Work Text:
Kobra Kid sat down in the wooden chair in front of Tommy Chow Mein’s desk. He dropped his bag on the floor and fished out his supplies: a hard leatherbound journal, a copy of United States History from the 1920s to Today, a stack of papers, and stubby pencil. He dragged the trash can over to his chair and started sharpening the pencil with his pocketknife, curled shavings fluttering into the can.
“What did you say this book was about?” Chow Mein said as he tucked his radio equipment inside a desk drawer.
“The Helium Wars,” Kobra said. “I’m trying to write a loose history about it. I know it won’t be as well-written as this--” He held up the history book. “But I wanted to get some perspective from inside the Zones. I’ve met so many people that don’t know what happened. I think they’re starting to lose track of their history out here.”
Chow Mein closed the drawer. “Do you think I survived the Helium Wars?” he said.
“Yeah,” Kobra said. “Didn’t you?”
He looked up. For the first time in recent memory, Chow Mein looked faintly amused.
“Sorry,” he said, laughing. “I’m sorry. Was that before your time?”
“I’m not old enough to have survived both wars,” Chow Mein said. “I was born in seventy-three.”
“Well, that’s not too far off,” Kobra said, reaching for his papers. “Do you remember anything from when you were a kid? It was still winter, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was still winter,” he said. “My entire childhood was winter. I used to bring home books from the pre-war days and ask my mother why the trees were green.”
Kobra laughed a little. “Did they teach you about it in school?”
“I’m sure they tried to explain, but I didn’t understand it. I had no frame of reference.”
Kobra wrote down the stories in his journal as they spoke. He talked about the frequent power outages in Battery City: sitting in their apartment when suddenly all went black. His mother kept candles and matches in every room. They collected food ration books at the front office every week. Sometimes he trudged to school in ankle-deep snow, then waited after hours until the roads were cleared. If the plow broke down, which it often did, men and women grabbed their shovels. Even his mother joined in. At home, they had to keep their liquid medicine on the windowsill, or it would freeze solid.
“Are you still in touch with your mother?” Kobra said. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if I could get some of her experiences, it would help me out so much.”
“You realize that it takes a week for a letter to reach Battery City,” Chow Mein said. “And then another week for the response to arrive, if she responds, which I can’t guarantee that she will.”
“Yeah, I know,” Kobra said. “I know you’d be putting yourself out for this, so if you send her a letter, I’ll double the supplies. Two buckets of salt, two pounds of fish.”
“Make it three pounds of salt,” Chow Mein said.
“Three? All right. I’ll call and give you the address, as soon as we figure out exactly where we’re going. We’re heading off in about a week.”
They closed the deal, then stood up and shook hands. Kobra stuffed his supplies in his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he said.
“Don’t thank me,” Chow Mein said. Kobra stopped in the office doorway for a moment, then shook it off and headed for the entrance.
---
A week later, Kobra sat in the passenger seat of the Trans Am, the wind whistling through the cracked window. The papers on the dashboard fluttered in the breeze. He flipped through the history book and scribbled in the journal, his brow furrowed in concentration. On the dashboard was a tattered paperback titled The Coming Global War, held together with rubber bands. Whenever Kobra pulled off the rubber bands, loose yellowed pages fell into his lap.
Party Poison glanced over from the driver’s seat. “How’s it going?” he said.
“Not good,” Kobra said. “Everyone’s giving me different dates for the wars.”
“Did you check that book Pony gave you?”
“Yeah, it’s all speculation,” Kobra said. “It was written back in the 50s. And the history book’s bullshit. Just a bunch of city propaganda.”
“Maybe you should call Dr. D,” Poison said. “See if he can fact-check.”
“Yeah. I’ll call him when we stop.”
Kobra turned to the outline he had written in the front of the journal. In scrawls, rewrites, and crossed-out ink, he had scribbled the following:
HELIUM WARS
--Helium found under Grt. Plains
--Helium Control Act--1920s?
--Space race (40s? 50s?)
--Russia sends spies--60s
--JFK assassinated--1963 (64?)
--PIG BOMB--60? 64? 65 ???
--War begins. 3 yrs? 4?
--BLI--when?
“That’s another thing I can’t figure out,” Kobra said. “When did Better Living show up?”
“It was after the wars, wasn’t it?” Poison said. “When they started giving out that nutrient food.”
“Yeah, that’s what the book says. But I’ve talked to a couple of people who swear they remember seeing it before the wars.”
“Maybe it’s been around longer than we think,” Poison said. “Or their mind might be playing tricks on them. It was, what, sixty years ago?”
Kobra nodded, drumming the pencil against the page. He pulled the rubber bands off the book, held the pages together, and read each one front-to-back like a playing card. As the drive went on, they passed settlements tucked against hills, empty gas stations coated with sand and dust, towering cacti that cast shadows over the road. The sun hung brightly over the mountains like an ornament over the sky. Kobra searched through his notes until his concentration rose into frustration, but the outline wasn’t any clearer.
At noon, they stopped at a motel coffee shop. The shelves, racks, and counter were empty; the only source of food was a clunky, old-fashioned vending machine in the corner. The brothers sat down at a booth near the window, sunlight casting across the table. While Poison unwrapped their sandwiches, Kobra turned the knob on his transmitter until he found Dr. Death Defying’s frequency.
“Hey, man,” Kobra said.
“Hey, Kid,” Dr. Death said. “How’s the trip going?”
“It’s going well. We’re stopped at one of those old coffee shops. But listen, I just need you to do some quick fact-checking--”
Dr. Death sighed. “Kid, I’ve been doing fact-checking for you all week.”
