PostApoc (16 page)

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SURVIVAL GUIDE

A
imee throws up again the next morning. She hangs her head out the bedroom window and lets it go.

I rub her stomach to help calm it down. The flesh is hard and I worry about something I heard once, that internal bleeding makes your stomach firm up. I don't say this out loud.

I worry about parasites and tumours, dysentery and Crohn's disease. I don't say this out loud, either. I don't say much at all because I've woken up with the raw throat I knew I'd have. The air in the room is hot, immovable. Aimee is too dizzy to talk. I want to ask if she's been able to eat at all since this started but I'll wait for her nausea to pass first.

Aimee falls asleep. I catch a swathe of Tara's back as she slinks out of the room and down the stairs. The door falls closed behind her a minute later. I assume she's off to pick up. I wait a beat, and then I go, too, but not after Tara.

It's a crash worship at the lake: the water has returned and the tide has finally come in. Needy, it soaks through my boots, makes a successful attempt at getting under my clothes. It laps and laps at my legs, my arms, and I lie down and let it wash over me.

The waves will soon be reaching for Shelley and Anadin's cabin if the tide comes in any closer. It might want them more than I do.

Today, everything around here stares. Anadin says the devil bore its rites through visualization and has been realized here. She sits crosslegged on the floor with Shelley. Their ears have turned feline, twitch with periscope hearing. On the wall behind them, a mounted wolf's head gnashes its glazed teeth. Shelley says it won't threaten me unless I face it head on.

A tease, all of this. They invite me to sit and spread seven cards between us. Shelley reads the first. “Ten of hearts. Would've been a good omen of a long and happy life if it wasn't upside down.”

I want to tell them about the tide, that it's getting closer, but my voice won't come out.

Anadin reads. “Queen of clubs. Signifying the number forty. Another symbol of cheer. Does this mean we'll have wine soon?” she asks, looking to Shelley.

I want to tell them I could probably help them find wine, but I don't say anything. They must know the same channels we've all been using.
What else is there? Shelley just keeps reading.

“Jack of clubs. Disorder and failure. A failed venture.”

I want to tell them that card is all my fault, my responsibility, but I don't say anything.

Anadin reads. “Ten of clubs. A tower surrounded by clouds. Denotes sickness, maybe death.”

I want to tell them to stop reading the cards, but I don't say anything.

Shelley reads. “Another from the suit of clubs. A lot of dark strength today. False friends, or faltering friends, maybe. In better times, though, this could indicate a new love.”

I want to tell them there are other things present here, but I don't say anything.

Anadin reads. “The seven of hearts. A change in residence. Does it look like that's something that will happen sooner or later?”

I want to tell them it could happen for them today if the water gets in here, but I don't say anything.

Shelley reads. “The six of hearts. I wish it was the three of hearts instead. This one is so dependent on present conditions. Everything is too weak right now for this to prosper.”

I want them to tell me why I'm here because I can't remember the reason I came. Instead, Shelley says, “We saw a horned god, Ang. Do you know what that means?”

“It could have been a horned
dog
, Shelley,” Anadin says.

“I know what I saw.”

Outside, a wave crashes against the side of the cabin. Water speckles the window. Shelley and Anadin act like they don't notice, just keep talking.

Anadin: Just in case, we created a circle in the sand. To invoke the planetary spirits.

Shelley: We needed virgin parchment to write on but we didn't have any, so we clipped some skin from the stuffed animals on the walls.

Anadin: We couldn't get anything from the birds.

Shelley:
We asked for abyss.

Anadin: We asked for brothers.

Shelley: We asked for peaceable possession.

Anadin: We asked for fire.

Shelley: We asked for something animal.

Anadin: We asked for divination.

Shelley: We asked for the entitlement to vanitas.

“What did you get?” I ask.

“What do you want?” is their answer. I need an incantation but all they give me is a survival guide, spells they confused for something more.

Another wave hits the cabin. Water's starting to come in under the door. “How much longer do you think this place will stand?” I ask.

“Oh, not long at all,” Anadin says.

“You should get going,” Shelley adds.

Neither of them move.

“I can help you get some stuff together,” I say.

“Oh no,” Anadin says. “We're staying here.”

“We can't leave our power circle now,” Shelley says.

“The one you've drawn in the sand?” I ask. “But it's washed away. The waves—”

“Oh no,” Shelley says. “Once it's drawn, it's there forever, even if you can't see it.”

“And as long as we remember where we placed it, it will never be broken.”

The water's at the cabin again and this time it takes out a window. Shelley and Anadin remain still, their eyes on me.

“Go, Ang,” Anadin says.

My clothes dry as I ride back through the city. The sun is out and my stomach is still full of the water I gulped down at the beach when I fell through the waves on the way back to my bike. I ride by an old tavern on Queen Street and brake at the fire escape.

I get to the top of the roof in time to see an office building crumble in the distance. It falls straight down, like an accordian, and disappears in dust. The foundations of the city must be sprouting cracks. A second building goes down minutes later. Its blocks and metal casings fall with such weight that the shake is felt through the streets, all the way up to where I'm sitting.

The world shakes loose in the sky. Mars uproots, falls out of place, drops down beside the moon, which is rising low in the twilight. The city's foundations aren't just cracking; all foundations are. I think about Tooth and wonder what the view is like in Montreal. I spent so many nights believing in apocalyptic mindsets but never thought about the hunger. Never understood what this pain would be like, that it would be endless, insatiable.

The lake water must have been bad because my stomach's cramping with gas. A burp bubbles up in my chest and it brings with it the taste of whiskey from Tooth's party, which was at least three days ago. It must be rotting in the lining of my stomach.

