Sector 9-11

When I dream of my perfect life—the ideal one that only ever exists in my imagination—I envision endless light. The UV rays from the sun beam down on me from above. They envelop every inch of my skin exposed. In this dream, I exist no further than as a houseplant albeit with more complicated emotions. My skin cells photosynthesize the energy into nutrients to support the growth of my limbs as I stretch up and out to reach into the sky. Only once I have made it up into the clouds do I reach transcendence: pure Nirvana. Given this ideality, I can only hope that how I exist in present is as a seedling: expanding and strengthening my roots. The water that stimulates my growth soaks into the soil, my home, and fills me up from the inside. Nourishing me. The darkness that surrounds me exists only temporarily as I gain the resilience to sprout—to thrive—above ground.

Day 654:

My building is surely deserted. The rest of the tenants are long gone by now. It leaves an eerie silence, almost deafening, when I stand to listen in the halls. Yet, if I open my windows, the flood of chaos ensuing on the streets below—the whoosh of fires igniting, the crunch of property dismantled—is still loud enough to wash all remnants of quiet away. The virus spread, and it spread terrifyingly fast, killing off millions across the nation. For some, they were simply driven mad, but for others the agony, the suffering, and finally, the dying followed swiftly. My mother passed within a month of contracting it, while my father simply walked out alone into the street one evening never turning to look back. I’m sure he is somewhere out there if mania has yet to take over his brain. After so many days alone I no longer possess the feeling of deep longing that I once held waiting for his return.

In the beginning of it all, I had gotten sick too. I thought that I was dead, and resigned to the fact that my short, inconsequential life had come to an end so quickly. Somehow, one day I miraculously recovered. That is, until I began to lose my sight. There’s times when I wish I had died rather than to sit here in general health, yet completely alone, and unable to escape from this makeshift prison I call home. I’m a sitting duck wading in a pond above the city filled with creatures capable of killing me in one foul swoop. The most ironic part of it all is that I wouldn’t even see them coming.

As each day passes I find the details of my living space blurring further and further into something indiscernible. One day, I’m sure I won’t be able to see anything at all. I grasp at the chain of my necklace, a heart shaped locket, that I know from memory holds the only image I have of my Jack. I trace my fingers along its shape remembering the sparkle in his eyes as he smiled at me coyly. I hope I never forget it.

I creep carefully over to my desk to switch on the hot spot in hopes of catching a video call from him. He lives in sector 1-11, the Triton sector, where those untouched by the virus escaped and fled. It’s a sector devoted primarily to the rich and privileged, where I hear many live as if the virus doesn’t even exist. Jack never shares much with me on what it’s like, but I know he lives well, eats well, sleeps well. I’m almost positive he lives contently in the comforts of oasis, and far, far away from the terror that exists so painfully for others, for me. Those who live in 1-11 all do. He’s always lived far away, but now the distance between us seems much more insurmountable than before. One day, he says, he will come for me… save me from this underserved penitentiary. I can see him now, kicking down my door and swooping me up into his arms before whisking me away to the comfort and safety of 1-11. Once there we’d finally be together, and he could keep me safe just like he’s always promised. He will take care of me, which as of now is something I can only fantasize about in the nights when I stare emptily into darkness until sleep consumes me. It’s just not time, yet. It’s not safe.

The screen of my laptop chimes as a call comes in. I scramble quickly over to the screen, stubbing my toe on the coffee table. I howl in pain, but manage to hobble to the mouse pad as quickly as I can. Before I can orient my face close enough to the screen to find the answer button it goes blank. I groan in frustration. Stupid, stupid! I hurry to call him back, but the connection isn’t strong enough to reconnect us. I shut the screen forcefully, and contemplate whether throwing it against the wall would be more satisfying than the disappointment I would feel later if it was broken beyond repair. I reconsider, and instead reopen it on the off chance he’s able to call me back again.

From what Jack has told me they are allotted only five calls a week in Triton, one of which, he just wasted because I couldn’t get it together quickly enough to answer. I am glad to be living, and awaiting the love of my life to come to my rescue, I am glad I am not buried in a shallow grave next to my mother out back, I am glad to have only fallen blind as opposed to killed by intruders desperate to secure their own means of survival. Still, the sheer anger, frustration, and helplessness I feel make me wonder if it’s all worth it. Surprisingly, just as I submit to my own pitiful shame spiral, the screen pops up with another incoming call. This time, I am able to answer immediately.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” It struggles to connect. Someone is on the screen in front of me. The connection crackles, but holds. From their voice I can tell it is not my Jack.

