We watch, from up above, staring down at the land below. It has been too quiet for too long. The land lays barren, there is no sign of life, but we know better than to believe they are all gone. We can still feel their presence. They are scattered, like roaches, in crevices and hidey-holes, tucked away in their neat little boxed homes, so tiny they look like grains of salt to us. They fled from the corruption they themselves wrought upon the land. What purpose do they have but to ruin and infect and rot?
No more.
We lower our hands down onto the land. We take extra care to weave our fingers between the trees and hills, not disturbing a single branch or pebble, as we crush telephone poles and water towers beneath our fingers, like toothpicks. We grip the land tight and as we press down, frost spreads across the ground and the air takes on a chill. The venomous air that they created is buffeted away by frigid winds, replaced with fresh, breathable air. We watch, waiting, for the humans to emerge.
# # #
Graham stood atop a stack of milk crates, peering out the window at the empty street. Joshua glanced over at him as he tied a makeshift rope out of leftover t-shirts and socks; anything left behind in the store.
“You’re not gonna see anything, yet,” Joshua said. “The storm isn’t coming for another two, maybe three days.” Joshua shook his head, trying to temper Graham’s excitement, but Graham wasn’t deterred. He’d already spent hours perched at the window, waiting for some sign of snow, until his knobby knees could hardly keep him up anymore. He scanned up and down the street, studying roofs, lawns, trees, the street light, any surface that would bear evidence of the storm’s arrival.
They had first heard about the storm from the voice on the radio. At its first mention, Graham began to pace around excitedly, up and down the cramped aisles of the store. He knew what a storm meant: a chance to go outside.
For as long Graham could remember, Joshua had been telling him that storms would be their only opportunity to go outside, that they had to wait for one if they wanted to go outside safely. But, it had been over seven years and Graham had spent his entire life growing up in the confines of the store, eating the same dull canned foods and looking at the same empty shelves, over and over. He had spent most of that time looking out the window at the street in front of them. He would stand perched on the milk crates, looking out the window, and when he got tired he sat down on the crate and watched Joshua work. Joshua always seemed to be working on something, but lately it was the rope that Graham had watched him tie together. He watched Joshua pace up and down the aisles and sort through the piles of junk at the back of the store looking for the best pieces of fabric to rip up and then tie back together.
Graham often made Joshua tell him everything he remembered about the storms. Sometimes Joshua refused, but if Graham was lucky, he’d tell him about it while they ate their dinner, huddled over Graham’s choice of scented candle. Joshua would describe the white flakes covering every surface and the wind that felt strong enough to pick you up and fly you away. He told him about snow angels and snowmen and the snowball fights he had with their mother.
Joshua could only remember two storms himself, but the memories were sewn onto the fabric of his brain, strong enough that he could still feel the biting cold that worked its way between the seam of his clothes, could still smell the slightly metallic scent of the unfamiliar outside air.
Joshua knew that the storm presented more than just the novelty of exploring outside their confined living space. It had been seven years since the last storm, who knew when they would have this chance again to search for more supplies, to find more food. They had an enormous stockpile of non perishables and access to clean water in the convenience store, but they would run out eventually unless they restocked. But, more than anything, Joshua needed filters. They had masks that could protect them from breathing in the air, but they were useless without filters. Filters meant they could venture out to gather supplies at any time, rather than waiting years for a storm.
Joshua was preparing right up to the first sign of snow, as he heard Graham gasp and turn around to look at him. Graham pointed out the window and announced the arrival of the first few snowflakes, before whipping back around and resuming his staring contest with the window. Joshua reminded Graham that they still had to wait a few more hours before the storm would do its job and whisk the polluted air away.
Graham spent those hours gawking at the white powder collecting on the ground, dressing the trees and piling on top of the lone street light like a mountain of sand in the bottom of an hourglass.
Finally, Joshua sighed and stood up, beginning to gather the supplies they’d need. Graham’s head swiveled around like a rocket, his patience evaporated in an instant. Joshua smiled at him as he packed their things. Neither said a word to the other.
By the time Joshua and Graham emerged from their cave, night had fallen, and several inches of snow covered the ground. Graham turned in a circle, taking in the full panoramic view of their street for the first time. As excited as he was, Graham was now silent, awed by the sudden redecoration of the once familiar street. Their makeshift home sat at a corner, with rows of houses stretching in all four directions.
Graham bent down and brushed his gloved hands across the snow. The air. The cold. It was all alien to him. He scooped some of it up and sifted it between his hands, letting it fall through his fingers.
“Remember,” Joshua said, suddenly taking on a more serious tone, “We need to move quick. We don’t know how long this storm will keep us safe.” As he spoke he tied the rope that he had been making to Graham, wrapping it around his waist tight. He knew how bad storms could get. He knew how easy it was to get lost, how quickly you could find yourself surrounded on all sides, as if trapped inside an opaque snow globe, all distinguishable features of the real world vanished. He had seen it first hand.
Graham nodded his head. “Can we make snowmen, too?”
