The buildings were flaked memories of the colorful history they'd been. The ones that still masqueraded as structures were inhabited by gangs that terrorized the remains of the great city. The world was undergoing its second wave. During the first wave the poor perished in the millions, as the earth failed them first. The rich were able to buy armies and secure resources. The richest nations were the ones that'd been able to hold onto the luxury goods the longest; they also held onto the illusion of control the longest.
With the first wave the most fragile and displaceable perished. They died in a wave across the landscape and the corpses were buried in mass by the large armies. There was a mini-wave of death as the resources became scarce and violence overwhelmed the waning civilization. And now, food once again was failing and the earth was not responding. What was left of civilization was on the edge and, despite the disconnectedness of everyone, it was well known.
Without words Zhen made a gesture and Totem rushed the man that stood opposite the desk and seized his head like a sponge and brought it down onto the floor. It bounced and he slammed it until it was soft and the floor was a mess. Zhen stood up and walked to the corpse.
"Serve it to the men."
And with that Totem dragged the weight from the room and Zhen was alone. He looked down and there was a tooth. He smirked and bent down, picked it up and walked to the window. It contained no glass but that didn't matter. Everyone slept in the hallways of the building. He looked out this empty window, there was smoke rising halfway to the mountain. Fewer trees were budding this year, again. The forest was being invaded by a single vine that spread from dead limb to dead limb. At least it was a green. Large stands of dead pulp dominated the volcanic hills. At times he wished the volcano would again rise and swallow the entire ugly mess they'd all become. He sat, thinking. When he heard a knock and a timid voice offered,
"Zhen, K is here."
Zhen paused with this. Why? Why was K there? They were at war, weren't they? What was this?
"Send him in." Zhen tried to control his voice.
"Well, well. And what is this?"
"Cut it Z. I'll be brief because I know you know this. The federals are regrouping, they say they've found water and food and have been recruiting an army. They're coming after us. The two that control everything."
"I have heard this." Zhen sat down.
"They'll destroy us if we don't unite and probably even if we do. You know this. I know you do. They don't want anything from us, they don't want control over us, all they want is to destroy us. To make room."
Zhen sighed and looked away. He had heard the rumors. This had been a long time in coming and he looked through the window and acknowledged this truth. There was smoke rising to the south and he heard the smashing of glass.
He looked back to K and they discussed plans.
*
There was no reason for him to be out there, in his dry field; but the reasons for staying were like trying to breathe under a mountain of earth. He sat at the edge of the field that, years ago, was billowing with maize—tall as a tree by early summer, he'd got two rotations in that summer…
Laid out before him the landscape was like this, memories spoiled in endless, tortured, rock-like earth, crumbling in a broken mosaic. He stood and began to walk across it, away from his wife and their small child. They would all starve if the rain didn't return. And it wouldn't. This was the sixth summer in a row and he had diminished his supply to a week. Their diet had been homogenous for a year now, a bland liquid of oats. Two times a day, weaning to one, now. Soon they'd eat dirt. Then die. It was a sentence, issued long ago.
The child's tears had long since dried and it only sulked with sunken eyes. The world it knew was a hideous place. The cities were worse. At least the child had a calm, quiet, death to consider. Instead of the chaotic, cannibalizing of the weak. Yes, it is true, one death can be better than another.
He'd almost had an empire, then. Now, it was him, again. It had always, only, been him; but it'd been so much easier to fool himself when there were dozens of field hands constantly buzzing about the house. The small opportunity for solitude was a blessing, then. Now, it was a curse strangling the passion from his spirit. There is nothing left, he thought.
Even the farm tools were gone. The only things left now were archaic hoes and rakes. The knives were all dull and rusted. The cows were long dead and the bones waited on top of the earth—the earth had stopped nearly all processes. The chickens had starved and were eaten. There were very few trees left on the landscape and the ones that held strong were diseased and dying.
