GEORGE FOLLOWED JOSEPH through the wet, smelly trails leading to the edge of town. Joseph had a bag of items with him, cleaned up bits of trash with which he could barter at the market for necessities. The two chatted casually while they went. Joseph made the trip roughly once a week, picking up as many food staples and toiletries as his bag of recycled trash could buy. Amy generally stayed behind to guard their home from potential invaders, and as a result, the nearly two-mile walk was usually lonely. Sometimes, he would find more items along the way to add to his bag, although stopping to search through the distant piles always inevitably tacked even more time onto his already lengthy trip. Every once in a while, he would bump into a neighbor on his way, but usually he didn't see another soul until he neared the market.
George continuously gagged, the melting snow bringing out the worst of the pungent, decomposing stench all around them. He looked around, his stomach nauseated even further by the inescapable sight of soggy trash and rust-colored puddles of garbage water. He noticed that Joseph didn't seem bothered at all by it or the endless mountains of trash, and he assumed that the poor man's olfactory system had burned out long ago from living amongst that rotten, putrid smell for so many years.
"I hope the weather holds," Joseph said, wary of the lingering clouds.
"It just seems to get worse every year," George said, not offering a direct response to Joseph's comment, but keeping the small-talk going just the same.
"You're not kidding." Joseph shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other, the weight of it beginning to pull uncomfortably against his back. "I hope the cold weather doesn't affect today's market. That last flash-blizzard caught a lot of people off-guard," he added, his tone of voice offering a genuine level of concern.
George slowed his pace as the piles of trash on his left gave way to an immense automobile graveyard. Old metal frames, engines, and compacted cubes sat piled amongst rusty remnants of the Old World's most popular form of transportation. George remembered automobiles. He had never driven one, but he had ridden in many of them up until his early teens. They became obsolete even before fossil fuels became scarce, phased out in a last ditch effort to reverse the effects of global warming. Of course, the effort came far too late, and the Big Climate Change happened anyway.
George marveled at the piles of twisted metal, reminiscing back to the all but completely forgotten days of road trips, family vacations, and regular visits with relatives. The world had been a far different place for almost as long as he could remember, and sometimes he forgot how much life really had changed through the years. He stopped for a moment, his breath still, as he and Joseph came upon the remains of a large, commercial airliner.
Joseph stopped with George, assuming the older man had never before seen a vehicle so large. "It's called an aero-jet. They say people used to get these heavy behemoths up in the air, somehow, and keep them there long enough to fly anywhere across the globe. It seems impossible, I know, but—"
"I remember airplanes," George gently interrupted.
Joseph turned to George, surprised. "You do?"
George took one last good look at the dead mechanical structures at his side then continued down the trail. It was strange how familiar, yet so equally foreign, the vehicles were. He never had the opportunity to fly before all of the commercial airlines shut down, but he remembered watching planes cross the sky when he was very young. Sometimes he would wonder if those memories were no more than petty childhood imaginings: spectral flying machines that disappeared from the skies once Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny fell into their rightful ranks of childhood fantasy. With everything he just saw, however, he knew that they all had to have been real . . . every single one of them.
Once upon a time.
George wondered if he looked hard enough, or dug deep enough through the endless piles of trash, perhaps he'd find that God was buried somewhere out there as well.
The stench compounded itself once more as the cars and airplanes disappeared and became replaced by more towering piles of rotting food containers, discarded treasures, and dirty diapers. Another young deviant emerged from a nearby pile, carrying his own bag of findings for the market.
Joseph nodded at the other deviant in a friendly greeting.
The deviant nodded back at Joseph, and then saw George's brown eyes. He ducked his head low and silently hurried down the trail, gaining considerable distance between them in a mere ten of fifteen seconds.
"What was that all about?" George asked.
"He had a rough experience with a human once. Don't take it personally," Joseph said.
"You know that guy?" George asked, watching the frightened young man disappear into the distance up ahead.
