The Ghosts of Memories

Dante reached the top of the hill as dawn’s sunlight lit his face. He stood there watching. Below, a small town was being drown by nature taking back what was hers.

The sudden stop of her companion suggested Julia they had finally arrived. She stopped a few steps behind and turned her head back. With a subtle look, and an almost imperceptible movement of her hand, she made the young girl following behind stop. The girl preferred to not stand still, it was very uncomfortable due to the old, dirty, and ill-fitting set of equipment they all had to wear. Specially annoying was the mask covering her entire face, except for the eyes. She understood, however, that they must have arrived at Dante’s destination.

After giving him a couple of minutes, Julia approached Dante. She looked down the hill and felt a hole drill in her stomach. She turned to Dante and asked in a tender but firm tone: “Is this the place?”

“Yes, it is.” he replied with the eyes peering forward.

“Should we get closer?” Julia asked.

“There are clearly no survivors here.” said Dante with a hollow tone. “There’s no point on putting you in risk, you go back to the treehouse and wait. You know the rules.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Julia.

“If I can’t see them alive, I need something to help me remember.” Dante replied.

Dante headed down the hill knowing exactly where to go and what to look for, while Julia turned back to Marie, and guided her without a word.

A half-demolished house, only held up by the growing vines covering the structure from the inside out, stood in front of Dante. He struggled to get inside, but when he finally did, he headed upstairs to the last room down the hall.

Everything was covered in vines and the door was blocked. After a few attempts, he pushed the door with his whole body, every tackle fueled by rage. Each struck was more violent. The door finally collapsed, making him fall inside with a bunch of rubbish and a cloud of dust covering his body. He tried to stand up, but a sudden pull made it difficult. A vine stuck on the mask ripped it off from his face. He tried to put the mask back on, but the desperate pulls got it stuck even more. He didn’t know how much time passed, it felt like hours, but when he finally managed to recover the mask and put it on, he collapsed on the floor pulled down by the shock. Countless images flashed inside his head. His heart bumped wildly; he couldn’t breathe. It took him several minutes to snap out and think straight again. He had screwed it up, there was no way he hadn’t inhaled the spores. He was infected; there was no doubt.

He could try and run back to Julia and Marie, rush to the last shelter, but there was no guarantee they would make it in time. His legs urged to stand up and start running, but they were quickly shot down by a stronger pull within. He remembered what he came looking for and turned towards a small bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room. The inner pull got him up, and he walked slowly towards the shattered and putrid piece of furniture. He pulled out an old photo album and opened it gently. His eyes instantly drowned on tears. He stared at a picture with a fat little kid about three years old, sitting on the beach in front of a sandcastle. The kid’s smile was radiant and shined like the sun. A beautiful woman in her early twenties, with brown curled hair and hazel eyes, noticeable even with the poor-quality image, was sitting behind him. A handsome-looking guy with a tender look could be seen on the background. His eyes radiated pure love.

Dante took off the mask, sat down on the floor and turned the pages on the album back to the first. A smile took over his entire face, matching the kid’s one like a mirror. Tears rolled down his cheeks while he whispered: “Is time to go home.”

The sunlight hit Julia’s eyelids waking her up. She was sitting on wooden floor at the top of a tree. She turned to her right and saw Marie curled up like a ball in the corner of the room. She called her with a warm but firm tone: “Come on girl, is time to go.”

“What about Dante?” the girl asked while timidly stretching her arms and standing up.

“You know the rules, 24 hours is the most we wait. Something happened or he made a choice, either way, we can’t help him anymore. We are now on our own.”

by Iván Plouganou