“Um, hello?” I respond hesitantly.

“Can you see me? Is the picture clear?” They ask. It’s a man’s voice. I can make out the short cut of his hair, the dark halo of his beard.

“Um, h-hi. I don’t know. I can’t see much at all.”

“What, is it poor connection? I don’t want to hang up in case I can’t get back to you. Is that okay? Are you okay?” he probes lightly.

“I-I’m okay as I could be. You know, besides existing within an actual apocalypse. Oh, and I can’t fucking see anything well enough to leave this godforsaken apartment.”

“Wow, um I’m guessing you don’t get out much then, do you?” He laughs. It’s a deep belly chuckle. I like the sound. I try to focus on keeping my facial expressions neutral in order to avoid acknowledging the pounding of my heart in my chest. “Lost your sight, huh? Must be repercussions of the virus… We’ve got a few like that here, too. What sector are you in?”

“I don’t know you… why would I tell you where I live? No. I shouldn’t tell you anything.” I shake my head frustrated at myself, at him? I’m not sure. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Well, I could just track your IP address, but I figured it would be more cordial if I asked you instead…” I blink in contemplation before deciding to acquiesce to him.

“I’m in 9-11.”

“Ohh, 9-11, huh? I heard it’s pretty rough out there.”

“You’re telling me…”

“What’s your name? Are you there alone? How long have you been there? I can’t even imagine how you have managed to take care of yourself with your vision going left.” I see his blurry head shake slowly. His pity makes me angry despite my acknowledgement that my situation does appear quite grim.

“Who even are you? What do you want me to say? I don’t get it. I’m trapped. I’m going blind. That’s it.”

“Are you always this angry?”

“Are you always inquiring personal information from strangers you root out online?”

“I’ll take that as a yes… How about if I tell you more about myself? Would that make you more comfortable?” I nod reluctantly without saying anything further. “Okay, I’m Guy. I live in sector 7-89. I have-”

“Do you really expect me to believe that your name is Guy?” I know I interrupted, but it seemed quite ridiculous that a random man named Guy claimed to find me.

“My name is Guy… can I finish my introduction?” He pauses to ensure I don’t have any further words to add. “Thank you. As I was saying, I have a bulldog named Buddy and I live in a safety compound way out here in good ol’ 7-89. I have never contracted the virus, and I happen to work for one of the rebel districts. We’re attempting to develop a vaccine for all those lost souls out there. Any other questions?”

“How did you find me?”

“Now, that’s a great question that I’d love to answer for you. Thank you for that.” My interest piques at his graciousness. No one has been thankful for me in a while, not with my depleted vision ensuring I’m a handicap to anyone who chooses to care for my livelihood. “I’m a hunter. We caught glimpses of your signal a few times over the past couple weeks, but this was the first time there wasn’t an interference. Must’ve been a bad connection or something. That happens all the time when it comes to this…” I knew immediately the reason why the connection wouldn’t work in the past was due to my conversations with Jack, but I let him continue uninterrupted regardless. “Like I said, we’re in the works of trying to create a vaccine for this virus. We also happen to run rescue missions. Would you be interested?”

“Who is this ‘we’, really? The majority of the population is either dead or dying.”

“What? You mean you don’t know about the other sectors?”

Of course I knew of the other sectors. Everything was either evacuated or taken over by those the virus has yet to completely destroy, “What do you mean about the other sectors?”

“Wait, hmm. Can you please tell me your name? Then I can answer all your questions.”

“I’m Clem… Clementine, but you can call me Clem.”

“I like that name, Clementine. Nice to meet you, sort of not really, Clementine.” When he said my name it was almost as if he tasted it on his tongue. Each syllable rolled over his taste buds as if he savored each letter.

“It’s Clem.”

“I like Clementine better.” I may not be able to see much, but I did notice his white teeth glint as his lips curved up into what I could only assume was a charming grin. “I have a proposition for you Clementine… you want in?” My skin prickled with nerves. A proposition? What could he offer me all the way from sector 7-89?

“What do you want?” I asked hesitantly. He paused before answering and shuffled what looked like documents in his hands.

“Nothing, really. I can come get you, though. How does that sound? Road trip to 7-89, how about that?” I froze. He couldn't contain his whoop of excitement. What did he mean? From what I knew, in this quiet existence of my building, I had never heard that much of anyone had survived outside of the Triton sector.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. It’s not safe. I mean… you can’t come get me.”

“Oh yes, I can.”

“Guy…”

“Clementine… I’ll see you soon.”

Call disconnected.