When the World Ends

The Cellar

Let's play I-spy.

I remember her saying that as we walked through what used to be Kansas. And I had looked at her, and raised my eyebrows, and she'd said, It's something to do. Walking is boring.

Everything's gray. What do you expect me to spy?

She had pointed and said, There's a dead tree. Then she'd pointed again and, There's a dead bird. (Point) Dead plant. (Point) Dead--

Stop! I'll play, I'll play, just don't spy anymore dead things. I've had enough of that.

Ok. I spy, with my little eye...something gray. 

You're a dick, Robin.

She'd laughed and said, Sorry, sorry, I just couldn't help it. Fine. Something...red.

I had looked around. We were walking through country side, empty fields and old farmlands surrounding is. 

I don't see anything.

Look harder.

I don't know. Your clothes? 

No. I'm wearing blue, you dummy.

I know. 

So guess again.

I give up.

It's a barn, silly. Up ahead. See it?

I had squinted and looked and finally spotted the faint outline of the barn. 

I see it now. 

Let's go towards it. For shelter tonight, 'cause it looks like it's gonna rain.

You just wanna snoop around.

Ehhh? That's not true!

It is too.

I like exploring, Keane.

The little boy, who had been quiet until now, tugged on Robin's shirt and said, I'm tired. Can we stop soon?

She'd stopped walking and bent down to speak to him at his own height, We're going to that red thing out there. You see it?

Yeah.

Can you walk that far?

My legs hurt.

I'll carry you.

She had picked the boy up and we had begun walking again. At that point, he still had not told us his name. Later, we would learn it, but it wouldn't matter. We wouldn't be able to use it for long.

It took us two hours before we had arrived at the barn. The door was locked, and I had begun to try and pick the lock before she pulled up the Welcome mat, and up she came with a key.

Spare key.

I was picking the lock.

Keys work better.

Stop with your common sense.

She had smirked and unlocked the barn door, and then she had picked the little boy back up and we had gone inside.

The inside of the barn was empty. It had only a cement floor, no stables, no animals. It was more like a storage shed than a barn. The windows were boarded up, and hay was piled in a corner, along with a shovel and several other gardening tools. Shelves were built into the wall, with cans of animal feed resting on top.

And in the floor, a cellar was built. 

And she said, Keane, look.

It's a cellar, I know. Tornado safe house and such.

No, this barn is used for storage. So it's probably for storage, too.

Storage for what?

She had set the little boy down and had begun making him a place to sleep in the hay. 

Then, she'd said, Food. Farmers store food for the winter. Preserve it in jars.

I had gone over to the cellar door as she said that, but it was locked. I looked around for a key, but found none. So I had told her, I'll go see if there's a house anywhere near. Barns have farmers, so I'll see if they're still around.

That's dangerous, Keane.

I won't go inside if I see anybody. I'll just come back. When I do, I'll try and pick the lock.
Ok. Be careful.

I will.

And I had left after telling her to lock the barn door behind me, hearing the bolt slide into place as soon as I shut the barn door.

Funny how those words used to be an American saying. Things like that don't matter much, now, though.

'Be careful' held no meaning anymore. You were careful, or you died. There were no second chances.

When I had managed to finally open the cellar door, I began the descent down the cellar's steep stairs. I remember setting each foot down carefully, because the steps had been uneven and, oddly, damp.

   And when I'd reached the bottom, I'd quickly realized why.

   Bodies hung from ropes. The bodies had no skin; they were only a bloody mess. I prayed that they weren't human, and was relieved to find that they were the corpses of animals. The stairs had been damp with their blood.

   Then I'd realized that the blood was fresh. That meant that someone was still here.

   I'd run back up the stairs as quickly as I could, but I slipped and fell when my shoe skidded on the puddle of blood that resided on a step. And I'd fallen backwards, back down however many stairs I had already climbed, and hit the bottom step hard with my back. I'd tried to catch my fall with my arm; that had been rewarded with a loud cracking noise.

   Pain had flared through my arm. Tears had sprung to my eyes. My head screamed in pain; my whole body did, actually. 

   After I'd laid there for awhile, I'd stood up and walked more carefully up the stairs. I pushed open the cellar door. I walked back to the area of the barn where she and Ollie waited.

   And she'd screamed when she'd seen me, Keane!

   Oh, right, I'd thought. I'm covered in blood.

   We need to go, I'd told her, someone still lives here. There're animals strung up down there. Dripping blood. It's fresh.

   So she'd nodded and taken the animal feed and put what would fit into her bag. Then she'd picked Ollie up and told him that we'd have to find a different place to sleep tonight.

   We didn't, though. Ollie slept in her arms, but there was nothing but emptiness for miles further. We'd ended up sleeping in the middle of a field, with her keeping watch while Ollie and I slept. Then, I'd taken my watch.

   My wrist turned out to be the cause of my pain. I'd sprained it. It had never quite healed right, though. I'd tried to move it as she slept, but pain flared up every time I'd tried to.

So I stopped trying to move it, and instead turned my attention to her as she slept. The only time that I couldn't see the permanent hurt in her eyes were when they were closed.

I'd stared up at the sky, at the stars that I couldn't see through the permanent gray ash. And I'd realized that there were no longer any crickets chirping, or owls hooting into the night. It was deadly silent.

That night for me had been long and frighteningly quiet. 

And I'd stopped lying to myself that the corpses in the cellar were those of animals.

Because animals didn't have long, curly blonde hair growing from their heads. 

When morning came, we'd continued on our way. 

And I'd never told her what I'd really seen. But I know she knew, even without me telling her. Because she never brought up the subject of the cellar again, nor why I'd been so insistent on us leaving immediately.

We'd both come to realize how horrific this world had become. We did not feel the need to speak of it aloud.