What to do Now?

     His eyes suddenly snapped open, his mouth gapping as he took in an almighty gasp of air only to abruptly scream it out as he sat up, his hands grasping for a foot that was no longer there… only to find that it was where it had always been. The pain had receded into memory in but an instance and he was left grabbing his bare leg. After a few more deep breaths he began to calm down for the first time in what felt like a century. He took a moment to look around, realizing he was in a rather large and empty room. An abandoned office space, perhaps.

     “Okay…” He muttered, reaching up to remove his glasses and rub his eyes, diminutively noting that one of the lenses - while still present - had been cracked.

     Seeing as he wasn’t in any immediate danger he turned his attention back to his mystically re-attached limb. It appeared much like it had any other time he had given it notice, only that he was down one shoe and missing most of his left pant leg below the knee. He wiggled his toes freely, even tentatively pinching and prodding at the flesh to banish any thought that he was hallucinating the appendage. With suspicions put to rest he rose to his feet and found that he could, in fact, bear his own weight.

     Taking a breath and closing his eyes, he struggled to remember what had happened between his last breath and this new reality. He knew he was missing something, much like someone who had left their house quite unprepared. There was something like a dream that happened after his death and much like a dream it became less tangible in his waking reality. All he could gather of his memories were dozens of eyes opening in the darkness; peering at him and a garbled sentence that, for the life of him, he could only remember one word: ‘Pneuma’.

     It had no particular meaning to him, beyond definition. He shook his head, discontented with his memory and his situation. He paused and glanced across the empty room, noticing that brilliant sunlight was streaming in through the windows that ran the length of the building. It wasn’t dissimilar to where he once worked, but something drew him towards the glass; to gaze upon the outside world. As his eyes adjusted to the clear afternoon sky before him he was quite shocked to see a familiar yet entirely alien world.

     Beyond the panes of glass was an immense city, a metropolis stretching out to the horizons. There were buildings that scraped the sky, but unlike the massive towers of glass and steel he knew, these were ornately built; an air of aesthetic class about them from an age only recently passed. Every building was built with such an apparent care and dignity about them that it struck him with awe; much in the same way the centuries old cathedral near his home had. He was in the perfect place to witness the grace of the city, in an office tower that was built on top of a rise in the land.

     Yet, as he looked onward, a great sadness welled up within him as he realized that he was looking upon but a gilded corpse. The city had been long dead and abandoned by those who built and maintained it. Far below the pavement was obviously cracked and worn; grasses and small trees forcing their way up from the exposed soil. The buildings around him, as proud as they were, had the telltale signs of being worn down by weather and great drapes of vegetation grew upon their sun-ward walls.

     “Where in the world am I?” He whispered to himself as he leaned closer to the window to look around this fantastic city.

     His mind was blank for a few minutes. He had no idea what it was he could, much less what he was supposed to do. There was something of an unknown quality of where he was. Such a place could have only been seen in novels of fiction and within the daydreams of Utopians. It was also wretchedly quiet, the usual daytime clamour of crowds and traffic absent; even so high up in this building.

     Suddenly there was a panic the likes of which he had never felt before and he pushed himself away from the window. Stumbling back to the blank, white wall he had woken up beside he took a seat and tried to calm himself down. In his fidgeting he realized he still had his satchel on him and began to dig through it. Anything to distract himself from what loomed outside.

     Remarkably, all of his belongings had been spared from the explosion and his fall. He felt himself smile ruefully, as he had brought everything along that he could think would help him in his escape from the country. He had imagined himself trekking along old roads made of packed dirt, sleeping in the undergrowth to hide from the military patrols until he had finally fled into a country untouched by the hell that had grown in his own. The thought made him look down and notice that his sidearm was still nestled in it’s Kydex holster.

     Dully, he paused in his rummaging: ‘I wonder what use this will be to me. If there is a society out there, would they even let me keep it? Do I dare imagine if there’s no society out there, at all?’