The earth was cruel. Why was it that, when he was young and rich and powerful, did the time slip by unnoticed like a river. And now, as the earth was cruel and broken, did it slide by like a square wheel over his barren land. If the tools were sharp he'd slice his neck. If his daughter would die he'd walk east. Walk until there was someone he could rob. Walk until there was a margin of green in this hell on earth.
And with that thought he stepped again, further onto the flaking earth. He took a step and listened to the earth crumble. He looked to the dry heavens and put his arms out. He cursed as heavily as his mind would allow, he revolted against everything, there in his mind, as his body remained motionless.
Water was waiting in his eyes. He put his arms down and his frame sunk. Then he noticed it far on the horizon. His stomach dropped and he nearly fainted, growing light-headed. This was worse than death. He saw them like a mirage, floating on top of the broken earth, as if on a plate of glass. Skating toward him with an ease that was all but forgotten on the land.
He watched the army approach and he sighed and acknowledged the end.
*
The army stood on a hill and the leader began speaking.
"You're here because you're lucky. You should all be dead. We should all be dead. All of us, make no mistake about that. We failed and we're lucky. There is no special trait you carry that has preserved you this long. You should be dead and you should act accordingly. There is nothing to live for, remember." The speaker roared to the meek mob of men.
"You are nothing. We are nothing and you are only now, here, in this army, to preserve your existence. You are fighting for yourself, for one more day. There is no ideal we are seeking. We are not brothers. We are not countrymen. We are strangers and we are united by the simple fact that we need each other to survive. You are here because you are not dead. And now, for a future, we will fight. Not for a common goal, but a future for man. For man to once again be able to walk in a peaceful garden, in a forest, to be able to walk through a city and marvel at an inspiring architecture.
"You are fighting to be able to live."
The leader spoke and no one cheered. No one said a word. The massive crowd that was informed they were an army stood there silent. Many had not heard and the message began filtering back, reduced and simplified. The leader left the hill and was lost in the crowd.
That night the core of the federals walked among their army and distributed a dark and charred meat. They carried what was left of the guns that could be found. Most of the army had sharpened metal; crude and anachronistic weapons. They would kill, though.
And in three weeks time the crowd marched after another speech by the leader. They marched, hungry and reluctantly, with the promise of food and away from the promise of death. The leader got up and spoke of alcohol, of marvelous feasts upon their victory.
The crowd responded to this and became an army. They marched as the leaders led and fired their guns, saving as many bullets as they could, as the crude tools sliced necks and bludgeoned torsos. They went back through the small villages and countryside and slaughtered every male that had hid and chosen not to join their cause in the initial round-up. They slaughtered pregnant women, as that was the point.
Troops that would raid houses and barns in search of food. Each night they would roast the corpses and the army would feast and grow fat and attain a vicious thirst for blood.
After marching through the countryside they caught their first glimpse of the city and it was the first time many had seen the mass of structures. Many slowed as they marveled. The army, though, pushed the slow on and they marched with their single purpose.
There was brutal fighting when the army entered the city. They were ambushed and the federals with guns slid back into the crowd and shot from the safety of the mass of men. Tens of thousands died and that was the point, as the federals found safety and pushed the others on, bribing them with the only promises that mattered.
The gangs of the city fought back skillfully and valiantly, but the amassed force of the army was too much and the amorphous blob pushed through the city until it had wiped out the resistance and sent them scattering. The leaders gathered a smaller force that night and they went through the city. Killing everyone they saw that was not part of the recruited army.
For one month they did this. And then, periodically, afterward. They fed their massive army with the corpses. Until the bodies ran out. Then, they started to selectively kill the members of their own army, feeding them to the remaining soldiers. Some fled back into the hills. Some hid in the broken city.
But enough were dying. And they continued this killing until there were under 1,000 left. Under 1,000 that were visible in the city and in the surrounding area. They killed until the weeds began to emerge from the broken city. They killed until the trees again dropped fruit and the heavens rained and the rivers carried water to the ocean. They killed until the cracks and scars of the earth melted and healed. They killed with a self-righteous purpose they assigned themselves. They killed until they found a reason not to.