“When we get back.” Joshua pulled hard on the knots of Graham’s tether. Once he was satisfied, Joshua stood up, taking in the surroundings of their street and tying the other end of the rope to his own waist. He turned towards the street that ran to the right of the convenience store. The road dipped down a hill, revealing an endless chain of almost identical houses. He wondered what this part of the street looked like when it wasn’t blanketed with snow. “Come on,” he gestured to Graham and they started down the hill.
# # #
We watch from above as little by little, the vermin emerge from their hiding places. There were more than we had even suspected. We look on, waiting patiently as they parade around the land. There are too many to count. Once they have traveled far enough away from their homes, we pull one hand back up from the land and into the sky. We send the hand, now a clenched fist, back towards the land, displacing air as it sails downward. The fist conjures up fierce winds that whip outward in all directions, battering the humans with snow. The fist finally makes contact with the land, bringing with it the full force of our rage.
# # #
They had been walking for a few hours and the novelty of the snow had still not worn off for Graham. Joshua watched from behind as Graham rejoiced in diving into the snow banks that had begun to form. Graham would run up ahead, to the end of his tether with Joshua, plunge into the snow and roll around in it, until Joshua caught up to him. Then he would jump up and run ahead to do it again. And again.
Almost immediately, Joshua had realized the white of the snow was brightening the night sky, giving them a much better view of where they were going. Yet another gift from the storm, Joshua thought. They had yet to pass a working source of light and would have been walking by the light of the stars and the moon if it weren’t for the snow.
The storm wasted no time in picking up. The snow fell heavier and quicker, turning their brisk walk into a deliberate trudge. With more snow came wind, sometimes blasting snow directly into their faces and sometimes propelling them forward, from behind. The constant snowfall started to hamper Joshua’s vision; he could now barely make out the houses on either side of him, let alone what was ahead on the road.
“Why are we going this way?” Graham asked, a blue blur in the mound of snow ahead of Joshua.
“There’s stores this way,” Joshua said.
“Stores like ours?”
“Bigger.”
“Did you ever see one up close? With Mom?” Graham raised his voice to a shout, battling the roar of the storm.
“She took me with her once,” Joshua replied. “But she went by herself all the time when we still had filters.” Joshua could remember the massive outline of one store, like a sleeping giant, spread wide and flat across the earth. In his mind, it went on forever, its walls stretching past the limits of his vision. He had made the walk to it with his mother during the first storm of his childhood and she made him wait outside, hidden in a bush across the street. He had watched her jog to the entrance, the store swallowing her up as she walked through the front door. She came back empty handed. The store was picked through, she had said. That had been years ago, but Joshua knew that there were more stores close by, hopefully with some supplies still left: filters, if they were lucky, but he’d even settle for vitamins or some sort of food that wasn’t the same canned sludge he had been eating for as long as he could remember.
He caught up to Graham again, who dashed forward, nearly disappearing into the wall of white. Joshua had to squint his eyes to keep his vision trained on the vague blue shape of Graham’s coat, breathing a little easier each time when he came back into view. Joshua tugged at the knot on his rope, assuring himself that it was tight. He marveled at Graham’s energy; he was exhausted from just the short trek they had made so far. Life stuck inside a contained box eating the same food every day had left their bodies feeble, and he knew the force of the storm couldn’t be helping.
Watching Graham barrel through the snow only reminded Graham why they had to find filters. He couldn’t stand watching his brother grow up stuck inside a cage. He knew their trip may be futile, but he tried to bury the seed of doubt that nagged at him, the part of him that suspected there may be no filters left anywhere.
As Graham ran ahead yet again, a gust of wind stopped Joshua in his tracks. He held up an arm to shield him from the snow pelting his face. The wind roared, nearly blowing him onto his hands and knees. He finally managed to look up, expecting to see Graham on his back, in the snow, but instead he saw nothing. Panic lurched up, through his body; he craned his neck and strained his eyes looking for any sign of Graham’s coat. Nothing. Joshua yanked on the rope. Nothing. He pulled, the rope collecting at his feet as he continued to feel nothing but slack from the other end.
“Graham!” Joshua yelled into the storm, barely making out his own voice against the howling of the wind. He pulled and pulled on the rope until he looked down and saw an empty loop in his hands.
The end of the rope.
Ice shot through every vein and artery in his body, as if the storm had breached his skin and made its way inside. “GRAHAM!” He yelled as loud as he could as he scrambled forward and began shoveling through the snow, searching for some sign of his brother.
He hadn’t tied the loop tight enough. It was the only thought that echoed through his mind, getting louder and louder in his brain each time it did.
“GRAHAM!” He yelled again, knowing it was useless. No one farther than three feet away from him would hear it. He managed to stand and spin around, but the snow seemed to be blowing from every direction now, erasing any sense of bearings he had. He no longer had any idea where he stood in the street, instead he found himself walled in on all sides by an impenetrable white screen of wind and snow.
