WHATEVER SHE HAD BEEN LOOKING FOR HAD BECOME ANARCHY is the longest short-story I ever had inside of me until SAM CULLISON'S FINE MIND came along, much later...it's bleak but hopeful...in the ways life can often be...it's futuristic in a very familiar way, as you'll see...it's how I would like to be if life was like it is in this future...that may never be...I certainly hope....

WHATEVER SHE HAD BEEN LOOKING FOR HAD BECOME ANARCHY

Whatever she had been looking for had become anarchy. It was all falling apart, and everyone knew she was too old to be of use, even if she knew that wasn’t true. She could do wound care, and she could teach people to take care of the wounded. She could give the shots, if there were any shots. No one seemed to know if there would be any sterile bandages and tape and so on. She could boil the cloths and tie them. Just kept repeating: you could boil the cloths. Someone shouted at her about how there was not gas or electricity, so how could you boil water? There are other ways to get fire, she said patiently, you need to have things really clean. Well, it wasn’t going to happen, that was for sure. Just a lot of shouting orders and gunshots and chaos. This was all no good, no good. Useful stuff was being broken and people were running off with guns and knives and food and sodas. Broken glass everywhere. Bodies, some still alive, laying about everywhere. Helicopters with people shooting out of them, or falling out of them. She huddled in with her grandson in the shipping box with a blanket she had wrapped around him. He had peed on himself and so had she, so they were cold anyway, and would be again. This was America. This was not ever supposed to happen except in some movie. She had never watched such movies in the past. Too bad, maybe she could have seen some tips for survival. It was night though, and they did have a milk carton of water and a box of crackers left in the back pack. Maybe the morning would bring relief, or safety, or work, or sanity. But, probably not.

Now it was morning again of a great many days later. She was walking alone, because somebody had come and actually snatched her grandson: twelve years old, but small for his age. Still, they said, Get u p and fight. Then he was gone. She was walking with the other people who were considered useless, although hardly any one was doing anything remotely useful anywhere around her that she could see. There was no guard, just you got shot if you moved out of this line, it looked like. It was something to do, the walking. Everyone was just peeing and excreting while they walked, more or less, so everybody was filthy and smelly together. Water jars were passed up and down the line, and there seemed to be enough, but not clean at all. No food, of course. So people were dying right there, or at least falling over and getting pushed off the road. What a nightmare. What a nightmare. That was all that was going on in her head. Nothing to notice around a person: everything looked dead or dying. The sun was warm and the wind was cool, with a bit of soot in its eyes, as they used to say. No one was talking at all, really. That was a bit surprising. Well, maybe not. Being curious didn’t look like it would get a person an answer. An answer from what person? No questions seemed to fit the situation at all, anyway.

It wasn’t a good idea to think about where all her family and the friends, work folks, kids…where they all were. Survival is very limiting, really. It’s down to you and water and some food and not falling down. Food didn’t seem to actually be around. What happened to food anyway? Why were they all expected to march ahead…to where? For what? It was getting on to night. She reminded a person who looked like a guard that she had been, was, a nurse. Was there some First Aid station she could work in, or something like that? For the first time, there was an answer: Yes. What could she do? She told him about the dressings, wounds, cleaning people and so on. He said to come with him ahead, so she trotted behind him as fast as she could. Up ahead was a big tent with a few people in it, all clothed fairly clean considering the condition of all the marched people in line. The guard said, She’s a nurse and shoved her, actually gently, forward. Come with me a small young woman said. What can you do? she told her. The small woman said to clean herself and eat some bread and change her clothes to a sort-of tee-shirt with a blue circle on it like a wrong-color bulls-eye. She did those things in a dream state, trying not to look hungry or tired or weirded-out, all of which she sure was. In the tent it was warm with some kind of generator lights, and some care was being done for people who were not from the line. Maybe they were important people for some reason. Maybe they were some enemy, but who was the ‘enemy’ anyway? She had no idea at all. She washed her hands well, and felt suddenly like it was all a movie set, like Dr Zhivago when Laura goes to work as a nurse on the front and so on. Nothing at all was feeling real. It occurred to her that she hadn’t smelled anything, really, in some time. The foul smell was gone, and there was really no antiseptic smell either, or smell of blood or illness – just a fresh air – no, really, no real smell at all. It was quiet too. The shuffling line outside made a soft swish sound inside. Those miles of people were the ones who were not going to make it first. Was she safer than they were? The question didn’t seem very important.

