New Birds

Then There Were Two Part 3

The cast iron radiator was ancient. Absent of heat and water for at least a century. Its protruding ribs were even less comfortable than the floor. Nevertheless, Marshall F fell asleep against it again. He woke with a start and sat forward. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, hoping a second layer of everything no longer plagued him, but when he looked, the dimly lit room still collided with itself. Just like it had prior to falling asleep. The peeling pink wallpaper still mixed with the yellowed floor tiles, with every other tile appearing to levitate. The long cracks in the ceiling's plaster still penetrated down into the thick curtains that covered the windows. Everything was unreliable now, including at this moment the hour of the day. The only thing he knew for sure was that the stench in the safe house was now unbearable.

He pulled the loose neck of the charcoal grey sweater he wore, which had recently belonged to Marshall C, up over his nose.

Marshall E sat a few feet away, sunk deep into the ruined belly of an old armchair. His knees were up against his chest. His lips and skin were a ghastly shade of pale, with tributaries of protruding blue veins at his temple and jaw line. He would expire soon. Marshall F knew this because the other four Marshalls had looked very similar shortly before they expired, almost a week to the day apart from each other. Marshal F wasn't feeling so terrific either. Apart from his unreliable vision, he had a near-constant headache that sometimes escaped and ran down his spine in brief spurts of pain. He was thirsty, cold, and light-headed. Still, he figured he wasn't yet as wretched looking as Marshall E. Not that he would challenge this by looking in the bathroom mirror anytime soon.

"You said you would find us something to eat," Marshall E said, his voice hoarse.

Marshall F could now add nauseated to his growing list of discomforts with the mention of eating. He had closed the upstairs' bedroom door and stuffed its cracks with cloth, but the air remained heavy with the scent of their dead brothers. Yesterday, when he suggested they open the outside door, Marshall E said no. But had it been this bad yesterday?

Marshall F spoke through the wool of the sweater. "Can you still smell?"

Marshall E nodded.

"So, can we open the door?"

"Carol said under no circumstance," Marshall E said.

"I'm pretty sure it didn't include this one."

"When she returns with the medicine, she will let us air the place out and let us bury them like in the books. We just have to wait a little longer."

Marshall F looked upwards at the ceiling. "She left almost seven weeks ago. I think it's fair to say we waited long enough."

"We're to remain inside and to keep the door locked until she returns," Marshall E said. "It was an order. We don't have a choice in this."

Choice. That was the word that kept returning to Marshall F lately. He ran his fingers through the dust on the tiles and tried not to think about Marshall D convulsing himself into a parody just before his death. He didn't want to witness that again, but even more so, he didn't want to become the very last Marshall, all alone in this house, even if it was most likely for a week's duration.

"Our choice to wait this long for her to return, I believe was a poor one. And for your information, once you die, I am opening that door. I might even walk out and keep walking."

The front door had a twisted oval of frosted glass and a skeleton key lodged in the keyhole. It wasn't keeping them safe. Keeping them hidden. It was just a door. Their remoteness was the only thing protecting them, and their one true barrier was their unwavering trust in Carol and her promises. That one day, she would return with them to the facility, where they would not only gain acceptance but reverence.