“It’s just a couple of little things. I swear. It’ll take you maybe five minutes.”
“All right,” he said after a moment. His wheelchair creaked as if he were pushing back from his desk. “Let’s get it over with.”
Kobra turned back to the front of his journal. “What year did the Helium Wars begin?” he said. “Was it ‘64?”
“‘64? Yeah. I think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Kid, if you want the exact date, you’re out of luck. My brain’s so fried that I don’t even remember my birthday.”
“All right, all right. What about Better Living? Do you remember when they showed up?”
“When they showed up? What, when I first noticed them?”
“Yeah. What’s the earliest you remember?”
“I don’t remember much.”
“Just tell me what you know, man.”
“Jesus, I don’t know--I probably saw the logo at one point and never thought twice about it. I couldn’t tell you when they first showed up on the scene.”
Kobra held back a sigh. “What about the Nutrient Substance?” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Do you remember that?”
“Kid, I spent the post-war years in a stupor. I know what you’re talking about, but no, I don’t remember when I first saw it. I’m sure it was at one of those refugee camps. Why the hell are you asking me this?”
“Because some people say Better Living was around before the wars.”
“Hell, maybe they were. It was sixty years ago.”
“So you think it’s possible.”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know. I’m not the founder of the company. Why are you so interested in these tiny details?”
“Because I’ve got people giving me contradicting information left and right,” Kobra said. “I’ve got different dates, I’ve got different stories, and I’ve got Chow Mein charging us out the ass for a bunch of stories from his childhood. Can you give me some help, D? Please? Can you humor me for a few minutes while I try to figure out what the hell happened in ‘64?”
Poison stopped eating and stared at him. There was a moment of silence. Kobra’s hard expression didn’t waver.
“All right, I think it’s time for you to take a break,” Dr. Death said.
“I’m not taking a break,” Kobra said.
“Well, obviously this is making you testy. If you want to keep going on like this and be a real pain in the ass on the road, that’s fine. But don’t call me again until you’ve calmed down a couple of degrees.”
The wave went dead. Kobra switched off his transmitter and dropped it on the table, then rubbed a hand across his face. Fiery anger bubbled beneath the surface, like mice trying to fight their way out of a cage.
“Hey,” Poison said. “He’s right, Kid. You’ve gotta take a break.”
“I can’t take a break,” Kobra said.
“Yeah, you can. Just step back for a while. I don’t want you stressing over this for the rest of the trip.”
“I’m not stressed, man, I’m just--Christ. Everyone’s giving me hell over this.”
“I know, I know, but you can’t let yourself get upset over this,” Poison said. “It’s just a book, Kid.” When he didn’t respond, Poison held up his uneaten sandwich. “Come on. Eat so we can get out of here.”
There was a pause. Finally, Kobra unwrapped the sandwich, opened it to inspect the ingredients, and started to eat. The sun dipped low in the sky, the empty napkin dispenser casting a long shadow across the table. They were stepping out into the parking lot when a woman burst out of the office.
“Wait!” she shouted. “Hang on! Are you guys planning on going down Ember?”
Poison turned around. “Yeah, we are,” he said. “What’s going on?
“It’s blocked,” she said. “I just heard it on the radio. One of the old telephone poles is down.”
Poison clapped a hand to his forehead. “Shit,” he said. “Are you serious? What happened?”
“They think someone was trying to cut it down for firewood,” she said. “Ended up falling across the road, and all the wires came with it. You guys are going to have to take a detour.”
Poison turned to Kobra, who shook his head and sighed. After thanking her, they trudged back to the car. Poison turned off on another road, then drove for a while until he managed to pull back onto the highway. They stopped for dinner in a settlement built near a dry lakebed. When they started back on the road, the light had turned dim and greyish. Light purplish hues tinged the horizon.
“We’re going to have to stop somewhere tonight,” Poison said. “It’s getting too late.”
The sun hovered like a giant orange, then glowed white when it touched the horizon. The land became washed with dark grey, with trees and mountains silhouetted against the sky. By the time Poison pulled up to the motel, the sky was dark. They quickly checked in and carried their bags inside. The room was papered with dark yellow wallpaper, with a half-burnt out ceiling light above. Flies and gnats buzzed around the light. Kobra felt like they had entered a tomb.
While Poison called Jet Star back at the diner, Kobra sat on the edge of the bathtub. He knocked his heel against the bottom of the tub, shaking off the sand, then took off the boot and smacked the sides. Sand showered down like snow. After cleaning off the other boot, he leaned against the wall and sat there for a while. His body felt as heavy as a stone. The anger had seeped into exhaustion, draining the energy from his bones.
Eventually he got up and headed back into the bedroom. Poison had turned on the TV that sat on the dresser. The grainy picture and shrill, crackling sound cut through his head like a roaring engine. Kobra stood there for a few moments, then shook his head and started for the door.
“I’m going to sit outside for a little while,” he said. “Get some fresh air.”
Poison looked up. “You want me to go with you?” he said.
Kobra shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
“All right. Stay on the sidewalk. Don’t go out in the parking lot.”
Kobra stepped outside and zipped up his jacket, a cool breeze flitting through his clothes. He dragged one of the plastic chairs over to the door and sat down. The parking lot was empty except for the cars that gleamed in the lights like beetles. Neon lights glowed from the office, casting over the thick clusters of cacti that grew around the building. Colonies of insects sang in the grasses.
