Skye City: The Darkness of Emmilyn

The Ruined Base

I wake in the sleeping quarters with my heart pounding, following a tormenting dream, and it seems as though I have returned to the time when I was awaiting Arturo and Myla's return. Then it occurs I am still waiting, that although our circumstances have changed significantly, the wait continues. And then a worse thought occurs: this wait may last the rest of my life. I may never receive answers. I may never receive closure.
The gang are sound asleep with the exception of Smig who is sitting in the corner, beside the food supplies, eating messily. I climb from my bunk and sit beside him on the food-splattered tiles, saying, 'Morning.'
'Hey,' Smig says, shovelling canned mashed potato into his mouth, spilling some on his beard, resembling a homeless bum, but my layers of grubby clothes mean I probably look no better.
'I really thought we were coming here for safety, for answers, but the answers are never coming, are they?' I say wearily.
'What do you mean?' Smig says.
'No-one's gonna be able to tell me Arturo's dead. No-one's gonna be able to tell me Nelson's dead. No–'
'Whoa, why the sudden pessimism?' Smig says.
'The body I found yesterday – I didn't even know his name. I can't tell his friends, family... So many are dying. Some are leaving no trace. Even the ones that are leaving a trace, it's not like someone can come and identify them, or give them a funeral. The dead will simply be collected and incinerated, and people will spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened, hoping for the miracle that will never come. The hope for miracles is becoming exhausting, Smig.
'Every time I think I've found one, it gets taken away, snuffed out, like I am being deliberately tormented. It makes me think the Goddess is real, and this is some sick game she plays. We are just her toys...'
'I thought you might have a sensible point until you mentioned the Goddess!' Smig rummages through the supplies and retrieves a six-pack of Dog beer. He removes a can from the plastic ring and hands it over to me, but I hesitate.
'It's always our answer, isn't it? Getting smashed. Always has been, ever since we drank our first beers, way back when I was ten. Since then, alcohol or drugs has been our crutch. It's a wonder I've lasted so long.
'They say it's toxic, did ya know that? I didn't believe it for a while. Thought it was San Teria's way of stopping us having fun, but heavy drinkers always die young. And then there's the fact you end up in a state, dunno what you're doing. We can't be smashed when danger's all around us,' I say.
'Are you really saying you'd rather be sober when we're stuck in here? Bullets and missiles don't care how wasted you are, and it's not like being sober will help you outrun them.' Smig cracks open the can I refused and gulps the beer down, gasping.
Sighing I remove a can from the plastic ring and do the same, and the crack and fizz prompts the others to climb from their bunks. They eagerly stumble to the corner, sit on the cream floor tiles, and five sleepy-heads drink Dog beer for breakfast. Shit, why not?
'So what's the plan? We stick around here until supplies run out? I suppose it's perfect camouflage with all the corpses outside. No sane person would choose to stay,' I say.
'You can say that again. Perhaps we're all crazies now and we don't even know it!' Bex chuckles and I take three gulps of beer to calm my nerves.
'Yeah, maybe we've been having bursts of insanity and running around, biting people, and then we have no m-memory!' Oscar says, and as I gaze wide-eyed at this ramshackle bunch, their theory is all too plausible. I mean my own mental health is far from stable, yet I am probably the level-headed one.
'You know what? You laugh, but that might be the scariest thing you've ever said. How would we even know?' I say.
'Like you said, no sane person would stick around here. In fact, no sane person would stick with these boys, but here we are!' Bex says.
'Hey!' Scoop and Oscar say together, frowning, and I feel a sense of pity not normally reserved for the boys. A sense of appreciation for my fellow crazies who are getting me through this nightmare, one way or another. They rarely have anything useful to say, yet they can still be productive in their own haphazard ways, and they offer company, even if they are incredibly annoying. Alone I would have surrendered to my fate by now.
'You know what? We give these two a hard time, but if there's one thing I can say about them, they're loyal. Wimpy, but loyal. Always have been. Maybe we go too far. It's easy to forget boys have feelings too,' I say.
'Fuck, Emmi, this war's making you grow a heart as well as a backbone. I miss my cheeky little airhead. When did you start thinking?' Bex says.
'When I had to, I guess,' I say.