Now she was given a cart that had gauze and wash clothes and water basins and disinfectant (the bottles said) soap and adhesive tapes of several sizes and paper disposal bags and plastic disposable gloves. All these rows of patients have dressing changes every three to four hours, she was told. They all need to live for The Plan. Be sure not to infect them, and report if they are infected. She nodded and began the work. There were about fifty of these patients, and all of the wounds were clean and seemed to be surgical lacerations: clean cuts, about six inches long and all butterflied with clamps or coarse sutures or staples. They all were pink, healthy skin with a little lump under them, which she was told was an ‘Insert’ that she was to wash ‘around, not over’. All the patients were conscious, but very quiet, with their eyes closed and regular breathing, as if they were sleeping. They were of all ages, and the ‘wounds’ were all in their upper arms, sometimes one, sometimes both arms. The beds were clean and white, and no patient seemed to be restless or taking fluids or foods, or peeing or excreting in any way – not even sweat. She began to sweat a bit, and wondered more, what world was this, and why was she still part of it all....

She remembered , suddenly, then constantly, her first real love: her first kiss just before her dad came to pick her up at the high school after the musical rehearsal…well, the first kiss that had really mattered – an electricity of feeling…and hugs and kisses – innocent in an oddly old-fashioned ways…the sparkle of the nights…the golden prom…canoeing on the living, silver river… singing and playing music together…his banjo, his silly jokes, his kindness…the feeling of belonging….how that had all been, near to fifty years before, was amazing to her in the clearness of memories. Hundreds of kisses and intimacies and “relationships” and children and stepchildren, and grand children and step-grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren had not changed the charge of those first encounter s with a true love. They had been too sweet and new to even make love: that was it: they were always new and unbroken to each other, because they had been, somehow, so pure in their wonderfully beginning-of-love. It was, then, no surprise that they were always still in love in their memories, with no ugly realities to disturb the shine of the dream. Now, in these terrible times, she was suddenly so hungry for that purity of new beginning that could not and never had been quite the same again. They would have been divorced by now, of course…the realities, the every day, would have taken them down that ordinary road. Still, she wished he was with her now. Somehow, it would have given her real hope in the humanity all around her…that such a love could have been…that she had left him so long ago, and yet, had never ever left him at all…and she needed him now…and that need was not going to be met ever again....

There had been so many loves, and so many fussings and fuming about ‘relationships’…it was all the kind of humanness you could be when you had enough to eat and to drink and clothes and shelter – those four “musts” that hundreds of millions of folks just had never had and sure never would have in a world like this one, where she was, a dressing-changer for dressings in a sci-fi flick from olden times. It was clear that this couldn’t be real, either. It was off kilter, these clean, warm people and the inserts under the unconscious skins…there was certainly no vibe of caring or compassion or kindness or even pity in this tent-place. Who were these ghouls anyway? Fear kept her quiet, and memories, she hoped, were going to keep her sane....

She had lost the last husband (she came from California, where people had more than two husbands more often than in other states, it seemed), to plain old death from old age. That muted that sadness a bit…he had certainly been the best of the bunch. They had actually had a really ‘good’ marriage, given the huge invasions of viruses all over the planet, taking out folks faster than they could identify and stop them. Damn parasites, that’s all they had been, and the planet spawned them like fish eggs over their hosts and hosts of humans in a human sea of, well, just too many, too many…humans….It almost seemed OK to have thousands going down to “flues” every day and everywhere…as long as you didn’t know any of those poor souls. Then it turned out that they were the lucky ones....

The killings of people for food weren’t new – that was old history. The bombing of hundred of blocks of old and young people who were just there, not aggressing anyone…that was older even still. To lose all your past…all those you loved: to have so many people…into the thousands daily…all losing their loves and their pasts all at once…that, now, was a very terrible thing…so many loves, and they were all gone, from the first to the last. There would not be another. She couldn’t imagine a context, a real place, where love could be in this morass of fear, and death, and constant pain. No more kisses, canoes on sweet rivers, dinners by candlelight, intimacies shared....