Kobra leaned back and sighed, then rubbed his eyes on his palms until stars exploded in his vision. The thought of the drive tomorrow, and the week of physical work that followed, made his body weak with exhaustion. Even getting out of the chair seemed like an effort. The entire world seemed to have gone still, like a paused VHS tape. He gazed silently out at the parking lot, the sidewalk lights humming overhead.
The stretch of desert past the highway was so dark that he could barely make out the trees against the blue-black sky. A still, quiet world stood open before him. Kobra felt thin and airy, as if he could float away like a scrap of cloth. If he stood up, he could start walking: moving through the parking lot, across the road, and into the desert, where the darkness would envelop him, closing him off from the world like stage curtains falling behind him. He would keep going, through the plants and tall grasses, the night that enveloped the land like fog, until his thoughts fell away and he disappeared, dissolved into nothingness...
Suddenly the door opened. Kobra jumped in his seat, his heart racing. Poison stuck his head through the doorway. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. C’mere. You’ve gotta see this.”
Kobra followed him inside, where Poison gestured toward the TV with the remote. A talk show played on the grainy screen. The host, a Japanese woman, sat next to an elderly woman on a red couch. She wore black-rimmed glasses. Her white hair was tied up and tucked behind her ears. There was something vaguely familiar about her features, the way she gestured with her hands. Kobra was scanning his brain when her name suddenly appeared on the screen.
“No way!” Kobra said. “That’s her?”
“Yup, that’s her,” Poison said. He turned up the volume. “Listen to this.”
“Let’s talk about your background for a moment,” the host said. “You were a survivor of the Helium Wars, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Anne Marie said. “The US dropped the bomb just before I was about to start high school.”
“Do you have any memories of that?” the host said. “The initial bombing?”
“Oh, yes,” Anne Marie said. “That’s one thing that I’ll never forget. My family and I were eating dinner when a voice suddenly came on the radio and announced a nuclear attack. My mother stood up and ordered us all into the cellar. I’d never seen a look like that on my mother’s face before. She was terrified. We just left our plates on the table and ran down into the cellar like an intruder had barged in.”
“How close were you to the radiation zone?” the host said.
“We were close,” Anne Marie said. “Not close enough to be affected, but we were near the borderline. In fact, I sat at the front window and watched refugees from Phoenix going down the highway.” A shadow passed over her face. “Horrible times,” she said. “And some of them were sick people. Very sick.”
The host nodded empathetically. “Now, at what point did you decide to move to California?” she said.
“The crops died in the winter,” Anne Marie said. “We couldn’t stay on the farm, and the world around us had gone to hell anyway. We’d gotten word about refugee camps in California, so we thought we’d try to cross the border and try to get in touch with my mother’s side of the family.”
“That was a high priority for a lot of post-war families,” the host said. “We’ve heard countless stories about people trying to get in touch with their loved ones. Did your mother find her family in California?”
“She never had the chance,” Anne Marie said. “We did make it to one of the refugee camps, but it didn’t last long. We’d been there for about two weeks when it was attacked. We were all separated in the fight. I ended up in a work camp, and my parents and my sisters--God only knows what happened to them. I’ve searched for them for years, but they’re gone, as if they were wiped off the face of the earth...” She closed her eyes and broke off. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d rather not speak of this.”
“It’s all right,” the host said gently. “Let’s talk about your son now.”
“Ah, my son,” Anne Marie said. “Everyone wants to know about my son. What can I say? I’m just as horrified as the rest of you that he went back to that hellhole.”
“He left following a bad relationship, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Anne Marie said. “It was right after the divorce. I said to him, Tom, you can’t go back to the desert. That’s where I almost died, that’s where my family was taken from me. Maybe it called to him because he was born in the desert. I don’t know. But he was too stubborn to listen. And a year later, I learned that my only son was selling goods to terrorists.”
“As a mother, that must be terrible,” the host said. “To see your only child on the news, associating with those types of people...”
“That’s not half of it,” Anne Marie said. “Tom left when he was twenty-six...Good Lord, he must be in his forties by now. I’ve watched him grow up through news clips and wanted posters. He’s my only son, the only family that I have left, and I haven’t seen him in years. I carried him to this city barefoot, in rags, and for what?” An edge crept into her voice. “For what? To see him go right back to the place that took the best years of my life?”
As the brothers climbed into bed that night, Anne Marie’s words echoed through Kobra’s head. How long had she waited for her son to come home, for him to realize his mistake and return to the city, until she realized that he wasn’t coming back? How long had it taken his own parents to realize the same? His parents had suffered through the post-war years, losing their families to illness and starvation and desertion. And then one day their children snuck out of their beds and disappeared into the desert, the vast, arid land that had swallowed entire families like a great maw.
Kobra gazed up into the blackness that surrounded them. After several minutes, Poison’s soft snores filled the air. But Kobra’s head still raced with chatter. He lay awake for hours, the racing thoughts pulsing over the exhaustion, until the black sky turned dark blue and light started to peek over the horizon.
---
Kobra’s head throbbed as they walked down the coastline. His body felt raw and drained, fueled only by the sickly alertness that comes from a sleepless night. They trudged down a sandy hill, tall grasses swaying against their knees, then started across the shore. Foamy waves lapped the beach. A few boats already dotted the ocean, bobbing gently in the waves.
Sea Shell hurried up to them, clutching a fishing pole. Her stringy, sun-bleached hair was tied back. She grinned as she shook their hands. “Hey!” she said. “How was your trip? Did you make it here okay? Any problems?”
