Lost and Found

Chapter One: Seek and Ye Shall Find

Miriam came to gradually. The crevice she'd been inadvertently ushered into offered very little in the way of space, but sleeping comfortably wasn't exactly on the nun's list of high priorities right now. Her vision still bleary, she peered out intently into the clearing that had once been occupied by the howling mob, trying to pierce the veil of fog that obscured it.

As the dark shadows began resolving themselves into identifiable shapes, she found herself wishing she hadn't tried at all.

While she had been unconscious, the sand steamer station had been quickly refashioning itself into a graveyard. Those who had not had the fortune of securing a ride on the steamer had proceeded to destroy one another, and their bodies littered the landscape like so much garbage. In the same instant that the nun caught sight of the bodies, she could also smell them: the stench left her gasping for breath, her windpipe drawing up to the size of a pin. With a herculean effort, Miriam stumbled out of the crevice, and then breathing became utterly impossible as she vomited. Once the sand had been painted with the contents of her stomach, she gave herself a few minutes to recover before moving on.

As she passed by the rows of bodies, she surveyed each of them with a heavy heart. There were so many of them... an elderly man, his cane lying in splintered pieces on his prone body. A young man and woman, a couple, their arms linked about one another in death. A little girl, still clutching a favorite toy in her filthy hands.

Miriam felt hot tears sting her eyes. These people had been terrified and desperate – as much as she herself now felt – and they had died so needlessly. Swallowing her sobs, she forced her eyes to linger over each body. Someone might still be alive...

None of them are alive, and you know it. After all, this isn't a new sight for you, is it? You've seen bodies before – dozens and dozens of them. You know the difference between one who has passed on and one who is still alive...

"Stop it," she said out loud, gripping the crown of her head. The voice needed to be silenced, or otherwise she would begin remembering things, and the last thing she needed right now was to succumb to another bout of hysteria. In her mind, she was reciting the Psalm again, and peace – or a paltry semblance of it – resumed.

She wondered if she should attempt a mass burial, but it would take days to commit all of the city's fallen inhabitants to the earth, and she didn't think she would be able to handle touching them, anyway. Instead, she knelt in the dirt and fingered her rosary, offering up prayers on their behalf. Lord, grant those have died the joy of Your presence. Look upon them with love and mercy as You welcome them into Your kingdom.

And remember those who are still alive.

When she returned to the church, she sat in the dark of her new home and wept.


Two days later, she went back out. She felt both disappointed and relieved when no one else showed up at the chapel. During times of crisis, she knew, people often went to the church first to try and make sense of things, to seek comfort and guidance from a spiritual authority. She knew hers wasn't the only church in July City – and she herself was no spiritual authority, for that matter – but she reasoned that someone must have thought to pay a visit by now. Her heart plummeted into her bowels as she forced herself to acknowledge that there were far fewer survivors than she'd first conjectured. Still, she wasn't dissuaded from seeking them out wherever she could.

She ventured into the city's jewelry district, where casinos and skyscrapers now lay in smoking ruins, their perimeters drawn in lines of ash. Miriam marveled as she tried to reconstruct the area's former glory, eventually giving up as her imagination yielded only vague images of neon rainbows of light and dark, moody structures that stretched towards the heavens like the Tower of Babel. The nun had assembled another bag of canned food and bottled water, remembering to pack a first aid kit as well.

She'd also remembered to take her gun with her. The monastery apparently hadn't realized the monumental irony when they issued the weapon to her upon her departure. Although they never said so, she knew their reasoning was that thou shalt not kill did not mean thou shalt not kill in self-defense. She didn't protest, however. As opposed as she was to killing, she felt she could do it if she had to, if only to protect herself from a repeat of the Bad Days. If something like that ever happened to her again, Miriam knew she would never be able to survive it.

She was just passing under a set of rusted-out skyrails when the ground beneath her began to shake. Her gaze instinctively flew up to the rails, but then she remembered that it was impossible for any of the small train carriages that had once been used to transport people across the city to be operating under these conditions. A low grumbling sound, like the exhalations of a dragon that had been interrupted from its slumber, fell on the tepid air.

Miriam felt a deep fear grip her heart just then: one that was different from the usual low-level dread she'd been experiencing ever since she left the monastery. She found herself utterly immobile, her limbs frozen in place, and her mouth worked soundlessly.

She had to hide. She knew that much. Whatever was coming her way was bad. Really bad. She could tell by now that the sounds – which had taken only a few seconds to increase by several decibels – were those of motorcycle engines being gunned ruthlessly. Whoever these people were, it was guaranteed that they were going to have the advantage of speed on their side.

The noises were getting louder now. Move, you fool! she commanded herself, and that seemed to do the trick. Knowing she didn't have time to try and flee the area altogether, Miriam dove behind what seemed the best means of protection at the moment: a large steel door that had been ripped off its hinges, probably from a nearby casino safe. For a moment it swayed dangerously as she tried to position herself behind it, but at length it settled into a more stable angle that offered her a view of the approaching riders.