She rubbed her eyes quickly and was almost angry. How stupid to be thinking of love when all around her very self were strange unknown possibly-humans, but who could tell...She was changing the dressings by the dozens every hour – for how long? There were no clocks. Everybody in the Tent place seemed unhurried. No one mentioned in passing that they were hungry or thirsty or in need of any rest. She was! Forcing a smile that she hoped didn’t look like a grimace, she touched the sleeve of one of the medical-appearing guys who looked most normal. I’m thirsty and hungry, she said softly… Food and water are in the other tent! (He looked surprised). She left the tent, wondering if she would be shot, but nothing happened. No one even looked up at her. The silence was really most strange of all…The line was gone completely outside of the tent. There were no bodies or cries for help. Just silence all around.

In the other tent, there was a table and many chairs. Some of the tee-shirted people were eating and drinking slowly and quietly. No one looked at her at all. The table had a huge pot of broth, warming on a few small flames, and loaves of normal, everyday wheat bread. There was water that looked clean which was miraculous all by itself. There were cups and bowls and spoons of paper and plastic, and bins to throw them away in. It was so strange to think that the lines of people had all staggered past this food and water, not knowing it was there… She drank and ate slowly like everyone else was, mainly so that she wouldn’t up-chuck all these riches! It was the children she really could not think about… and her old loves, all good, some wonderful. She could think about them in the abstract, somehow, because they were all old or dead now. Like herself, they had lived lives, where at least they had been some idea of human, had a chance to love. The many, many children dying all around: Her heart broke over and over again for them all without end. Her heart would soon be sand. The children had no future here and now…she had no future here and now.

Hours passed and days passed….at times more people pass by. Sometimes, one would look into the tents with an ancient curiosity…wondering how and why and, even, whether they were there. The people saw them eating, but didn’t even try to get at the food…the guards were too many. The risks, impossible. And the food was fresh. She ate at least one time a day. Sometimes two times a day…how? No one asked. No one asked anything….she certainly did not. Death and questions seemed to go together…there was no reason to try to know anything.
Surely there would be someone she knew, someday, who would pass by, and would see her and call her name….but it did not happen. Day after day...
Then, of course, life turned on a dime, as it often does....

She was approached by the ‘Head’ of the Team, the ‘team’ she was working for, it seemed. He was not an unkind man, and he had spoken to her often, the oddly formal chit-chat that told her nothing, as it apparently was meant to do…he told her that she and he and several other ‘medical workers’ were going to be on a ‘mission of mercy’ to a nearby camp. There were prisoners of war there, he told her. When she asked soberly which ‘side’ was which, he only smiled sadly, saying, that’s classified, missus…she did not ask again. They left that very day, with medical and other supplies packed and carried by some of the men in the old way, by hand.

Out into the road they went. She could help feeling apprehensive and unhappy. There had been such strangeness and no human comfort in the tents, but the road was the most insecure place on her earth left, and no one seemed any more secure on it than she was….the road meant being alone, even with her comrades of the tents on the road with her.

Nothing they passed was familiar. No buildings were standing intact. Very little useful was left anywhere, yet there were scavengers everywhere, picking up nothing at all. No one looked necessary. No one bothered them at all. The guards saw to that. Simply being well-fed put them apart from all around them. They were alive. The others were the walking dead. That was now a ‘given’ in life…if this was life....

The other camp was very far away. It had not been clear how they arrived at the right place to be, since it was now dark. No one had lights or torches or anything. Still, there was another camp, much like their own, so far back down the road. The people at this camp looked the same as their people. So, was this the ‘enemy’? or, were these friends? It did not matter, of course. She was going to be caring for endless wounds, and no one would question her usefulness. That was her work now. Cleaning skin and bone and pain and covering skin and bone and pain to heal this person, then this one, then this other one….she began her work as soon as they arrived, and no one greeted her or stopped her.

A little later, and they sat to eat. The food was fresh and good and simple and small, as always. The Head sat next to her. You are tired, he said simply. Yes. Go to bed now. He was kind. She went to the women’s tent. On the way, she peered with old curiosity into the tents around her, simply from fatigue and habit. One had men sitting with guards. There was a face then. She recognized the face. From long ago. It was the face of her First Love.