Joseph shrugged. "I should—he's one of my neighbors."
"I hate my neighbors," George said.
Joseph looked at George, surprised. "They must be pretty rotten people."
George thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, not really."
Joseph let the issue drop, redirecting George's attention to a plateau that became visible as they came to the top of a short hill. "We're not far now," he said, pointing to the flat, untended expanse of land up ahead.
To the right, deviant workers manned giant rail carts filled with trash. They seemed to be bringing it in from a distant location, and then shoveling it into the tall piles George and Joseph now passed the last of. The workers took turns looking up from their task, all of them recognizing Joseph, each reacting in various ways to George's presence.
George dug into his bag and pulled out a picture of Virginia. He held it up for the workers to see. "Have any of you seen my wife?"
Most of the men took a good look, but none seemed to recognize her face. George put away the photo with a tired sigh, and he and Joseph moved on.
"The market is just ahead," Joseph said as they continued down the path and entered the five-foot-tall field of wild grass. Small patches of snow still blanketed the field, and the path was slick with sheets of ice.
A ninety-degree fork appeared in the path, and Joseph and George veered to the left. The busy sound of bartering and networking slowly became audible, and then seemingly out of nowhere there was an enormous clearing filled with hundreds of deviants and their wares.
There were no booths or kiosks, but a few inventive people had set up small tables, brought folding chairs, or set up makeshift umbrellas. Some went from person to person, trading wherever they could. There were a few fruit stands, one person selling rats, a clothing peddler, a man who'd somehow obtained commercially packaged bags of rice, and another walking around with a bag full of batteries. George figured the inventory here likely changed by the week, but those who had the means could go home with a decent variety of household staples.
"Good luck finding your wife," Joseph said.
George nodded. "Thanks." He looked around, noticing several suspicious eyes watching him.
The two shook, and then Joseph disappeared into the crowd of browsers and traders.
George slowly moved through the crowd, flashing Virginia's picture in all directions. Most of the people there seemed confused to see a lone human walking through their market, and a few strong young men followed him to ensure he was not up to any foul play.
George tried to look as non-threatening as possible, holding Virginia's picture between him and his onlookers.
"Whatcha got there?" a young man sitting with a cage of rats asked, taking notice of George and his numerous onlookers.
George walked up to the man, keeping the picture up in front of him. "I'm looking for this woman."
"Never seen her. Would you like to buy a rat?" the man replied.
George shook his head, turning away.
The overlooking group drew closer as Ray's associate, Mary, who happened to be shopping at the time, slowly approached George to get a closer look at Virginia's picture. She nodded with absolute certainty. "I've seen her."
George grabbed the young woman's arm. "You have to tell me where she is!"
There was suddenly a group of silent, staring deviants surrounding them. George froze, realizing that his stance probably appeared threatening to those nearby, and he let go of Mary's arm, backing off a few steps with his hands in the air. "I'm sorry."
Mary eyed the crowd, then turned back to George. "Why do you want to find her?"
"She's my wife," George said, fighting to hold onto his composure. "I just want to take her home."
"And you're searching for her here why?"
He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Because I think she might be . . . like you."
Mary nodded, her face going soft and compassionate. "I can have someone track her down for you. Where are you staying?"
George shrugged. "Can't you just take me to her?"
"Unfortunately, I can't."
George shook his head, defeated. "She doesn't want to see me?"
"I don't have the authority to take you where she is," Mary said.
"Can you take me to someone who does?" The weight of a hundred eyes watching him in his agony felt like enough to make him nearly collapse. He looked down, dizzy with apprehension.
Mary thought for a moment. "I can't make you any promises, but let me see what I can do. Meet me here later, after dusk?"
George nodded anxiously, barely able to breathe. "I'll be here."
Mary nodded and then continued with her shopping. The crowd slowly resumed its regular business, haggling and bartering despite George's presence. He stood where he was, a standing vigil, vowing not to move again until he had Virginia in his arms.