This must be what Frodo and the other hobbits felt when they heard the Black Riders coming, she thought, smiling for the first time since the onset of the disaster. It was wry and obviously strained, but what the hell: she'd take it. She retreated further behind the listing sheet of steel, listened closely to try and judge the speed with which the motorcyclists were approaching.

The bikers did not arrive on the scene so much as explode onto it, the swell of their vulgar, discordant laughter equaling the roar of the behemoth vehicles they commandeered. Headlights scorched the sky as though they were tongues of flame, and as the harsh yellow light washed over every object in Miriam's immediate vicinity, the nun found herself thanking God that she was able to hide from its revealing glare. The motorcyclists, for their parts, continued to flood the area with their numbers, their gleeful cackles not diminishing in the least.

There were about twenty of them, all told: all of them male, and in their teens. Their hair was unkempt and savage, their faces festooned with unidentifiable markings of all different colors; and as more and more of them filled the area underneath the skyrails, their tires chewing up sand and launching small avalanches of dirt and rocks, Miriam was struck with sudden understanding. It's a gang, she thought. It's only been a few days, and they've already begun forming gangs. And they're only children. Nevertheless, it didn't lessen her fear one jot. She felt there was something significant about their ages – some crucial fact she was missing – but she couldn't really put her finger on it.

And then, with as much demented fanfare as when they'd first arrived, the motorcyclists were gone, trailers of smoke following on their heels.

Miriam waited for ten minutes, then crept out from her hiding place. I hope I never encounter them again, she thought, but she felt the chances of that to be highly unlikely. Even more unlikely to come true was the hope that, if she did run into them again, there'd be another place for her to hide.

Miriam tried not to dwell on that as she walked home, one hand clinging to the strap of her satchel, the other wrapped firmly around the barrel of the gun that she kept hidden under her clothes.


She found her first survivor a week later. Rising early in the morning – or at least she was pretty sure it was morning; while the constantly red sky gave no indication of the time of day, her body could be relied on to wake up at the correct time – she had showered and changed her clothes for the second time since the disaster. Then she picked up the satchel of food and set out on another search for people.

This time she found herself wandering far away from the church, into an area that she didn't recognize at all. She had a map of the city that Sister Anna had given her for when she first settled in, so she knew she could find her way back if she really needed to, but she didn't like being this far away from home. After about five hours of walking, she was treated to a very unusual sight: two giant marble pillars, their bases resting on ruined buildings opposite each other, had crossed to form an X-shaped shadow. As she drew closer, she caught sight of the person sitting in the deepest section of shadow, against one of the buildings.

The person was clothed in tattered rags: knees drawn up tightly to the chest, head bowed. She had no way of discerning the person's gender or age; that would require her to get closer. For a moment she stood just outside the perimeter of shadows, undecided, then resolutely put one foot forward and entered.

She approached the curled-up figure – whoever they were, they were stiff as a board and caked under three layers of dirt, but definitely alive – and addressed them tentatively.

"Hello? Are you all right?"

Silence. Miriam stiffened. Maybe they were dead after all... still, she pressed on.

"Do you need medical assistance? Are you hungry, thirsty? I'm looking for survivors to take back with me to the church on the hill. I figure we can stay there for a while, either until help comes or we figure out a solution ourselves. I – "

She shrunk back, terrified, when a male voice replied. "Don't waste your time here. Move on."

Miriam frowned in spite of her fear. Her heart was beating very hard now, and perspiration dotted her forehead, but she managed to ignore it. Alone with a man – "What are you talking about? I came down here to help people like you."

"I don't want to be helped. Go away."

Believe me, there's nothing I want to do more than go away, Miriam thought, but she persisted. "Don't be ridiculous. What are you going to do? Just sit here until you die of starvation?"

"It's no concern of yours." His voice was laced with bitterness, but she thought she could also detect a touch of childishness there. Miriam couldn't help smiling a little, the fear draining out of her body by slow degrees.

"Well, I don't plan on leaving anytime soon, so you can just settle for having some company while you're dying." She sat down on the dusty ground across from him, still maintaining a safe distance. She was struck by sudden inspiration. "Hey, I'm a nun, you know. Maybe I can give you your last rites or something!" She laughed at her own joke, although she knew it probably wasn't funny. After all, the other nuns had never been too demure to tell her that her jokes were terrible.

The stranger grunted in reply.

"What's your name?"

He was silent.

"Are you even going to look at me?"

She was rewarded with even more silence. Miriam sighed, began laying out the ingredients for a picnic lunch on the ground. If you consider canned peas and half a loaf of bread picnic staples, she thought wryly. "Well, I've been wandering around for a while and I'm pretty hungry, so I hope you don't mind if I eat here." She produced a can opener and sliced the lid off the can of peas, then dug in with obvious enjoyment.

