The October Music: Fourth Verse - Day 14

Dancin’ In the Ruins

            When the walls came down, we knew we were lost. We had built ourselves a sanctuary, a respite, an oasis from the destroyed world outside. We had food aplenty, fresh water, and medical supplies. We had shelter and community. We had, for a time, peace in our little corner of what remained. Our hubris got the best of us, though. What did we name our paradise? Eden? No. Oasis? No. With walls several feet thick and taller than any could climb, only one name seemed fitting.

            We called our home Jericho.

            One would think that someone would have spoken up about it, reminded us what happened to the Jericho of old. Maybe someone did. Maybe we chose not to listen. It would not have been the first time, nor the last time. Regardless of the moniker, life went on. We sent parties venturing into the blighted land outside to search for supplies or survivors. Sometimes they came back with a bounty of both. Sometimes the supplies would be meager. Sometimes they would not come back at all. The risks were worth the cost.

            The surge started quietly at first. A gentle thudding against the walls. A barely-perceptible sound. We peered down and saw a lone creature, one of the unlucky transformed from the radiation, slamming itself into the wall. Shreds of decayed flesh and bile stuck to the wall as it pulled free and threw itself against the wall once more. It would tire itself out or at least break itself into pieces, we thought. We were in no danger.

            The next day, there were five creatures and they all did the same. The first creature had long since collapsed into a pile of meat and bones, but the others had taken its place. The next day, twenty more had arrived. We were still in no danger, we told ourselves, though an undercurrent of concern was there. We would be fine. The walls would hold. They had done so for years and these creatures were of naught but flesh and rot.

            Over the next weeks, more and more of the creatures came and surrounded our home. They threw themselves in waves at the walls, disrupting all life with the sound of thuds and scraping. We could no longer send out parties to search for others. We could not risk opening the door. We still had food and water, but that undercurrent had swelled into a community-wide worry.

            It was Month 3 when we heard a new sound. A loud crack, like the earth bursting open. We ran to look. To our horror, one of the walls – the original – had split. Not much. Just enough. Enough for a rotting hand to poke through. That was the end. They must have sensed the weakness because the pressure escalated. More cracking. More hands. People hid.
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            Not me, though. I stand on my roof and dance as I watch the horde flood in. They will find me but I shall dance to the end.