In all our talk about The End, before it really happened, I never expected to feel so haunted, either. At least no more than what I'd already felt. Hunter used to tell me that everything is haunted.

“It's just ruined beauty,” he said. “Spirits get into people, possess them, and their beauty starts to decay. Ghosts feed on your youth. We're all potential sacrifices. The more powerful the spirit is that chooses you, the more damaged you become.”

“But that's good, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “Everyone wants to be chosen.”

“When did you start seeing ghosts?” I asked.

“When I was young I started seeing them here and there, but the day after I met you, I started seeing them all over the place.”

I remember a lyric he wrote for a song he never finished:
“The devil dug . . . the devil dug . . .”

The earth shakes again but I don't want to come down off the roof. A couple of raccoons have been sniffing around my bike. I'll wait for them to move on now before I can go anywhere.
At least the sun isn't at its highest point. I pull out the survival guide Anadin and Shelley gave me.

“EVERYTHING HATH HIS OWN NATURAL VIRTUES, BY WHICH

EVERYTHING IS A BEGINNING OF A MARVELOUS EFFECT.”

—THE BOOKE OF SECRETES

The psychology of survival goes like this: it's a time-dishonoured technique, a diagram of a wilderness whose texture I can't bear. Together we could build a passive outlook into the areas where the forbidden path is the most difficult to master. It requires the skill of a firestarter and the cunning of a left-hand belief.

Survival medicine suggests to find a yellow-flowered plant, a handful of leaves, a pint of water to purify the blood. Mix it with wine to sleep soundly. Amethyst improves the memory. The memory improves the experience. (On the side of the road, you will find neither.)

For food: put a pebble in the mouth to suppress the appetite.

The body's loss of water tempered with the memory of a sanitary surface: tile and antisepctic, soap and water, enema and edibility. It must have been a mistake because I am just waiting.

Skin flakes. Dehydrate. Develop a rash as the most obvious and effective way to communicate.

Taste buds demystified by the knowledge and skills it takes to build shelter before being consumed by a starving anchor. What does this city's surface hide in its connected fatigue? Exhaustion holds more in its bowels than the loose teeth of an average organism.

Commit to memory: what you can stomach, the arena of your ecosystem. The sounds of a certain voice, any voice will do, to counteract loneliness. Rational or irrational, it's your choice. Choose your friends wisely.

There will be light unbelievable, rumbling and sliding through prolonged exposure.

Without the aid of standard navigational devices you will have to rely on the passage of an omen. Even with survival training people die. They don't know that building a fire is what keeps spirits under control, not what summons them. Mentality and interconnectedness are key: no training required when you recognize panic as sustenance.

The will to survive is exaggerated. The closer to death you've been the clearer your priorities. It's an acquired skill that strings together the knowledge of dark sunken eyes and skin's elasticity due to stress.

Sleep with a wolf's head and it will bring sound dreams. Carry a piece of its meat in your pocket to heat your whole body.

Survival stresses can produce flashbacks. If poorly transmitted, these visions will rely on hindsight and healthy retinas to be experienced. You must accept them because they will prepare you for the toughest times.

Your personal hygiene standards impact the rolling of your intestines. Are your teeth loose enough yet? Even sweat and urine can pull them out. Strands of sputum like nylon thread.

Stay clean without luxury. Special attention is needed to the feet, underarms, crotch, hands and hair, all the prime areas for infestation. Infection of the erotic. When water is scarce take an air bath. The removal of the clothes will bring a sacrifice to the sun.The heat will burn away mites and odours.

Soap can be made from animal fat and wood ashes. Sigils on soiled paper make the most powerful talismans. If you want to save time and combine this to become a primary ritual, rub a thumbnail of fat over your pubic bone and allow your body to act as a makeshift altar.

To simply make soap, extract the grease from the fat of an animal. Boil it and stir frequently until the fat is rendered. If you don't have enough water make your own by teasing your gag reflex. Don't bring yourself to the point of vomiting, only to the point of excessive salivation.

What requires divination: when emotional needs take precedence over the physical. A blood relic can change this but can't be obtained from the slabs of ice-blue bodies blocking the subway tunnels. Never draw blood without performing the proper rituals. In the
1970
s witches substituted wine for blood for the diabolic proportions of their inverted pentacles. Consecrated, the earth you will sleep on will decrease susceptibility to severe shock. Consider the results of bodily loss: a tingling sensation in the phantom limbs, dim vision, swollen tongue, an echo in the chamber of the heart, numbness, painful urination.

Ill-applied survival tactics can result in symptoms similar to every day of your life: something too close to a bad hangover to recognize as anything different. Symptoms are a first-cousin to depression and may result in death if left untreated.

Atmospheric temperatures account for a daily exertion that must be replaced with a palm sacrificed to chiromancy. Celsius and Fahrenheit have graduated to constellations, gods in the sky creating intense activity, lower altitudes, low-degree burns in the esophagus. You must replace the water they make you lose.

Emotional instability and low urine output, delayed capillary refill and a trench line down the center of the tongue: it could be a bad dream and a slow waking on a Saturday morning or it could be the rest of your life's daily routine. The parallels are defeating.

Rival your acclimatization. The body performs inefficiently when you conserve sweat but not water. Limit extreme conditions. Practice thought control. Ration your daily intake of panic and anxiety. Lick the salt off your armpit to boost sodium and electrolytes. A t-shirt soaked with sweat can hold as much as three-quarters of a litre of fluids. Your body is a self-sustaining cycle of loss and life. Drink up.