     He scoffed at himself and shook those thoughts away, resuming his ferreting of the leather pack. In one of the pockets he rediscovered two extra magazines for said service pistol and a rather pitiful handful of cartridges. Within another pocket there resided something much more important. Simple in form; two leather bound and aged books, so innocuous yet commanding respect. One book thick, the other slim yet it was just action for thousands to be smote over the basic act of possessing them.

     With tightened jaw he lashed the pocket shut and that too he shoved away from his mind. If he wasn’t so weak in constitution he would have flung them out into roaring hellfire, yet he held onto them in a vague sense of duty. It was a bitter obligation, he thought to himself.

     Opening the main compartment of the bag he hoped to find something that didn’t dredge up fears of past and future. There were a few journals that he always kept close to him. One of them held all of the chemical synthesis that he needed for his job, something he just couldn’t part with. Another he considered to be his hobby chemistry notes; diagrams, lists, thoughts on making compounds out of household chemicals and ingredients of dubious quality. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he withdrew the book and flipped through it, glad rain nor fragmentation had wounded it.

     Then came the last volume. This one was empty, save for a couple of pencils that had been taped to it’s inside cover. A refuge for a man’s thoughts.

     Finally there were the more practical affects: a road-map of his country and the surrounding states, a sturdy multi-tool in a pouch to be worn on a belt, a raincoat that had been rolled up. Digging deeper into the bag there was a lighter - full of butane - a wristwatch which he fastened around his left wrist binoculars and, perhaps what was most important for immediate survival: A water bag with a filtration straw.

     That was the last of his possessions, meager though they were it theoretically was enough to keep him alive for at least a few days. However, now that he was left without distraction, the panic inducing thoughts crept back to the front of his mind and refused to be ignored. His breathing picked up in speed and he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall and muttered to himself that he would have to face things sooner rather than later.

     He considered getting up and having a pace about the floor or another look out the window. It was a tactic he got up to in his schooling days to procrastinate on his studies but this time he hadn’t the energy to stand back up yet and the outside world was still too daunting. Instead he opened up his eyes, pulled out the empty journal he had and wrote out a one worded question:

     “Pneuma?”

     With that achievement completed he stared at his work for a couple minutes with a dismal expression. Even with the physical word in front of him he had no idea what to make of it. Below that he scrawled the date that showed upon his wristwatch along with what had happened, as if having it written down would make it any more believable or even comprehensible. Yet another holdover from his schooling days and later his professional work; writing notes on the status of or any changes to a project. After another pause he asked aloud if he really was dead, if maybe everything that happened was all an incredibly lucid dream.

     “No… that would be stupid.” He muttered as he looked at his writings before shoving the book back into it’s home. It was all much too real.

     Drawing his knees to his chest he stared out into vacant space. He remembered the screeching pain that radiated up his leg and across his body from the explosion. The violent shivering of his arms as he pulled his body across the pavement and then that fall into an eternal and numb darkness before that blinding flash of light. He most certainly died but now he had been resurrected, or so it had seemed.

     Something stirred within his soul and he lifted his eyes up to the ceiling but was looking past it up to the heavens. He had been a skeptic of all manner of things - such is the duty of those who pursue the process of scientific thought - even of his people’s faith. He certainly had the desire for an afterlife, saw the teachings as worthwhile but he simply couldn’t bring himself to follow in faith. It wasn’t his calling in life.

     A circumstance that had saved him months ago but now he feared that he may have doomed his eternal life. He had been spared death by the government, for a time, but now that was… quite immaterial.

     His hands found their way to his temples and he strained to hold back tears. Why couldn’t he remember what had happened before his resurrection? If his people’s faith was true, would he have not been resurrected and then judged ‘according to his works and the desires of his heart?’ He didn’t appear to be in something he could aliken to Hell… nor would he call this heaven. Perhaps a purgatory of sorts, a prison for his spirit until…

     “Until what?” He questioned his own thoughts. It was all becoming too much for the poor man and he realized the questions he was asking had answers that he couldn’t even approach being comfortable with accepting.