“Just a short hold-up last night,” Poison said. “Hey--thanks so much for letting us work here. We’ve been calling around all month, trying to figure out how we’re going to stock up for the winter.”
“No problem!” Sea Shell said. “You were actually the first people we thought of when we sent the call out. We would’ve called you directly if we knew how to get ahold of you.”
They followed her to a row of tall, blocky buildings that stood in front of the bluffs. Each building was two stories high, decorated with chipped white paint, creaky wooden staircases, flags, curtains, and colorful window shutters. They dropped their bags in their room, then followed her downstairs. A fishy smell hung in the air, mixed with the cool air and salt. Normally the fresh air would have been invigorating. But all Kobra could feel was the pounding in his head.
“Our big project these past couple of months has been preservation,” Sea Shell said. “Whatever fish we get, we throw it in the preservation pots. We’ve been surviving off fish scraps, mostly. People think it’s nasty, but it’s actually quite nutritious.”
They stepped into a wide, airy room with large open windows. A few Sea Scouts were slicing and cleaning fish at a wooden bench that stretched across the room. The salty smell of brine wafted from a row of cast-iron pots in the back, next to a barrel packed with sea salt. Shiny silver scales dotted the bench and the floor like sequins.
“Well, I’ll let you guys get started,” Sea Shell said. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you. Hopefully with a few catches.”
She headed outside with her fishing pole slung over her shoulder. The brothers joined Sea Glass at the end of the bench, a short girl with a wispy scarf tied around her neck. On her instructions, they grabbed small slippery fish from the bucket, cleaned and scaled them, laid them in the preservation pots, and covered them in salt. Someone fried the fish organs and served them for lunch. Then they hauled buckets of seawater up to the campfires built on the shore, where the water was left to boil until it evaporated.
After cleaning and packing the fish that the Scouts brought in at midday, they scraped salt out of the buckets and into the barrel. On Poison’s urging, Kobra had a taste. He winced. It was sharp and tangy. They cleaned off the fish bones and picked the goopy meat out of the fish heads. By the time the Scouts had started a fish stew over the fire, the sun was beginning to set. It hovered above the ocean like a hole punched through the sky, revealing dark orange space beyond.
“I heard that you guys take in war vets,” Kobra said to Sea Glass as they waited around the fire. “Do you have anyone here right now?”
“Nah, Rusty died about a month ago,” Sea Glass said. “Then three of ‘em went up to Zone Two to see their families. Elsie’s up in Three, but she’s gonna be back in a week. I think. Unless she decides she’s gonna stay longer.”
Kobra nodded and looked away to hide his disappointment. He could feel Poison’s eyes on him, watching him from across the campfire.
---
“Look, I just want to get different perspectives,” Kobra said, leaning back in his chair. The fresh scent from the ocean wafted into the room. “What do you remember? Did your mother ever talk about the wars?”
“No, she didn’t,” Chow Mein said over the transmitter. “In fact, she never talked about it, and declined to answer my questions when I asked.”
“Why not?” Kobra said.
“Why not? I don’t know. Do you think I understood my mother’s motivations for everything?”
“Look, I just need some information. I’m getting contradicting stories from everybody. Did she ever say anything about when the wars began?”
“No, she didn’t. But I can tell you when the wars began. 1964, right after the Pig Bomb was dropped.”
“Did you get that from one of the city schools?”
“Yes, I got it from one of the city schools, where I was taught by competent adults. Are the strung-out waveheads giving you a different date?”
Kobra sighed through his teeth. “Yeah, they’re giving me different dates,” he said. “Everybody’s giving me different dates. Look, did your mother ever say anything about when Better Living first showed up?”
“No.”
“Nothing? She didn’t say anything?”
“No, she didn’t say anything, because she never talked to me about the wars--”
“Do you know? What did the school tell you?”
“For God’s sake, that was thirty years ago. Do you think I remember everything they told me? Do you remember everything that you learned in your childhood?”
Kobra clamped his mouth shut. He took deep breaths, trying to quell the rising anger.
“Is this call going somewhere?” Chow Mein said. “Because this has been an utter waste of my time. If you don’t have news about the supplies, I’m going to sign off.”
“All right. Yeah. Sign off.”
The wave went dead. Kobra rubbed his hands across his face, then buried his face in his hands. Frustration boiled like a hot vent at the bottom of the ocean. He was about to sweep the books and papers off the desk when something moved in the doorway. Kobra looked up to see Poison standing in the entrance with his transmitter in his hand. His face was white.
“Jet just called me,” Poison said. “It’s bad, Kid. They’ve been robbed.”
Kobra stared at him. “You’re shitting me,” he said.
“Someone jumped them on their last supply run,” Poison said. “We’re going to have to talk to Sea Shell. See if she’ll let us stay another week--”
“Whoa, wait,” Kobra said. “No. Another week?”
“We’ve gotta make up the cost,” Poison said. “They stole about two weeks’ worth of food. Ghoul’s got a couple of jobs coming in, but it’s not going to be able to cover it--”
“So now we’ve gotta cover it?” Kobra said, a strain in his voice. “No, I’m sorry, man--I can’t do this another week.”
“What choice do we have?” Poison said. “Kid, I know you’ve been stressed, but winter’s coming in two months. We don’t have time to take a break. We’ve gotta stock up now before the supplies start running out.”
Kobra didn’t respond. He rubbed his forehead, anger boiling beneath the surface.
“Who were you just on call with?” Poison said. “Did you get into another fight with Dr. D?”
“No,” Kobra said. “I got into a fight with Chow Mein.”
