Dead Lands

A.N. Another one of my experiments, this story is the result of two things. The first is an apocalyptic world plot line-something that I have been wanting to try out for a long time now, and the second is a heavy influence of music from the ‘60’s and the 70’s, particularly The Beatles. I don’t think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written, I did write it in less than three hours after all, and to be honest, it’s more of an attempt to get rid of my writer’s block than anything else. Regardless, I think it has a certain appeal to it. I do not own any of the bands mentioned or any of the lyrics used, obviously. The lyrics are the property of those who wrote them (Don McLean and The Beatles). Let me know what you think! Try your luck and see how many songs you can pick out. Enjoy!

Somewhere along the way, humans had fucked up because the world was dead.

No, that wasn’t right. The world wasn’t dead. The world still moved, revolving around a blazing sun, still existed. But humans, humans were dead. Extinct. No, she corrected herself. Not extinct. Not yet. Almost extinct. Because she was still living wasn’t she, walking, endlessly walking, stumbling perhaps, but always moving. The earth had changed since the cataclysmic blast that had killed every human; it was a barren wasteland now, full of tan colored sand and death.

She had been walking for days, months, maybe years, but there had been one time that she had reached a cliff overlooking the sea. The sea! For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, and she thought she could feel faint droplets of seawater as the waves crashed against the side of the cliff, frothy water sent high into the air, and for the first time since the End of the World, she had smiled. For a moment, an insane moment, she had looked out at the horizon on the water, where the sun was beginning to set, and she thought that maybe that was where the people had gone. They hadn’t died and she wasn’t Alone. Not really. Because they were all under the sea of green, living in yellow submarines, leaving her to wander the Dead Lands Alone.

But that wasn’t true, was it? There weren’t any submarines, and no people.

They were dead, and she was Alone. All Alone.

She had left that spot on the cliff and for days afterwards she had wondered why she hadn’t jumped. What was one more body? Everyone else was dead. Escape from it all in one easy, painless jump. But the answer was simple. Because she couldn’t do it, she knew. She could never kill herself. The world had died, but it was obvious old ideas still lived and thrived within her mind.

By day, she walked. She had no destination in her mind; what destinations were left? But movement meant she was still alive and she loved it, loved how her body would be so exhausted that sleep would come at night, dreamless and serene. If she moved, her mind wouldn’t wander. It was when she was still that the images rushed into her mind like a conquering force, and in her head, the blinding flash of the bomb that had killed all playing over and over, a torment set on repeat. The screams of those far enough away, of those who had time to scream before the radiation and the Wall of Fire consumed them, would echo, and sometimes, she could see the faces of unknown people, their eyes wide, fear and shock in every gaze, before the Wall took them. Men, women, children, the very old, the very young. The bomb had been merciless, taking all, judging all like a man-made god of death. Why man had even built such a weapon, she could never guess. Maybe because they could, and perhaps they had smiled at each other, confident and arrogant, knowing they had built a weapon that could destroy anything. The Christians had preached about the End of the World, but the men in the white laboratory coats could actually do it. Who needed God when destruction was at the very fingertip of a man in a white laboratory coat? Who needed faith when the power to build was in human control? The gods were dead, and there was only man. Man who could create, who could destroy.

And they had been right. The bomb had worked. And man had caused the End of the World. And now she was left Alone, somehow spared from the Wall of Fire, of Death. But perhaps spared was the wrong word for it. Perhaps those who had died had been fortunate. Because they were together in death. They weren’t Alone. And now it was gone, all gone. Politics, religions, governments, civilizations, people.

Bye-bye Miss American Pie.

For a few nights, in the beginning, before movement had become her salvation from the nightmares, she had slept in caves. And sometimes, she would lean against the stone walls, ignoring the sharp pain of jagged rock digging into the flesh of her back, and she would stare, unable to sleep. In the beginning, the dreams had been devastating and nothing could stop them, not even physical exhaustion. So she had tried to keep herself awake, echoes of songs rambling through her head. The music was soothing, and sometimes, she thought could feel the heavy drums and the guitar, oh God, the guitar! So beautiful, so powerful, and she could hear the wailing sounds of it within her mind, and it was like Before when there had been people, when there had been musicians. Lyrics would come to her and the echoes of the voices who had sung them, and she would close her eyes, forgetting that she was in a cold cave, forgetting that she was Alone. Sometimes her hands would move, bumping against her thighs to the beat of a silent drum, and she would hear that wailing guitar, and there would be minutes of peace. Her parents had brought her up right; introducing her to music that haunted her, even now at the End of the World. Lennon was a dreamer and imagined a world of peace. Joplin had a heart that wasn’t quite whole. Presley had a suspicious mind and somewhere in New Orleans there was a House of the Rising Sun. Jim Morrison had the roadhouse blues, and Zeppelin was on a stairway to heaven baby. Steppenwolf had a magic carpet, and the Mommas and the Poppas were dreaming of California. Elton John said goodbye to the Yellow Brick Road. And the Beatles, God, the Beatles.