     Before too long he let those thoughts simmer before they began to shrink to the back of his mind and his gaze wandered back over to the windows. Quite unlike the tempestuous thoughts in his head the weather outside seemed calm and wonderful. Perhaps he was thinking too much about things having just been manifested in this world. If his suspicions about the city being abandoned was correct it might be best to make it to the edge of the city. If all the buildings were as stripped down as this floor implied there may not be a consistent source of food and water he could rely on.

     He let out a long sigh, his affects and his thoughts in some semblance of order, finally standing back up. It was time to be greeted by the residents of this city, if there were any to be found. It was time to brave a new world, though he hadn’t a clue how literal this platitude was in his situation.

                                                                                                                                                       

     What had begun as a rushed decent ended with a breathless collapse upon the tiled lobby floor. As if to confirm the abandoned interior of the building the elevator’s were unpowered or gone altogether and he was left with the stairwell being his only option. Twenty or thirty flights; he’d damn well lost count on the way down and he was struggling to regather the breath he had expended. Whatever curses he hadn’t swore upon the loss of his sock and shoe were likely forgotten by Mankind; heel spurned by the coldness of the floor and the cracks upon the stairs.

     Already his throat was parched and any attempts he made to find some source of water on the vacant floors turned out to be worthless. Every floor had been stolen away from by some very industrious thieves or swift renovators. Sweat had poured down freely from him, soaking his unbuttoned collar and sleeves, made worse by the humid air. Standing and straightening back up he had gained back another breath, coming to the realization that this was becoming a rather familiar feeling of exertion. Not for the last time would he receive that piece of enlightenment.

     During his trip to the ground floor and stepping out into the brilliant sunlight he had much time to think about what it was he should do. As he had seen from the windows above the streets were in great disrepair. Though, this disaster to infrastructure was a boon to the new resident of this dead city. With enough careful picking through jagged asphalt, he found something to satisfy one of his needs. A natural cistern; a deep puddle of water that had formed inside a rent in the pavement.

     He was initially overjoyed at how quickly he had found some water, but seeing the twitching forms of mosquito larvae inside the stagnate smelling water immediately put him off drinking from this source. After cursing himself for not thinking that the water he would find would be tepid he turned away from what was once a gift to him in search for some fresher puddles. Walking down the street he noticed a strange absence of cars on the sides of the streets. There was also a lack of trash in the streets, as you would imagine to be in a overgrown and apparently abandoned city.

     He raised a hand to his open mouth, becoming a bit unnerved by the silence and the sense of isolation. Yet, as he was about to call out for anyone’s attention, he paused knowing that was probably a bad idea and potentially useless. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew he was standing in the midst of a dead city. Anything that was inhabiting the urban corpse probably didn’t care for interlopers. His hand dropped to his side and the breath he had taken to ask for a voice to respond to him came out as a sigh. The depth of his ignorance of the outside world was making itself known to him and he couldn’t help but chastise himself.

     He thought he could make it out of the country with just a water filter and a lighter, yet here he was in this decaying purgatory: thirsty and ultimately isolated. A whole roller-coaster of emotion he had been riding for the past few hours felt ready to crash: from dread, to desperation, to relief, to panic and now a creeping despair. Stopping in his tracks he took a deep breath, letting his heart settle once more.

     “I can’t panic… I… need to figure something out.” He muttered to himself.

     He took back up his pace down the street, slowed by having to pick through the rubble that was once a city street or suffer a gash to his unprotected foot. That’s where his first plan came to mind:

    “I can’t keep doing this. I need to find another shoe… or somehow make a sandal or something like that.”

     As slow as he was moving - having not reached a city intersection yet - he at least got the time to think a bit more about his situation. He remembered his Father, a military man turned industrialist and carrying the philosophy from the military into his life. One of his remarks was an old turn of phrase: ‘An army marches on foot and stomach.’ He had explained it to him what it meant, but now the lone man in this new world properly understood the phrase. If he was as alone as he felt, any sickness or damage to his feet would immobilize and kill him. Any sickness or poison that invaded his body and attacked his stomach would provide the same outcome.