“Great. He’s even worse.” Shaking his head, he hooked his transmitter back on his belt. “Kid, you’ve gotta take a step back from this. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
“I’m not taking a step back,” Kobra said.
“Kobra--hey. Wait. Kid, come back, I want to talk to you--”
But Kobra had already pushed past him and started down the steps. A cool breeze whisked against his face. He stormed outside and marched down the coastline, ignoring the looks from the Scouts around the campfire. His fury frothed and churned as the waves slapped against the shore. The sun burned overhead, reflected in the water like flecks of fire beneath the waves.
---
As the days went by, Kobra’s hands were constantly greasy and smelling of fish, no matter how many times he rinsed them. Silvery scales winked at him from the bench. The smell of the brine that submerged the preserved fish made him cough, even though it was fresh. As he ritually cleaned and chopped the fish, his mind started to glaze over. He sank into weariness, then into exhaustion, falling deeper and deeper until he came to a place in the back of his mind. He sliced, pulled, and scraped the fish without feeling it, his brain clouded in a fog.
Occasionally a dead fish washed ashore. The rotting flesh was caved in and buzzing with flies. Kobra covered his mouth and stepped back. A pungent stench rose from the fish, a choking, coughing smell that threatened to rise up and drown them all.
---
A bonfire popped and crackled in front of the ocean, shooting sparks into the dark sky. Kobra slowly stirred his bowl of fish head stew. A silvery eyeball floated up to the surface. Sea Glass had assured him they were delicious, but the sight gave him an acidic feeling in the back of his throat. He was about to toss it in the fire when a car engine rumbled behind him.
He turned away from the fire. A mint green car, mottled with rust, was pulling up to the camp. At the sight, the Scouts erupted in cheers. They hurried up to the car as it bumbled to a halt. A moment later, the door opened and an elderly woman stepped out. She clutched a cane in her bony fist. Kobra stood up and approached the crowd, which was swarming around the woman like a pack of excited dogs.
“I’m betting this is Elsie,” Poison said beside him. Kobra turned and nodded.
“All right, all right!” Elsie said over the crowd. “Yes, it’s me. Come on over to the back. I’ve got presents for all of you.”
She tottered over to the trunk, fumbled it open, and took out a basket of something glittering. Kobra strained to see over the crowd. “Real Zone Three healing quartz,” Elsie said, handing the basket to the nearest Scout. “One piece for each of you. Just one. Can someone help me with my luggage? Ah. Thank you.” Sea Glass had appeared at her side and grabbed her leather suitcase. As they headed off to the buildings, the crowd dispersed back to the fire, chattering excitedly.
When she settled down at the campfire, the Scouts surrounded her and peppered her with questions. Someone fried fish livers that had been saved especially for her. While Poison was engrossed in one of her stories, Kobra snuck off to their room and returned with his journal tucked under his arm. He squinted as he flipped through his notes, straining to read in the firelight. The acrid scent of smoke wafted from the fire. Poison eyed him, but didn’t say anything.
Eventually, the crowd started to settle. The Scouts showed each other their crystals and tried to catch light from the fire. Someone switched on a radio. The children chased the tide, then ran away shrieking when the water nipped at their feet. Elsie sat alone for the moment, wrapped in a shawl. For the first time in days, Kobra felt a rush of energy. He closed his journal and sat down beside her, his heart racing.
“Hey,” Kobra said. “I’m Kobra Kid. My brother and I are staying here for the week.”
“Well, hello there,” Elsie said. “I’m sorry I didn’t have any quartz for you and your brother. I would have brought two more if I knew you’d be coming.”
“That’s all right,” Kobra said. “We’ve got some quartz back home. My brother likes to collect rocks.”
“Does he?” Elsie said. “You know, when I was a child, I used to have a card that said ROCKS AND MINERALS OF CALIFORNIA. There were little pieces of rock attached to the card. I wish I still had it. Half the spiritualists I’ve met can’t tell them apart.”
Kobra laughed a little. “Oh yeah?” he said. “I think I’ve met some of those spiritualists. But listen, uh--I’m working on a book about the Helium Wars. You’re a veteran, aren’t you?”
“I was a nurse,” she said. “I served overseas when our men were fighting in Russia.”
“Yeah? That’s great. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Go right ahead,” she said.
Kobra flipped open the journal. “All right, uh--when did the wars start? Do you remember? Everyone’s given me a different date.”
“It was June of ’64,” she said, nodding to herself. “I remember that clearly. My youngest brother was born a week before the bombing.”
Kobra turned back a few pages. “That checks out,” he said. “What about Better Living? Did they show up before the wars, or after?”
“Before,” she said. “They were selling pharmaceuticals as early as the 60s.”
Kobra’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What kind of pharmaceuticals?”
“Not the kind that you’re thinking of,” she said. “Not what they have in the city today. Just over-the-counter medicine. Sleeping pills, headache cures, that kind of thing.”
“Did they sell anything else?” Kobra said.
“I think they were starting to branch out into general hygiene products.” She tapped her teeth with her fingernails. “This was all so long ago. But I remember that distinctly. That logo was on everything at the pharmacy. It was different from the one they have today--not so clean, it was more boxy. But I know that it was Better Living. I was shocked when I saw that the same company was still around after the wars.”
Kobra blinked, suddenly light-headed. “Where did they come from?” he said. “Before the wars, I mean.”
“Japan,” she said. “It was a Japanese company that just came out of nowhere. Well, it might have been popular in Asia for a while, I don’t know. But when it showed up here, it just took the US by firestorm.”
