Deus Ex Machina: Dusk.

Part 1: Sun. Chapter 3

Staring at the hospital window, Margaret sat on the bunk bed opposite the one where Feb lay before. The sun was totally gone now and the lights were off. It was dark and the room was coated in shadows. In that perfect darkness, it was easier for her to picture Feb standing there with his back curved in defeat as he first glimpsed the city, she could not fathom his expression then.

She watched the waving lines of reflected moonlight from the water that slithered with an inconsistent rhythm on the windowframe and the wall around it, yes. Understanding what went on inside Feb was like predicting the next step of the curved light’s movement.

She stood up and wiped her palms on her long skirt and walked towards the window,

‘…and now this’    She heard Feb in her thoughts as she began observing the nightscape:

The moon was waxing at its fullest on the sky and it painted the water on the streets deep silver. The streets lead to a broken stone archway which was demolished more than a month ago to allow the passage of bulky military transports carrying relief goods into the city, beyond it was the former exit road and breakwater that now merged with the ocean. There was also the wraithlike cluster of boat houses rocking soberly up and down on the waves. These homes were two to four meter long battered fishing vessels hastily converted into living spaces by installing Styrofoam or plastic roofs held up by wooden poles, broken T.V. antennas, steel pipes or other things that could work. Some had warped plywood walls or fishing nets covering their sides for privacy while some had none. A month ago, when the people whose homes were totally swallowed by the water finally realized the possibility that the flood wouldn’t recede soon, they started making these and soon clustered into small groups that grew in size day by day.

Margaret watched a small boat house move towards the cluster, its owner, guided by moonlight and a lit kerosene lamp carefully navigated between the sunken roofs which looked like rusted rocks over the flood, Margaret thought that the boat’s immaculately white Styrofoam roof looked horribly misplaced.

‘Fuck!’

The boat heaved to a sudden stop as Margaret heard the owner curse loudly. He walked unsteadily towards the front of the boat, moving the kerosene lamp slowly from side to side as he checked his vessel for any damage. He set the lamp down and with his hands did an assessment of the wooden flooring after doing so, Margaret saw him take the lamp and carry it above the surrounding water, moving with calculated precision like it was a hand-carried sun. the lamp’s dim glow illuminated the flood.

Even from the hospital window, which was around ten meters away from the boat; Margaret could see the suspended specks of dirt and sandy particles through the sallow light. She saw that the boat was a faded red color as she quietly watched the man pick up a wooden rod and use it to poke a half-submerged debri in the flood. The man gave it a sharp thrust to the side, piercing and lodging a third of his long rod into its apparently soft and rounded surface. He tried to pull It out with a grunt.

‘Fuck!’

She heard him curse again as he failed to do so, the water splashed with the man’s effort and it brought the debri into the light.

‘it’s another one’   Margaret thought with dread as she saw the man finally pull his rod away from the center of a gaping cross shaped wound on the corpse’s chest. She saw a broken rib sticking out of its bloodless flesh, her palms sweated coldly and she again wiped it on the cloth of her skirt.

A picture of five naked women floating lifelessly over clear afternoon waters came over her, their mouths wrinkled shut by stitches and their breasts spread apart by the same wounds that she now sees. She remembers Sophia’s high pitched scream. Margaret’s throat ached as bile threatened to rise.

She shut the window and rested her head on its glass pane until she felt its indifferent cold caress her skin. She remembered all the dead she’d seen since a month ago, the daily surfacing bodies from the water, the ones spread-eagled on the roofs, dead nuns, and mutilated flesh. She thought about how every new death seemed less important than its last, and then her thoughts went back to the day when Feb left.

Margaret watched him stare blankly at the sunken streets from the window with his hands fiercely gripping its window frame. Her hands were still on his arm and she could feel the tension in Feb’s muscles as he looked on in silence.

‘You need to rest’    Margaret said to him, barely moving her lips as she exerted a little pressure in her grip.

‘I must get home now’    Feb quiveringly declared, ignoring what Margaret just said.

‘Please you must rest Feb’    giving his arm a light tug directed towards the bed.

She heard the squeak of the window frame as his hands abused it further. The veins on Feb’s neck were visible in the morning light.

‘Please’   she pleaded again; her palms were starting to sweat.

Feb gave out a long sigh as he released his grip on the window frame and lowered his head.

‘I can’t believe it Margaret’   He said weakly.

‘Robert… and now this’   Feb spoke with a flash of anger, raising his hands towards the city as if to further hammer on his point.

Margaret just watched him until he calmed and finally let her guide him back towards the bed at the other end of the room. They sat up on the bed. He turned his eyes towards her.

‘He was my only family’    He voiced shakily, paused and flatly continued:

‘I must go home Margaret’    He said, clenching his fist on his lap. She saw the dark circles under his eyes and a feeling of tiredness swept her.

‘Family’   the words rang inside Margaret’s mind, she remembered the naked bodies of her fellow nuns floating directly in front of the hospital, their faces contorted in agony and their opened flesh, revealing their insides like a parted curtain.

The screen door’s sudden cry brought Margaret back from her reverie as Sophia burst in and half ran towards her, her footsteps echoing against the tiled floor.

‘Margaret!’   Sophia whispered in a panicked voice, her expression was worried. Margaret took Sophia’s hands into hers and rubbed them slowly, they were cold.

‘What is it dear?’   Margaret asked, she felt a slight tremor run on Sophia’s arms.

‘I-it’s Maria and Paul… they’re outside’   she squeaked. The terror was plain in her eyes.

Upon hearing this, Margaret felt a sudden mix of anger and fear rush through her veins and her palms started to sweat again. She breathed heavily and tried to calm herself down. No, Sophia must not see her fear, she thought, erasing in memory the things about Maria and Paul that acted like a cold hand that dug thru her flesh.

She glanced at Sophia and steeled her knees.

‘Come’    she said, holding her hands tight, and with strong steps, lead Sophia to the door.