Someone to Remember Me: The Anniversary Edition (2 page)

Somewhere in the distant past, when the lights flicked from red to green, the hatch opened with unbearable sluggishness. It lowered itself outwards, revealing the street that had been commandeered by a small army. With each inch that it grew the opening allowed in the sounds of the helicopter’s blades, their whirring growing less distinct as the flying machine slipped into dormancy. Undoing the safety buckle in his seat, he rose and escorted himself out through the fully opened hatch.

Stepping out of the helicopter meant rejoining a world bathed in nighttime. The city’s towers sparkled with a million lights. It was a beautiful sight and not one he thought he could ever stop appreciating. Armored personnel carriers were scattered around the street, uniformed men and women keeping the perimeter under control. A tremor swept through the militia, a ripple of familiarity caused by his arrival. One of the officers broke away from a small contingent he was animatedly conversing with. Dealing with the majority of the citizenry meant being reminded of a biological fact: he was a head taller than the average citizen.

“One-Six-Two-Seven?” the officer inquired, looking up at him to make eye contact.

“Yes,” One-Six-Two-Seven answered with a nod. He glanced behind him and saw that the helicopter was asleep, its pilot conducting a check of the exterior. Street landings were an increasingly common occurrence and required constant mechanical examinations by the flight crew. Most of the city’s residential streets were only just wide enough to support a helicopter’s girth.

“Sir, I didn’t realize that you would be the one sent to deal with the situation. I only meant to call for a negotiator,” the officer said apologetically.

“Why?” One-Six-Two-Seven demanded sharply. “I’m a HARM commander.”

The officer snorted. “That’s a bit of an understatement. You’re from high command itself.” Realizing that he’d inadvertently been disrespectful, the officer amended himself by saying, “What I meant wasn’t—”

“I know what you meant,” One-Six-Two Seven interrupted. “I think I’m qualified to begin negotiations, don’t you?” he asked. Gulping, the soldier nodded. “Debrief me.” He started walking towards the building entrance that their people and equipment were clustered around. A set of floodlights had been erected outside the entrance, columns of blinding light pointed at the affected area.

“We believe the suspect is contained on the ground floor. We cut power and quarantined the first three floors after landing people on the roof. Interior scans indicate that there’s one life-sign on the ground level, and per regulations we called for a negotiator,” the officer looked at One-Six-Two-Seven expectantly.

“How did the suspect get into a building all the way out here? The neutral zone is miles away,” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. Haven’t had the chance to ask yet,” he answered with an attempt at situational humor, as the two men quickly approached the line of soldiers and equipment that marked the safe zone between them and the building’s doorway.

One-Six-Two-Seven held out his hand.

“Give me your gun.”

“Sir? Are you sure that’s—”

“It wasn’t a question,” One-Six-Two-Seven answered. Reluctantly, the officer turned over his pistol to his commander. “Turn that light off.” Someone at the floodlight shut it off obediently. “Stay out here,” he finished, approaching the glass doors and placing his hand on the cool surface. Since the power was out, the door pushed open easily, the glass beneath his hand missing their usual lights.

Closing the door behind him, One-Six-Two-Seven studied the hallway. There were plenty of side-halls and adjoining rooms to be searched, if it came to that. His instincts told him that much would be unnecessary.

Instead, he called out: “Are you there?” Silence followed until the other man in the room made himself known: a shadow at the end of the hallway, having appeared from nothing. One-Six-Two-Seven bravely approached the figure, the man who was himself a head taller. Compared to the average citizen, the criminal in front of him was a giant. With his head hanging in shame, the man fell to his knees in front of the negotiator.

“You don’t need to do that,” One-Six-Two-Seven warned. “Get up.”

“Not in your presence,” was the reply. “Forgive me.”

“You’ve broken the truce by coming here. You’re aware of that?” The shamed man, his face hidden by the shadows of the dark lobby, nodded. “Then why?” One-Six-Two-Seven stressed.

“I came through the tunnels. I wanted to see it. Just for a minute. But one of the masters discovered me. I have never seen the city—I have only known the inside of our hold,” came the forlorn explanation. “I did not mean to jeopardize the truce.”

“Well, you have,” was his blunt response.

“Then you must do it yourself,” the man pointed at the gun in One-Six-Two-Seven’s hand. “I would rather fall at your hand—” he inched closer to his executioner. “Please. If they take me, they will dissect me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he answered, hesitating. He felt foolish for having taken the gun, for thinking he could act so brashly. It was one thing to imagine protecting the truce, it was another to act in its defense.

“It would be an honor to die by your hand, to fall in the presence of my go—”

“Don’t!” One-Six-Two-Seven snapped irately. “I don’t need to hear that.”

“But it’s true! How can you stand to be around them? They call us savages, yet they are the ones who see you the most and yet not at all. How can you tolerate them as you have?” he bemoaned, feeling pity for One-Six-Two-Seven.

Kneeling, One-Six-Two-Seven admitted, “I don’t know. I take it one day at a time. I think about the truce and it helps.”

“Sometimes, those who have lost something precious fight the hardest,” his companion murmured, finally looking him in the eyes. One-Six-Two-Seven couldn’t name what he saw but he guessed it might be defiance. Strength. “They took something from you. Like they did from us. Maybe that is why you tolerate their insolence? You’re waiting for a chance to take it back.”

“Maybe,” One-Six-Two-Seven admitted quietly. “Or maybe I don’t want to see anyone else die.”

“Then today you will be sorely disappointed.” Glancing over his shoulder and through the glass to the militia barricade outside, his companion urged, “You must do it now. They grow restless.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” One-Six-Two-Seven offered apologetically, rising as he took aim.

“Don’t be. Death is only a door,” the crouched man lowered his head and closed his eyes, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

“Then I guess we’ll see each other on the other side, one day.”