Cold like ice arrested her unconscious footsteps. She looked into his face. And he looked into hers. Yes. They were in this place. They were in the same place. Both did not move one muscle. But agony paled each pair of eyes. A guard felt the pain and turned to her. Go to your tent, he told her. Yes, she said. I am. And so, she left for the women’s tent. There was hope now. And fear now. The fear was greater than the hope.

She had not slept well. The morning was like all the others. She did not pass the tent where her true and first Love was the enemy or a friend. There was no way to know. Only that he was there and she was there. There was no other truth than this…
The ‘Head’ sat down abruptly next to her, with his traY of food. There are enemy here, he said. And, there are friends. The men’s tent…friends. Prisoner of War. He didn’t move a muscle in his face. Still, the words stung with hope. Why are you telling me this, she asked. Then he smiled. It was the first smile come her way in a long, long time. Reasons of my own, he smiled. Not your business. Then, as abruptly, he stood up and walked away from her and from the tray of food. She ate the rest of the food off his tray.

The next day was odd. The ‘Head’ didn’t talk with her again. But, he did hand her a piece of paper with a time on it. 1AM. She didn’t know what he meant, but decided to be at the tent door at 1AM. It was no trouble. Women got up at night to go to the John all the time. They didn’t necessarily come back, not for a long time, or at all….he was there. Come on, he ordered. She followed.
Without hesitation, he went to the men’s tent. He spoke with a guard. Who went in. the guard came back with the man she saw as her First Love. It was him. Their eyes were locked into no time on earth. Come with me, the ‘head’ ordered them both. They followed him. Not touching. Into the forest, such as it was. Burned and wood carelessly cut. Deeper in. where it was not safe at all…take off your clothes, he ordered her true love. And then, he took off his. You wear mine, he ordered. And I wear yours. Shocked, the man she was loving again did as the ’Head’ said. Now, the ‘Head’ told him. Go to the medical tent. Sleep with them tonight. Do whatever they say in the morning. You, he told her. Go back to the women’s tent. In the morning, pack my gear with him for him. Go back to ‘Home’. No one will stop you. They know their orders.

You are going to be a POW? She was anxious suddenly. Yes, I will watch the enemy inside. You are to say nothing. When you do, either of you, you will die. Be together. It’s the better deal. He was gone as suddenly as they had come into the forest. She and her First Love stood. Helpless in their love. He took her hands and kissed them…she kissed him on his forehead. They walked out of the forest. Not a word said. They went to their tents. In the morning they went back to ‘home’. There, they went into the hospital tent, where she worked. Without a smile, the new ‘Head’ welcomed them. You will work together. He told them. Teach him what to do. Report to me after eating time.

They did as they were told. He learned rapidly and well. Their hands touched gently from time to time. They feared to say a word, though no one seemed to even see them. Finally it was meal time. They both ate slowly and carefully, as everybody did. Then, he touched her hand. We tell them we are husband and wife he said, simply, and without a smile. Yes, she answered quietly. We go to the family tent then, he told her. She nodded. This was not the world they had been through. It was not the world they wanted. But somehow, they were together. This might be called hope…
That night was a beautiful night. It was not as they would wish. The tent was full of couples and children. Everything private was under blankets and was very quiet. But there was joy, because humans needed joy, and love, and she and her First Love needed each other for joy, for love. There was hope as well.

This is not a story that ends well. It is the end of a world, and end of a civilization. The end of cultures and, in time, of the race that was called humans…the implanted humans survived longer, or course, than the humans on the road. The enemy and the friend became interchangeable…life went on in strange and angry and subdued ways, as it always had…
And what of love? Love had always been human. She and he were only human, and frail. Love was strong between them, though. Death did not find them easily or take them meanly. Where there was love, there was always hope as well. It made no difference at all. Except of course, to those who will not stop love in themselves. She and her First Love were of this sort of human. They hoped. It was their way.

When they end came, they were, of course, together. They were, of course, old. They died within breaths of the other. The ‘Head’ honored them with a small ceremony before they became ashes. He spoke for a short time of their devotion and the work in the tent. He spoke of what being human used to be. They were among the last. Everyone listened without understanding, but with respect. This was a new time. She and he had become old. No one became old anymore. It was a new day. The humans went out into the sunrise that had always been, and went to work.