Musical perfection.

So good. So good.

But there was one song that had always haunted her more than most, and she could never really understand why. Before it had been a song that had brought a smile to her face every time she had heard it and her body would react; her veins would throb, her hands would clench and adrenaline would flood her body; if she were driving, her foot would press the gas pedal just a little bit harder, pushing the car just a little bit faster. There was a chaos to the song that she loved, and sometimes, she allowed herself to echo that chaos, letting her rational mind become just a little bit insane, become a little bit helter skelter.

But now, the world had gone helter skelter, and everyday she felt herself becoming a little more chaotic, a little less rational. But who was around to tell her that she was insane? There was no one left. But she knew it, could feel it. Deep down, she knew it was unavoidable. A person left Alone would always end up helter skelter.

Once, while in a cave, the music had been pounding in her head and the lyrics vibrating throughout her body, she had slipped, singing out loud. It was a little phrase, a line to a song that she had forgotten she even knew, but it had echoed in the silence, bouncing off of the stone walls. Her eyes had flown open; the music died, and she had fled into the endless darkness. She stayed away from caves after that because she knew that it hadn’t been the echo that had scared her, but the sound of her voice. Her heart had raced at the sound and there had been an urge to just talk, to listen to herself. She had come across another cave not long after she had fled the last, and for a moment, she considered going in, of sitting on the floor and talking. But if she did, that would be the end for her. She would go mad, listening to her own voice.

In the end, she had walked away.

After the cave, her nights were spent against the tan sand, the sand that would slip beneath her tattered clothes and scratch her skin while she slept lightly. The sand was rough, and sometimes, large rocks would be hidden within, stabbing deep into her flesh without warning. But she couldn’t go to the caves. She couldn’t go insane. She was already dead, or almost there, and Alone, and to go insane would be so cruel. The dreams didn’t come to her as often now, but the music had died, and it was that she lamented the most.

Sometimes, she would stare up at the black sky, marred by silver dots that glistened

(like diamonds)

and she would let her mind wander. Sometimes, she would remember the world has it had once been, so beautiful, so alive. The people and the music, throbbing from every speaker, every radio. But then it had ended, so abruptly, without warning. Perhaps someone had fucked up and flicked the switch accidentally, or perhaps it had been intentional, she would never know. But results were always the same. The people were gone. The music had died shortly after. And she was Alone.

She didn’t bother to think about the future; why bother when there wasn’t a future for you? She was the last human, the last remnants of an old world, and when she died, there would be no funeral, no sadness, only extinction. Her body would remain where ever it lay, and over time, all that would remain would be bones; after that dust. The world would continue on. It surprised her that she wasn’t scared of death, and perhaps she was even taunting it, silently begging for it to come for her. In the beginning, she had made an effort to find what little food she could; dead plants, grasses, and drinking water that was rich in radiation. But the music had died, and now she was dying too.

Death was welcome.

She walked for days, not bothering to sleep or drink. Her lips hurt, dry without water. She hadn’t eaten in days; she didn’t think she could now. But it had been three days, probably more, since her last drink, and she could feel how weak her body was, her muscles devouring any calories it could salvage to keep working, to keep her moving. But there weren’t many calories left. She was crashing and she knew it. Only a matter of time now.

Helter skelter baby. I’m coming down fast…

She gasped sharply, the first sound she had uttered since the cave, and fell to her knees. Her arm wrapped around her waist, and for the first time, she saw it, really saw it, saw how frail it looked, how skinny, and she thought she could make out the bones beneath the thin skin that covered them. She tried to push herself up, to continue walking, and fell over instead. She lay on the sand, the sun brutal and hot, so hot, burning her skin, but she didn’t care. Her head fell to the side, her stick thin legs bent at the knees, and in the distance, there were shapes, hazy, but there.

Oh God, I’m going insane.

She squinted, and the shapes came closer, and she gasped softly. People she had once known, authors, musicians, coming out of the haze, transparent figures, coming for her. She smiled, the movement stretching her lips until they tore and bled freely, but she ignored it. They were coming for her. People. And they would take her with them.

To the yellow submarines in the green sea.

To the sky with diamonds.

Not insane, but being saved.

The figures stopped beside her, and weakly, she raised an arm, trying to touch one of them, any of them. They only smiled at her, waiting for her to die, waiting for her to join them. She gasped again, her arm falling to crash into the sand beside her thin waist, the sun so hot, her body so tired, but in her mind, she heard it for the first time since the cave, soft at first, but intensifying so brilliantly. The most beautiful sound. The constant drumming and the guitar wailing so beautifully, echoing in her head.

Music.

So gorgeous. So gorgeous.

And then it was over, the music fading as her breathing slowed, catching once, twice, never again.

Extinction.

And the world continued.