“One day,” he concurred.

One-Six-Two-Seven held the weapon steady. To ask forgiveness for something as paltry as taking a life in a time of war seemed nonsensical. What he wanted was to ask for understanding. As of late, nobody understood. Nobody wanted to understand. How could he negotiate a lasting peace between two incompatible sides? Compromise, the thing that evaded him, was undesirable to everyone else. Their world, their city, torn in half by extremes as it was could only be salvaged by compromise. In the interest of peace, in the interest of maintaining the truce, One-Six-Two-Seven pulled the trigger.

The sound of gunfire, lost in the darkness of a forgotten past, was still enough to smash him back into consciousness, back into the present, where the glass beneath his hand trembled as it slid inwards, allowing an undisturbed view of the lobby’s interior. Slouched on the ground, One-Six-Two-Seven grabbed at the rose that he had dropped and pulled it close to his chest. He imagined that holding it helped the pressure in his forehead fade away. There was nothing of note in the barren lobby, its floor faded and cracked, its walls stained and peeling. Everything inside the building spoke to the abandonment and neglect as much as the exterior did.

Its hypnotic pull on him dissolved, he backed away from it. If he had encountered it, if what he suspected was a memory wasn’t in fact a delusion, then he had been in the city before it’s demise. The details were lifting away like smoke in a breeze. Their vibrancy, easily diminished, took with it his courage.

A quick glance at the sky confirmed that it was still dawn, and yet he felt exhausted already. Letting out a disappointed breath, One-Six-Two-Seven resumed his trek down the empty street, unaware that he was on course for the center of the city.

Chapter Two:

A Nearby Sadness

One hand in the sand, the other hand clutching a rose, she forced her uncooperative body to its feet. The retching finally subsided, her aching stomach emptied, and she dared to stand upright. Sheets of white sand slid free of her clothing to join their countless brethren on the pale shoreline. Stretching, she noted that her body was stiff and restrictive but that the exercise helped to reassure her that she was alive.

Alive. Her errant thought surprised her and awakened her to the woeful sight before her. Rising unevenly, intrusively jutting into the sky, was a city carved from ancient darkened steel. Towers shot into the air, their nondescript features augmenting their vacancy. Gray clouds dueled with the beams of light that pierced them, irradiating the vast settlement with a brightened muteness.

Her first instinct told her to take a cautious step backwards. Decidedly ignoring that, she boldly held her ground and stared at her artificial intimidator, practically daring it to move against her.

Buying time, she surveyed the shore in each direction.

White sand ran the lengths of the beach, though it lacked so much as a hint of paradisiacal cleanliness. The sand was white as bone, and though she had never seen a bone before, she knew certainly that the thought was true. Puzzled by the fact that she knew her body contained two-hundred-and-six bones, and in spite of the fact that she had never seen a bone in her short life, she turned away from from the sight of the city.

There lay the immobile pallid sea, its infinite outline strengthened by the orb of cold light in the sky. Turning her back on the sun to face the city once more, she smelled the salt in the air and wrinkled her nose. She wandered up the empty beach to the equally empty street, worried by the dearth of activity. From what she could see, as her sandy shoes hit the asphalt pavement with a loud scratching noise, there were no other living people in any direction.

Before departing she studied the beach a final time. Emptiness. No boats, no swimmers, no birds. A desolate shore went untouched by everything, even the water hesitantly trembled at the shoreline.

Taking note of the excessive absence caused her to question her own presence. Where was she? How did she get here? Had she been asleep? More importantly, who was she? How had she wound up vomiting on a beach? Why did she not remember anything before a few precious minutes ago? Similar questions bombarded her irritable mind while the smell of salt vanished. She followed the vacant streets into the city where the seaside air was replaced by something that had no taste and no odor: the smell of absence.

She refused to panic. Even when it became abundantly clear that she was the only living thing around for miles, she refused to panic. She was, after all, a scientist.

Funny.

“I’m a scientist?” she mumbled to herself. She didn’t recall a single memory before waking up on the beach, vomiting, but for some reason she already considered herself a scientist.

Science. Didn’t that require lab coats, mice, and vials? She frowned dubiously. How was it possible to be a scientist when she might be the only person in this whole city? Though comedic, she banished the notion from her mind. Hope came to her another way. Maybe there were others out there? Maybe she wasn’t alone?

She could be hopeful as long as she didn’t panic.

Instinct told her that careful examination and purposeful study would yield the answers she sought, if she persevered long enough to claim them. Clues were already at her fingertips: waking up on a beach, the nausea, the memory loss. Together, with logical analysis and deduction, they would have a reasonable explanation. She surmised that the answers were in the city, the only logical location for them to reside. Finding the courage to proceed, she started to walk deeper into the elaborately vacant city.

Ignoring the imposing buildings and unsettling shadows proved to be difficult, especially since she hoped to find the smallest hints of history’s reach. Windows were darkened with crusted dirt. Signs were faded into obscurity. As she continued down a wide boulevard, towers at her sides, a tune came to mind. Carried from some unseen location, as if to lure her forward, it danced within her eyes and roused a dormant knowledge from the emptiest spots of her mind. Humming the tune, her heartbeat fell into a natural calmness. Automated, almost.

Keeping an even and orderly pace encouraged the tune, like a flame being fanned into a wildfire in her mind. Slithering out of her subconscious, the music teased itself into the forefront of her thoughts. It overrode her mind’s authority, it overwhelmed her instincts, and she trembled as she spoke the words that announced her return to the dead city.

“See fulfilled the Founders’ warning!” she declared, her eyes roaming across the unattended cityscape. The city, the words, and herself were connected by something she couldn’t adequately describe. She felt sure of it because she couldn’t meet the accusing stare of the towers for more than a few seconds at a time.