The Ladder

Imagine living in a sink faucet for six months straight. That was my life, only, I lived in one for 6 years. Ah, but the sewers aren't that bad. Avoid the Scrats and the occasional dead corpse, and you'll be fine. I mean, I've been living in them ever since I was ten, and look at me now! Yeah, I suppose you're right; I'm not so much the picture of health, but trust me, I look much better than those idiots who stayed on the surface. If the solar flares didn't kill them already, the radioactivity surely would have mutated them. Sure, some of the chemicals spill into the drains from time to time, but as long as you watch the Scrats, you will know exactly where the leak is. Jacqueline, accidentally stepped too close to one and lost her foot. The next day she lost her life. I still get chills.

Anyway, on that happy note, I bring this topic to my room. It's this large pavilion thing that was swallowed during the Quakes. There's this very intricate tile with mosaics lining everything, and the ceiling is still intact, which helps keep the light out. The remaining windows always have waterfalls pouring through them like your typical sewage tunnel outlet. Thankfully, I live in the storm sewer quadrant; I couldn't imagine living in the sanitary sewer quadrant, though I've seen some families living there at times. However, their belongings are frequently stolen by Scrats, while my things are safely protected on the upper balconies of the pavilion. The Scrats live off of human waste which clog the drains in the sanitary plant. I have those places marked on my map.

Oh! That's right, my map. It's so cool; it takes up the whole north wall according to the stone compass on the bottom floor. I have pushpins I've collected stuck all over the map designating certain looting places and where to avoid due to instability after the Quakes or to Scrats. I've found Jenny's and Luke's stashes, but Henry hid his pretty well, so it's taken me a while to find his. I'm beginning to think he really did live with the Scrats.

But back to the story, I lifted the lid to my trunk and pulled out my two foot-and-a-half short-swords Charlie gave me for my birthday. Last year I began carrying around the second one because I got stronger. I haven't touched my daggers for years. Knives are great and all, but I would give anything to get my hands on a gun.

Well, I would give anything but my cat. She lives with me, but I can never seem to find her until I come back after long scavenges. She must smell my food. I've never really seen what she actually looks like because the mud constantly blots out her fur, but I like her none the less. Sometimes she's really crabby, though, and hisses when I try to pet her. At times I wonder if she were in the war. Even though cats were only used on the Morocco Islands, I still like to believe my cat was a trained warrior used for scratching opponents' eyes out.

Of course, I never really saw or witnessed the war; I learned everything I know from Danny, but since he's dead with his collapsed library, I've had nothing to read for ages. I can feel myself growing stupider by the week, but I'd rather be sewer-smart than book-smart.

The swords gleamed in my hands. The polished silver was my light in the dark. I had found my will to keep going. With a grin, I sprinted down a hallway, look a left, jumped down, took a right, took a second right, took a left, squeezed through some broken bricks, took a right, went under the waterfall, took a left, shimmied across a cavern that howled with wind, took a left, and took a right this time instead of left, hungry for the newly unexpected. Let's see, left, down, right; right, left, straight; right, straight, left; straight, left, right. Got it. My foot hit something. A shuffled my hand around in the darkness, praying not to feel Scrat flesh, or worse. It was just a pile of batteries; nothing of interest.

I carried on, careful to avoid where the flies were buzzing around. I picked up the occasional can or two, maybe a throwing knife here or there, but I knew the real treasure was somewhere at the end of this narrowing tunnel. I could feel Fate nagging me to go on ahead.

I decided to stop for a water break with my good old lifestraw. My uncle gave me it for my 11th birthday, and I've used it ever since his passing. The lifestraw was designed to filter out 100% of the water's impurities; I've done it millions of times. Uncorking it, I took a deep sip of the murky water. Wiping my mouth, I got up, but the world began to spin around me. I coughed to the side and threw up the can of peas I ate for breakfast. I took a second look at my life-straw. Of course, it was cracked. I swore as I chucked the dirty plastic down the tunnel.

Knowing I only had a couple hours left to live at most, I continued down the hallway without eating a snack. I spat some more bile out of my mouth as I walked into a security lamp. I heard yelling in the distance. Hopefully, there would be a fight and I could loot while the opponents were ruffing each other up.

Suddenly, my knees buckled. My arms went limp and I fell face first into the sludge. I couldn't move my body at all; I had become one of the Still. Breathing was hard with half my face sometimes floating out of the water; other times, I had to hold my breath. My vision of the flickering bulb above my head became dimmer and fuzzy. I could feel the Scrats gathering at my feet, prepared to gnaw through my boots. More congregated at my head, their scarp, pink claws raking at my hair. I closed my eyes, prepared to meet my doom.

Then, I remember the Scrats scurrying away and someone hauling me over their shoulder. I felt cold and hot at the same time. My eyes were closed, but I knew for sure one of the people who were fighting was carrying me. I had no idea why they were capturing me. Maybe they wanted my gear. Maybe they wanted to know where I lived. Maybe they wanted my flesh as bait for sewer turtles.

I lifted my droopy eyes, wanting to see my kidnapper before I passed on to the next world. Long black hair drooped over her neck. Pale freckles lined her rosy cheeks. A blue scar streaked across her jawbone. Then, I knew, she was my guardian angel.

"Don't worry," she said, "we live in a hospital. There, we can heal you, Todd." She had a tone in her voice that soothed me. She began stroking my spiky dark hair. "Everything is going to be ok. Ok? Don't worry. We're almost there." The woman stopped; the splashing stopped. I felt her hand her pack to her partner standing beside her. She meant to hide it under her breath, but I heard her loud and clear say, "Don't give out on me now, Todd."

This wasn't my guardian angel, this was my mother. She was the same mother that had died in the solar flares. But, no, was that the sun they were climbing up toward? It seem so bright, yet so small at the same time. I focused on it as a great blue building cast a shadow over the trio. The sun grew, and made everything bright. I couldn't see.

Then, I woke up in my mother's lap. A child.