The wind had become incessant, producing tears in Joshua’s eyes the second he opened them to look around. He knew those tears would freeze his eyes shut in minutes, so he put his head down and trudged forward, feeling blindly through the snow in front of him.
He hadn’t tied the loop tight enough.
Even with his face down, Joshua struggled to breathe facing into the wind. He had to turn his head to the side, like a swimmer, to find any air.
He hadn’t tied the loop tight enough.
He dropped back down to his hands and knees, his arms swinging in front of him. He felt his right hand connect with something solid, pain stinging up his forearm from how frantically he had been swinging it. He looked up and saw something made of wood in front of him. Stairs. He had managed to crawl to the porch of a house.
He hadn’t tied the loop tight enough.
He crawled up the steps, the wind subsiding slightly as he got onto the shelter of the porch. He made it to the red door in front of him and reached up for the doorknob, missing the first few tries, his already weak body drained from the few minutes of fighting through the blizzard. Finally, he caught the doorknob and turned it. Locked.
Joshua’s body slumped against the door. He began to laugh. Or cry, he couldn’t quite tell. He pressed his body up against the door, trying to get away from the storm. He just needed a few minutes of rest then he would find a way inside the house …
He hadn’t tied the loop tight enough.
His eyes shot back open. He looked down at the rope still tied around his waist. He untied it and pulled the rest that had been trailing behind him back into his hands. He looped it tight around his right hand, creating a thick layer around his fist. He dragged himself up, facing the narrow window next to the door, taking a breath and then smashing his right hand through the glass.
# # #
Chaos unfolds below us. The humans scramble frantically, looking for some sort of cover from our blizzard. Some find shelter, others don’t. Bodies are buried by the snow. Roofs cave in, buildings crumble. But the trees stand, swaying fiercely in the wind, but they stand. Their roots, deep within the earth, hold them up.
The humans have no such roots.
We withdraw our hands from the land, allowing the storm to take its course.
# # #
Joshua woke with his face a few inches away from a couch. He had pulled himself through the window and crawled into the living room of the house before passing out from exhaustion. He sat up slowly, propping himself up against the couch and feeling the carpet with his fingertips; it felt soft: familiar and foreign at the same time. He felt an ache coming from his right hand and he looked down to see the rope still wrapped around it, dried blood staining both his hand and the rope from where the shattered glass of the window had cut him.
Graham.
The sight of the rope around his hand reawakened the panic that had been sitting in the back of his head, like standing water in a flooded basement. He jolted up and looked to the broken window to see if the storm had subsided yet. The snow had piled up substantially while he had slept, some of it finding its way inside the house and onto the carpet. The storm didn’t seem to be raging on as heavily as it had been, but there was still plenty of snow falling.
Before he knew it, his body was unlocking the door and carrying him outside. Joshua swallowed a pit of guilt, looking for some sign of how long he had slept for, but he quickly gave up. There was no use looking for the sun through the murk of the storm. Now he could at least see far enough into the storm to make out the houses directly across, but the snow was nearly up to his knees. He struggled to move with the same sense of urgency that pounded through his head. The snow forced him to take purposeful, lumbering steps. He reached the center of the street and turned in place, taking in the rows of identical houses that stretched in front and behind him, on either side, straining his eyes to locate any sign of Graham’s bright blue coat.
“GRAHAM!” He belted out, his voice now able to rise above the quiet roar of the storm. He turned around and yelled again, “GRAHAM!” Pausing for a second, he stood still, waiting and listening for…nothing. He heard nothing but the storm, the whistle of the wind blowing mocked his ears. He took a step forward, sinking his boots into the snow. Then another. He wouldn’t stop, he told himself. He wouldn’t stop until he found Graham. He closed his fist around the bloodstained rope still wrapped around his hand. He wouldn’t stop.
“GRAHAM.”
# # #
We watch as the storm winds down and snow continues to drift down onto the snow banks and mounds, half burying the box homes, trapping the humans in a new way. A speck of bright blue in the snow catches our attention. It is the sleeve of a coat, poking through the snow, just in front of one of the box homes on that street. Our eyes peer into the home, curiously. We see three figures sitting, huddled around a fireplace. The smallest of the humans sits up and walks to the window. The two others–a man and a woman–look at each other concernedly.
The woman speaks. “Can you talk to us, hun? What were you doing out in that storm?”
The boy stares out the window, shivering under the blanket that he has wrapped around him. He sees the patch of blue fabric poking out of the snow in the middle of the road. He seems transfixed, and he watches, just as we do, as a single snowflake drops down onto the sleeve, shrinking it. Then another snowflake lands on the patch. Then two more, until bit by bit, the blue patch is gone, and the boy is staring at nothing, at invisible eyes in the storm.
And we stare back.
–
Brendan Hoffman studied creative writing and psychology at Western Washington University, in Bellingham, Washington. His work has been published in Jeopardy Literary Magazine and the Thieving Magpie.
© 2023, Brendan Hoffman
Halfway Down the Stairs 