The stranger continued to say nothing in the ten minutes it took her to polish off the food. Miriam sighed again, drained the canteen of water she had brought with her. She was feeling pretty full now. She wished she hadn't eaten all that food. What if she needed to make a quick getaway? ...And yet, she was growing more and more possessed of the feeling that she had absolutely nothing to fear from this man.

"You really can't tell me your name?"

He didn't say anything for a minute, and she despaired that he was ever going to speak to her again, when suddenly he lifted his head slightly. The strip of filthy cloth that had been concealing his hair and eyes fell away, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nun couldn't be sure of his hair color – blond, maybe? – as it was dirty and matted. It was his eyes, however, that arrested her. They were green and clear and beautiful.

"I don't know what my name is," he said, and his tone was no longer hostile. "I don't know anything about myself, or what's happened to this city, or why I'm even here. I'm... I'm lost." He bent his head again, but not to hide from her gaze. He seemed to be withdrawing into himself, trying unsuccessfully to recall the details of his past.

Miriam's heart ached for him. There had been a Time when she felt the same way: lost. It was only her faith that had rescued her from despair and eventual suicide – the sweet release of death she'd longed for all those Years – but now was no time to start preaching at him. Besides, she didn't know his circumstances, the life he'd led up to this point. All she could really do, the nun concluded, was be there for him.

"First things first," she said gently. "Your name. Do you remember anything at all?"

The stranger returned her gaze forlornly. "I remember a name, but it's not mine. I know that much."

"It'll have to do for now," she said. "When you have a name – even a false name – you at least know that you're real. That you exist." She smiled at him. "And then you're one step closer to finding yourself."

He regarded her uncertainly. "Alex," he said at last.

"And I'm Miriam," she said. "Sister Miriam Shepherd, to be exact."

They continued to stare at one another, unsure of how to advance the dialogue they'd begun. Then Alex's stomach rumbled loudly, startling them both.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" Miriam asked, concerned.

Alex's eyes grew blank. "Oh, that's right. You don't remember..." Miriam opened her bag and placed it between them. "Take whatever you want," she said.

For long moments Alex stared at the bag, as if unable to discern exactly what he was looking at. Then one arm emerged from the bundle of rags he was swathed in, supported his body as he leaned forward on his knees. As the rags fell to the ground, exposing the rest of his face as well as the strange black suit he wore underneath, Miriam noticed two things.

One: He was quite young, probably only a few years younger than her.

Two: He only had one arm.

She wisely made no comment about the missing arm. Best not to make him feel uncomfortable while he was eating. Still on his knees, Alex dragged the bag closer to him. Before reaching in, however, he gave her an apologetic look. "Thank you, Miriam."

"Oh..." She was surprised, but managed to say: "You're welcome, Alex."

She watched as he rustled around in the satchel for a few seconds, pulled out a package of powdered donuts. Ripping off the plastic with his teeth, he proceeded to stuff the donuts – two at a time – in his mouth.

Miriam smiled. "You like those, huh?"

"I..." Alex struggled to talk between bites. "Yeah, I do."

"So now I know two things about you. Your name may or may not be Alex, and you like donuts."

"And I only have one arm," he added, voicing her unspoken thought.

Miriam's voice became solemn. "Could you have lost your other arm during the destruction?"

"Well..." Alex finished the package in record time, then went looking for another. Turning up nothing, he decided to slake his thirst instead. He popped open a can of lemonade – again, using his teeth. Miriam thought they were going to sustain permanent damage if he carried on this way. "That's what I thought, initially. But if that's true, then it must be buried deep within the rubble, because I never found it." He looked at her with large, scared eyes. "It also doesn't explain how I'm not dead from blood loss right now."

"Maybe you lost it before all this happened, and you just don't remember," the nun suggested, trying to assuage his fear.

"I don't think so. It's just... I'm so unaccustomed to only having one arm. I still feel like I've got both of them. I keep trying to use my left arm, but then I remember it's not there anymore." Alex eyed the stump protruding from his left shoulder uneasily. "I don't think that would be the case if I had lost it prior to this week."

An air-shaking rumble brought their conversation to an abrupt halt. Following on the heels of the tremorous sensations that wracked their bodies was a sound like screeching rubber, growing steadily greater in volume. Miriam's eyes widened in sudden comprehension – and with comprehension, terror.

"Quickly!" she said, rising to her feet. She couldn't bring herself to actually take Alex's hand in her own, so she gestured wildly to him, silently implored him to get up. Alex did so, but not without expressing concern at the nun's obvious distress.

"Who's coming? What's going on?"

Miriam's eyes frantically scanned their surroundings, searching for a suitable hiding place, but none was forthcoming. She turned back to face Alex: her skin was pale and ashen as she struggled to remain in control of her mental faculties. Only one phrase to describe the approaching intruders stood out among her stampeding thoughts.

"The Black Riders!"