Kobra placed a hand to his forehead. The journal slipped in his lap. A faint buzzing started to ring in his ears.
“Son, are you okay?” Elsie said. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Kobra picked up his journal and stumbled away from the campfire. He kneaded his forehead as a light, airy feeling swooped in his stomach. His breathing was short and harsh. He was about to stagger over to the store’s front steps when footsteps sounded behind him. Kobra turned to see Poison hurrying up to him, his eyes wide with concern.
“What happened?” Poison said. “Jesus, you look pale. Come on. Sit down.”
They sat down on the stone steps. The air was dark and cool, the sand bluish in the moonlight. Kobra took deep, slow breaths until the dizziness started to fade--the same, familiar technique he used when he felt faint from hunger. The brothers sat in silence for a while. Several yards away, the Scouts had started a chanting game around the campfire.
“I’m going to head in early,” Kobra said, climbing to his feet. “Let me know if anyone else shows up.”
He was about to head inside when Poison gestured toward the journal. “Here,” he said. “Give me the book.”
“What?” Kobra said.
“Give me the book, Kid.”
“I’ve gotta make a few calls,” Kobra said, rubbing his eyes. “I need to...there’s a lot of shit I need to do, man.”
“I don’t want you stressing about this all night,” Poison said. “Come on. Give me the book. Just go up there and get some sleep, Kid.”
Poison gently touched his arm. Kobra was silent for a moment. He imagined handing over the journal, climbing into bed, and falling into a deep sleep for the first time in weeks. But the writing in the journal seemed to be throbbing under the covers, threatening to burst off the pages. He pushed his hair back and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve gotta get this done. I think I’ve had some kind of--breakthrough here.”
He started to climb up the steps, but Poison stopped him. “Kid,” he said. “Give me the book.”
“Just let me get this done,” Kobra said.
“No. Kid. Give me the book.”
Poison grabbed at the journal, but Kobra jerked it out of his reach. Their eyes met for a moment. Then Poison lunged at him. Kobra yelped and struggled as Poison tried to wrench it out of his hands. They fought and pushed and stumbled until Poison finally yanked it out of his grip. He glared at Kobra, breathing hard, then took off running toward the fire.
“No!” Kobra shouted. “Hey! Stop! Don’t fucking do it!”
“This is for your own good!” Poison shouted, holding up the journal. Then he turned and whipped it into the fire.
In one moment, the world itself seemed to explode in flames. The Scouts shrieked and jumped back. The flames leapt up and engulfed the journal, popping and crackling and shooting sparks into the sky. Kobra stared numbly into the fire. The pages turned brown and curled like pork skins: a month’s worth of notes, timelines, and stories crumbling into ash. Acid boiled in the bottom of his stomach. He blindly pressed a hand to his forehead, wetness burning in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Poison said. “I’m sorry, Kid. But I had to do it. This has been killing you, Kid, it’s making you depressed. You’re not sleeping, you’re not well, you’re just obsessing over this book.”
Kobra’s eyes flickered over to him. Poison reached out to him, but Kobra smacked his hand away. He turned and started walking to the ocean. Voices murmured behind him, but he took no notice. A faint buzzing started in the back of his head. He trudged up to the edge of the shore and gazed out at the waves. The water glinted in the moonlight like rippled black glass, rimmed with frost where it washed up against the shore.
The waves rolled and slapped rhythmically against the wet sand. Deep black water seemed to lurk under the waves, like bottomless pits beneath the surface. The buzzing in his head grew louder. The world seemed to fall away from him. As if he were hypnotized, Kobra stepped into the water, the waves splashing and foaming against his boots. He waded into his ankles, then his knees. The water seeped into his boots and shocked his legs with an icy chill.
Shouts erupted on the shore, but he kept moving. The water crept up his waist, soaking his shirt and sticking it to his skin. The lower half of his body was ice cold. When the water reached his chest, the rolling waves started to push him back. The waves splashed against his face. Kobra spluttered and spat out sea water, then kept going, even as the rocking current threatened to sweep his feet out from under him.
“Kobra!”
Poison’s cry cut through the sound of the waves. For the first time, Kobra turned to look back. Suddenly a wave rocked him off his feet and plunged him into the water. Bubbles floated up in his vision. Kobra fought and struggled until he burst up to the surface, coughing and gasping. Water streamed from his mouth. The water frothed and churned around him like a boiling stew. Another wave hit his face, filling his mouth with seawater. His eyes and mouth burned. An icy fear started to wash over his body, as if Death itself had cast a shadow over his face.
Suddenly a pair of arms grabbed him and yanked him backwards. Kobra kicked and gasped as his head plunged under again. Someone--or was it two people?--hauled him out of the churning waves and dragged him back to the shore. Kobra sucked in lungfuls of cold, sharp air, his throat burning. He coughed and hacked and spat up water. Then he was dropped on the shore, where he lay like a dead fish, rivulets of water streaming from his clothes.
Poison cried out his name, followed by something he couldn’t make out. He dropped to his knees beside him and scooped Kobra up in his arms, smoothing the wet hair from his face. A whispering crowd loomed around them like a circle of trees. Someone handed over a blanket. Poison draped it around Kobra’s body, where his clothes still clung wetly to his frame.
Kobra’s heel dug into the sand. Vaguely, he realized that his feet were bare. In the background there were the sounds of running and splashing, followed by the rush of water as one of the Scouts tipped over his boots and dumped the sea water onto the wet sand.
