t want to wait around to see if that changes. I push the doors open and begin to jog away from the building with the journal tucked under my arm.

Anne and I continue down the sidewalk for about a hundred yards until we come to another building that must have been the university’s student center. Thankfully this building is also accessible thanks to some looter who’d broken the glass outer door with a brick. Once inside we find a secluded spot in what must have been an apparel store. Sweaters, jackets, t-shirts, and baseball hats are scattered on hooks and shelves throughout the store, all of which have some variation of Lindale University and its logo.

There is a window in the store that looks out over the sidewalk we just ran down. About a hundred yards away I can see the entrance to the library. Both Anne and I watch with bated breath for any signs of replicants converging on the library. After what must have been twenty minutes I let out a long sigh and say, “Miraculously, I don’t think anyone heard us.”

Anne looks at me in disbelief and starts to cry tears of joy. I pull her close to me and hug her tightly, all the while looking through the window for any movement. After a few moments I let Anne go and smile at her.

“I can’t believe we just did that, and for a book no less. I hope it was worth it,” Anne says.

“I certainly hope so,” I say, sitting down on the ground and opening the journal in my hand. It’s easily three hundred pages long and after thumbing through the first couple pages it becomes obvious that it is more or less a text book rather than a single research journal. There are numerous chapters in the table of contents, each with subsections pertaining to different findings and topics.

“Well?” Anne asks expectantly.

“It’s too hard to tell. There are more than twenty chapters. I won’t know if there is anything worthwhile in here until I have time to sift through all of them,” I say, fanning out the pages slowly until I reach the end.

“Wait, what was that?” She asks me, pointing down at the journal.

“What?”

“At the end, here let me see it,” She says, bending down to take it. I hand it to her and watch her in curiosity as she opens the tail end of the journal. “As I thought, look!” She exclaims, holding her finger next to a small paragraph in the center of the last page. To my disbelief she’s pointing at an address and office number for Dr. Staples.

“Dr. Ann Staples, Lindale University, Peterson Hall, #23A,” I read aloud.

“Silas, we walked right past Peterson Hall on our way in last night, it’s just on the other side of the library.”

“Okay... what’s your point?”

Anne gives me a disappointed frown before continuing, “We might find more of her research materials in there, maybe even things that were never published. You have to admit it’s worth taking a look.”

I feel slightly embarrassed that the thought hadn’t occurred to me immediately. I nod and say, “You’re right, per usual. We should go before it gets too late, otherwise we will be hard pressed to make it home before dark.”

“Whatever you say boss man,” She says with a grin.

I shake my head but don’t protest. Before leaving the store, however, I say, “Wait, let’s change out of these dusty clothes. We have plenty of options here.”

She scowls at me suspiciously, “Silas Jones, are you just trying to get me naked?”

I shake my head and say, “I will have you know that I am a gentleman and would never stoop to such low antics.”

“Mmmhmm,” she says to me, rolling her eyes at me before walking over to the shelf with folded t-shirts on it. She thumbs through them and pulls out two of them. She hands me one and says, “Here, now go change over there, and no peeking.”

I shake my head with a grin and take the shirt. Neither of us are truly bashful and we’ve been intimate with one another over the years, but we both agreed that a relationship wasn’t our top priority, even if we are practically inseparable. I walk to my assigned corner, take off my backpack, put the journal inside it, and place it on the floor. I pull my dust covered t-shirt off and toss it in the corner. I look down at my chest to check if there are any bruises or scrapes from the rubble collapsing. I appear to be unharmed. My eyes linger for a moment on the scars along my pectoral muscles from the double mastectomy I had a year before the world ended. They serve as a reminder to me of my choice to pursue a more authentic life.

I shake out the new t-shirt and take a look at the front logo. It’s a blue shirt with white lettering that says, “Lindale University Lions.”

I pull the new shirt on and turn to look at Anne, who is just then pulling her own shirt on as she faces away from me. She peeks over her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she says, “I knew you couldn’t resist checking me out.”

“Yep, you caught me,” I respond as I pull my backpack straps over my shoulders and walk over to her.

She doesn’t say anything at first but instead steps close to me with an unreadable expression. She runs her fingers through my hair and then pats the dust away. Her gaze drops to meet my own and she says, “Blue is a good color on you.”

“You think so?”

“Silas...” she says, her expression turning serious.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

I begin to respond to tell her that I’m not going anywhere but before I can she leans up and kisses me. At first I’m surprised, but then I feel myself melt into the kiss. After a few moments she pulls away and puts her hand against my cheek.

“You know that I love you, right?” She asks.

“Anne...” I reply, taken aback by the sudden affection.

“Just... don’t ever forget that when you’re plunging headfirst into danger.”

“I don’t plunge headfirst into danger,” I protest halfheartedly.

“Wherever you go, I go. We’re in this together,” She says before kissing me one more time. This time when she pulls away she turns to walk out of the store. She takes my hand as she turns and pulls me along behind her. I go willingly as I feel the familiar warmth of love fill my chest.

We don’t speak any more as we make our way out of the student center and back towards the library. There still appears to be no sign of any replicants, which feels odd. There are definitely fewer of them out during the day as most of the lesser replicants never appear when the sun is up, but even still, it’s unlike them to be so absent.

Just as Anne promised, Peterson Hall is just beyond the library. The three story building appears to be much older than either the library or the student center. The gothic design of the building along with the ivy creeping up the exterior give it an eerie, haunted look. The pitch-black windows look down over a field of unkempt tall grass. Amazingly enough, however, the rose bushes that must have been planted many years earlier are in full bloom, leaving a sweet aroma on the wind as we approach.

Unfortunately, unlike the other two buildings, Peterson Hall is locked meaning that Anne is forced to pick the lock while I keep watch. It takes several minutes before she’s finally able to get one of the massive wooden doors at the front of the building to open. Once inside it becomes obvious that we are going to have to use flashlights to make our way through the dark corridors. After a few moments of checking room numbers we figure out that Dr. Staples’s office is down the hallway to the right of the building entrance.

After passing half a dozen classrooms and offices on either side of the hall we arrive at office 23A. Again the door is locked, forcing Anne to pick yet another lock. This one takes less time as the lock is less sophisticated. Once it’s unlocked, she and I enter the office.

“Oh my god,” Anne says as she scans the room.

“No kidding,” I say as I take in my surroundings. The office is completely ransacked. There are papers strewn about all over the floor as well as the desk at the far corner of the office. There are numerous books that have been knocked from a tall bookcase resting against the right wall.

“Silas, look,” Anne says, pointing towards the dimly lit corner just beyond the bookcase. I follow her gaze until I see what she’s pointing at. The skeletal remains of a human hand and wrist are resting on the floor.