     Through his surefooted progress he managed to make it to an intersection, peeking down alleys as he went and becoming disconcerted with how empty they were; save for shade loving foliage. He was wishing to find some dumpster or pile of rubbish to pull something useful from, yet it was as if the city had never been lived in. Some metal cans or bottles would be invaluable in distilling water and perhaps making some simple meals in. That gave him pause and he stood in the crossroads, remembering an old black-and-white TV show his mother had shown him when he was young and a chill went through him. Isolation was just as thorough of a killer as sickness or becoming lame.

     He had more pressing things to consider and he scolded himself again for getting so wrapped up in his thoughts:

     “There’s no time for me to think about this. Just concentrate on water and a damned shoe.”

     For the next couple of hours he arduously picked his way down the street, disappointed that the street-signs he passed had their lettering worn away by time. Each time he peaked into the windows he only observed vacant lobbies, devoid of substance. He seemed to be in some sort of office district, but the buildings bore no advertisements or insignia… at least, not anymore. As breathtaking as it was to traverse this wonder, there seemed to be nothing within it aside from abandoned beauty.

     Before long, the lone occupant of the city became dejected and his feet became sore, giving up on looking through the windows of the buildings, both broken and undamaged. He did manage to get some luck, finding a silty puddle in the road to drink from; the filtered products of which tasting of road tar and dirt yet it drove away the dry spot on his tongue that had refused to go away only minutes ago. Every couple of intersections, he would find a displaced bit of curb to sit on and rest, but only recently did he think of removing his vest and using it as some kind of shoe. Remarking that it would last a little while - though doubting that the shrapnel torn article would put up to much abuse - he continued on his journey in a milder state of discomfort.

      He had noticed that the sun was settling lower and lower in the sky ahead of him and seemed to be reflecting off of something off in the distance. Where he was heading was going downhill and he considered that maybe this was a sign he could find more water. It was going to be late soon, however. The shadows of the buildings growing longer and making it ever so much more difficult to pick through the crumbling streets. There was no continuing into the evening and he reluctantly withdrew into another empty building to find some passable place to sleep.

     The best that was managed was putting his vest back on, using his bag as a pillow and laying flat on the floor of the second story. He didn’t particularly trust falling asleep on the first floor, as he managed to scare some wildlife from the brush during his slow journey. As glad as he was to see deer and wild living things other than plants, surely there were predators of such animals in the streets as well. There were doors in this building and they seemed sturdy enough to stop any intrusions larger than a mouse. However, if some determined predator wanted to get through the door he doubted it would take long.

     He reasoned that the door would keep him safe enough but it took till the sun fully set for him to drift off to sleep, agitated by the fact that it took him forever to figure out an odd noise emanating from the building. As he laid there, the air and floor cooling around him, this peculiar cacophony of groaning, popping and pinging noises began to sound in concert all around him. After a while, it felt like the whole city in the cover of night was complaining to itself about it’s neglect. The imaginative thought gave him the actual answer and he felt more at ease with his conclusion: all the odd sounds were buildings were simply contracting in the cool air after the heat of the day.

     To be expected, his rest was fitful. Despite the muggy and hot day he had spent walking through the city in, the empty building and it’s concrete floor kept a chill in his bones throughout the night. He dozed rather than slept, the raincoat he put on after the first shiver had awoken him doing very little to insulate him from the floor. Late into the night he was disturbed by a sudden downpour cascading against the windows of his shelter, made even more dramatic by the roar of wind slicing through the city streets.

     Bleary eyed and drowsy he looked at the darkness outside, calming himself down as he realized it was just rain. Yet - with his glance towards the windows - he noticed something bizarre for this time of night: there was a faint but steady glow outdoors. The curiosity overpowered his exhaustion and he moved to the windows to take a peek into the streets. Looking down onto the road he saw what he had seen for the last few hours. It wasn’t quite bright outside yet there was enough light to see the saplings and shattered road below. However, it was when he looked down the streets that he noticed that some of the street-lamps he had been walking past for the entire day were lit. Not exactly the most brilliant of light, yet it was steady and soothing orange-yellow colour.

     “After all these years? There is power here?” He whispered, breath fogging up the window as he gazed in awe at the feat before him.

    Clearly, the wonder of the city was not skin deep in nature.