---
Someone knocked gently on the door. The chair creaked as Poison stood up. Kobra watched him silently from the bed. Poison cracked the door and took what looked like a large envelope, then slowly closed it behind him. He held the envelope in his hands for a few moments. Then he sighed to himself and looked up at his brother.
“It’s the letter,” he said quietly.
Kobra lifted his head. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Kobra slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. “Let me see it,” he said quietly.
“Kid, I don’t think you should read this--”
“Just let me see it,” Kobra said. His voice was weak. “Please.”
Poison paused, his face tired and drawn. After a moment, he sank into the chair and handed Kobra the envelope. The thick envelope was marked with Zone mailing symbols. When he opened it, he found a smaller envelope made of clean white paper. Inside were crisp pages scrawled with slanted writing. Poison picked up the lantern and held it up so they could both read:
Dear Tom,
So good of you to write to me after all this time! I guess that letter I sent you last Christmas just slipped your mind. Tom, for goodness sake, DON’T INCLUDE ME IN YOUR BUSINESS DEALINGS. I’ll reply to this only because there’s some information I want you to know, and should have told you a long time ago, to be frank. But this is the only time you’ll get anything out of me.
So, life after the Helium Wars. I suppose the first thing that comes to mind is the silence. Being a farm girl, I grew up with farm equipment, farm machinery, tractors, mowers, radios, TVs, etc. There was always some kind of noise in our house. When the power went out, it was silence. I used to bang on pots and pans until my mother yelled at me just to get some noise in the house. There was no way to distract yourself from it. You couldn’t turn on the radio or the TV and forget about it for a while. We had plenty of books and games, but everything seemed so different in the silence. Less fun, I suppose. And half the time it was so cold that we didn’t want to move anyway.
The cold, as a matter of fact, was utterly miserable. At night, we’d all crowd around the old stove in the basement. I was terrified that I’d wake up one day to find my whole family frozen to death. When it was time to wash my hair, I’d kneel down in front of the tub, and my mother would dump a bucket of ice-cold water right in my head. I used to scream like she was ripping my limbs apart. Then she’d scrub it with soap and do it again. I used to sit in front of our stove for hours--and again, Tom, I was not the type of child that did that! But if you moved even an inch, you were freezing again. Sometimes the snow was so high that you couldn’t even open the door. My father and I spent an hour every morning just clearing off the porch.
I believe I was seventeen when my parents decided to move to California. My mother had family there. The drive there was one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever witnessed. Some of these towns were ravaged, filth everywhere, garbage in the streets, frozen dead bodies in the sidewalks. Other towns were dead silent, sometimes with rows of cars still parked in the road, as if everyone had just gotten up and left. Sometimes the snow was so bad that my father and I had to get out and shovel while my mother drove behind us. There were many times when we came close to being stranded in one of these towns. If that had happened, I imagine we would have all died within a week.
Tom, be glad that I never dragged you across the country. I’ve met people in Battery City who tried to do it. One fellow traveled all the way to Texas, only to find that his family died in the first bombings. And don’t think I wasn’t tempted, but I never did it. I couldn’t put you through those long, miserable drives.
We did make it to California, but whatever relief we had didn’t last long. We were in the refugee camp for two weeks when it was attacked by a roving gang. We were all separated. I ended up stumbling into what I can only describe as a work camp. I suppose these people thought they were going to rebuild society. We spent sixteen hours a day making clothes, boiling snow to make water, hunting what little wildlife we found, and trying to make contact with other states. One of the refugees had a whole suitcase full of radio equipment, but she never made contact with anyone. Most of the time, we ate roots and cold canned food. My feet were covered in blisters that bled. I contracted lice so often that finally they just cut my hair off. I asked every newcomer if they knew anything about my family, but no one ever did.
I thought I would stay in the camp as long as possible, to make it easier for my parents to find me. But after a year there, I realized that I couldn’t stay. The camp was overcrowded, with as many as five people per tent. The canned food was gone. We were surviving off grasses and bugs. Many people didn’t work and simply lay in the tents all day. They were so thin that it looked like a row of skeletons. When I left, I had nothing but a pile of rags that I used for clothing. I took off one day and started walking down the highway until I found another camp, and it started from there.
Tom, if I’d known that you would one day return to the desert, I would have told you about these years. I spent four months living in a trailer with six other women. By the end of those months, it was down to three. I slept in shacks, in tents, in abandoned cars that I found on the side of the road. I weighed so little that my ribs showed under my skin. There were no jobs to be had: we were all wandering around the desert, just trying to stay alive. And it was still winter, always winter. It was like we were all trapped in a neverending post-war hell.
Eventually, I made it to a camp built in front of an old drive-in theater. One of the families felt sorry for me and took me in. Their son Adam wanted to fool around. I agreed, never thinking I could get pregnant, as I hadn’t had a period in months. I was as shocked as anyone when my stomach started to swell. One day he went on a supply run with the rest of the men and never returned. His parents wanted to believe that he had been separated. But I always knew that he had deserted us. Tom, I was so glad that you took after my side of the family! When I see you now, you’re the spitting image of your grandfather--except, of course, he was never printed on signs with EXTERMINATE written across his face.
One day, the men came back with something called Better Living Nutrient Substance. I remember this vividly. The packages were white with lots of Asian lettering. Inside was a white, mushy food, similar to marshmallows, except it was tasteless. But it was filling, and after we ate it for a while, we started to feel better. There was an address printed on the back of the packages. Rumors were going around that this city had lights, working cars, even indoor plumbing. Some people didn’t believe it. But I reasoned that they had factories, and if they had that, why not the rest of it as well?
A small group of us decided to find the city, your father’s parents not included. Someone found an old map and tried to mark the location of Battery City. It was quite far away, but traveling for miles was nothing new to me. When we left, I was about seven months pregnant. I prayed that I would give birth in Battery City, as I wanted my child to have a new start. But you were born on that trip, right there in the backseat of the truck. Your birth was--and still is--the most joyous event of my life. When I first heard you cry, we all started crying, even the driver. I didn’t know then what a miracle it was to have a healthy birth.
But the road was long. It was still winter in those years. Sometimes the men had to get out and shovel, the way I had once shoveled snow with my father. The women and I bundled together in the backseat. We slept in shifts so that one person was always there to watch you. You were fascinated with the snow. When I held you up to the window, you tried to grab it. Sometimes I put a little ice in your hand, and you loved the way that it melted. It helped me deal with the miles of endless snow.
For the others, it was too much. A few people stayed in a town that we crossed through. The driver died from a lung infection. We buried him on the side of the road. Two others decided to turn back, and one of the women deserted us. I don’t know what happened to her. Finally, it was just you and me. I drove with you swaddled against my chest with a contraption I made from a blanket. When the roads were too thick, I got out and shoveled. I built campfires to melt the snow for drinking water. Every night, I was terrified that I’d wake to find you frozen to death. But you were always there, making funny noises and waving your hands at me.
I kept driving until the fuel finally ran out. When that happened, I grabbed the supplies and started to walk. That might sound silly to you, but I still had the map. I knew we were close. If we kept going, we’d eventually hit Battery City. So I walked down the highway until it was dark. We stayed the night in an old gas station. When the day came, I started walking again. The road was slick with ice, so I tried to walk in the grass. I was terrified that I’d slip and fall, with you strapped to my chest, and the worst would happen. It was so bad that I didn’t want to think about it, even now.
It was nighttime when I saw the headlights. At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I hadn’t seen a running car in days. But when they came closer, I started running and shouting, waving my arms, anything I could do to flag them down. The car pulled over to the side of the road. I still remember what it looked like: shiny and white. It was the cleanest car I’d ever seen. A man in a Dracula mask got out. At first I was terrified, but he told me not to be afraid. Then he asked where I was going.
I took out the wrapper and showed him the address. There, I said. I want to go there! And he drove us to the city, and the rest of our lives happened.
Tom, I know I had my failings as a mother, but I always tried my best. I was a woman in her twenties in an unknown city. If I’d known you’d return to the desert, I would have told you everything, but I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to know what kind of hell I’d endured. I know I fell apart when the Analog Wars struck, but I was terrified that you’d end up like me. I always wanted better for you. I still do.
Every day, I wish that you had known your family. You’re like your grandfather in so many ways. And your grandmother, too. She had the same strict, no-nonsense attitude. I even see a bit of my sisters in you. I tried to be everything for you: a mother, a father, grandparents, aunts, cousins. But sometimes I wonder if I even qualified as a mother. I know you’d face a large punishment if you returned to the city, as you’ve reminded me so many times, but I’d do anything to make up our lost time. Please think about it, before we’re both too old to enjoy it anymore.
Your mother,
Anne Marie Curschmann
Kobra’s eyes welled with tears. “Are you done?” Poison said quietly. When he nodded, Poison gently took the letter from his hands, folded it up, and slipped it back in the envelope. His wet eyes reflected the lamplight.
“Hey,” Poison said, his voice wavering. “The way she talked about him--that’s how I feel about you, too. You’ve helped me survive out here. From the day we first left, you’ve kept me going. Sometimes you were the only reason I got out of bed in the morning. I can’t do this without you, Kid. I can’t be separated from you. I know you’re feeling really down right now, but--I can’t do it. Don’t make me.”
Kobra nodded, wiping his eyes on his hands. “I thought the book was going to save everyone,” he said quietly. “I thought that if I figured out where Better Living came from, we could figure out how to end it...but it’s always been there, even before the wars.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s hopeless,” Poison said. “Even if we can’t stop it, we’ve still got our lives out here. We can still get word out to the city, we can help people escape. It’s not over, kiddo. It’s never over.”
He pushed Kobra’s hair back, then rested a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Poison was about to suggest going to bed when someone knocked on the door.
The brothers looked up as the door creaked open. Sea Glass inched her way inside, carrying a basket. She looked uncertainly from Poison to Kobra, then hurried up to the bed and dropped the basket in Kobra’s lap.
“We wanted to give you these,” she said, twisting her hands nervously.
Kobra looked down at the basket. It was full of quartz crystals.
“What?” he said. “Oh, no. I can’t take these.”
“You need them a lot more than we do,” she said. “They’re for healing. You just hold onto them, and concentrate real good, and they suck all the bad energy out of you.” She squeezed her fists as if she were clutching two crystals.
Kobra couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Thank you,” he said. “Really. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Sea Glass said in a rush, then hurried out the door. When she was gone, Kobra picked up one of the crystals. It was cloudy in the center and clear at the tip, like smoke trapped inside glass. Like frothy sea water.
“I guess I’ll give them all back tomorrow,” he said, placing it back in the basket.
Poison smiled at him. “Well, you can still use one of them tonight,” he said.
He picked up one of the crystals and placed it in Kobra’s palm, then closed his fingers over it. He gripped Kobra’s hand in both of his. Kobra squeezed the crystal, feeling the hard edges and smooth, glassy sides. In his mind, he saw the bad energy flowing into the quartz, caught and preserved in the center of the crystal.