Blue

The wind blew through the windows of the high rise. This was not, obviously, how they designed these things back when they were in use. No, these things were air tight. Had whole systems to move air through them since the wind didn’t blow. The windows had blown out a little while after those systems stopped working. The changes in pressure between inside and outside, or something. Jethro didn’t really get it. Scientific mumbo jumbo that he never had time to learn. Well. He had time to learn it. He had nothing but time, now.

    That old Native American  woman had said immortality was a curse. Which is why she got him stuck with it after he happened to be present for a massacre. Jethro had never believed her about it being a bad thing, though. Being able to come back from the dead within a few minutes of kicking the bucket was nothing but a good thing, in his book. Healing from grievous wounds in a matter of hours, growing back limbs in days. It was the high life. Who could possibly see that as a bad thing? Well, he supposed it wasn’t exactly perfect. His body didn’t know it was immortal, so he still felt fear, panic, hunger, thirst, and so on. Jethro wasn’t sure if eating and drinking were strictly necessary, but he certainly didn’t deny his hunger and thirst. Eating was great, and so was drinking. Yeah, things were pretty great for a long time. But then the world went to hell. It all happened so quick, Jethro barely registered it. Some kind of sickness that started down in South America. Within a year, Jethro was the only person he knew. He was utterly, and completely, alone.

    At first it was distressing. Then it became boring. Now, every single day felt like torture. Some days, he wanted to kill himself. But he already knew that it wouldn’t work. It hadn’t before, so why would it work now? He flicked a pebble of broken glass that sat on the windowsill. He watched it tumble into the darkened streets until he couldn’t see it anymore. After a moment he could hear the gentle clatter of the glass hitting a trashcan somewhere far below. Well. That was interesting. Jethro wondered if he could do it again…

    Flick….tumbling tumbling….nothing. Damn. Flick...tumbling...clatter. “Yeah!” Jethro said aloud, the sound of his own voice echoing through the empty space and making his throat somewhat sore. How long had he gone without talking? He needed to remember to do that. Just in case. He stepped away from the window and back to his hand-cranked radio. It hadn’t received a signal in months, but it could play CD’s and he had a few of those laying around. And the best part was, he could play it as loud as he wanted. It wasn’t like he was bothering anyone, after all. But, then again, that would drain the battery and he’d have to get up and crank it again. Nah. He’d listen to something quiet tonight. Maybe the tunes of Wilbur Higgins. They didn’t have this kind of music when he was a kid, which was a much longer time ago than he cared to recall.

    He slowly lowered himself down onto his sleeping bag, placed in a carefully hidden spot among the cubicles. It wasn’t so much that he thought someone would rob him...it was just that he felt safer. The walls weren’t strong, or thick, but they were walls. If nothing else, they gave the impression that someone might be out there that could rob him. In a way, putting up these walls was his own way of hoping that someone was still out there. He closed his eyes as old Higgin’s saxophone wafted through the air. He was dead now, Wilbur Higgins. Died of the plague, probably. Jethro didn’t feel cold, but he still shivered.

    Jethro wasn’t sure when he woke up, but it was sometime just before dawn. The sky was pale blue but still unlit. It made the silhouettes of the buildings seem much blacker than even the darkest hour of night. He sat, tilting his head to see if he would hear it again. He had been asleep just a few minutes ago. Dreaming about sharing a cold beer with a model from one of those old nudie mags. He was awakened by the sound of someone coughing. Now he sat, his head tilted, waiting to hear it again. And then he did. Jethro felt his eyes widen almost against his will. He stumbled as his limbs tried to sort themselves out enough to lift him into a standing position. He ran to the window, cutting his palm on a jagged edge of glass as he leaned out. “HEY,” He yelled, the sound of his voice bounding to the ground  and ricocheting like a bullet off of the concrete street and walls. His voice faded. He listened. the wind blew right in his ear and tickled at his stubble. His hair, which was getting longer and messier by the day, blew across his eyes. Just as he thumbed it out of the way, he heard a weak call from below, and another cough. Jethro had to get them to stay put.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

It was Jethro’s turn to cough, then. He hadn’t yelled in...months, probably. And he hadn’t seen another living human being in...how many times had winter passed? Three times? He ran down the stairs, counting down the floors as he passed each door. Fifth floor. . . fourth. . . third floor. . .Second. . . trip, tumble down the last three stairs and smack face against wall...get up and say a choice selection of swear words...ground floor.

    He sprinted across the lobby, where the potted plants were mostly withered save for one that was close to the window and got regular rain through the broken spots. Where a skeleton wearing a nice suit and a nametag that read “Susan” seemed to still be waiting for someone to come in and request a meeting with the only other resident, Mr. Jethro. He didn’t need to open the sliding doors. They had been broken a long time ago. By Jethro, obviously, with the help from his co-star “A. Brick.” He still had that brick in his backpack...Speaking of which, he did not have that on him. So this could potentially go badly.

    Oh yeah. Right. Unable to die. Not as big of a deal. “Hello?” He called to the street. He adjusted his hair and pulled at his shirt. As if somehow the first person he had seen in years would decide to leave because he didn’t look presentable. The 50’s had been a weird time for Jethro…

Not the time for that line of thought. He had a purpose! Jethro made it as far as the corner before he saw the figure kneeling in the street, curled over something that it clutched in its hands.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Jethro ran again, bemoaning his lack of exercise as he gasped for breath.

    He knelt. The person had a coat on that covered its head. It held something in its hands...it was a little bit bigger than a loaf of sourdough bread.

“Hey, are you--”

    “Help her…” The figure said in a feminine voice. It looked up. “It” was actually a “she.” The figure was a woman. Jethro knew the moment he looked at her that she was not long for this world. She was crying thick tears of blood, and her skin was flushed. A gentle cooing came from the area of the bundle.

    “I...what?” Jethro didn’t have much time to react before he had a baby placed very gently into his arms. He looked down at the little bundle of poop and screams. She was asleep. “She’s...beautiful.” He was slow to say it.

Jethro had never been a huge fan of babies. They had a tendency to leak unpleasant substances. Urine, crap, drool, boogers...and when they weren’t leaking substances, they were producing loud sounds. No, he was definitely not qualified to take care of this child. The only way he even approached being qualified to take care of himself was the fact that he literally couldn’t die. And had he not been given that huge advantage, he would have died well over 100 times by now. “I’m..I’m sorry, I can’t…” He looked up and his heart sank.

    The woman was lying on the ground. But she was not asleep. Her eyes were open, staring into nothing. Jethro wanted to scream. The first person he could have potentially talked to in literally years, and she had given him a damn baby and then kicked the bucket! If he wasn’t positive that screaming would awaken the tiny terror swaddled in his arms, he would have screamed. He had many decades of experience with swearing, and all of it seemed applicable at the moment.

    He stood up and sighed. “Well...I guess I get to name you.” He left the woman in the street. Where was he going to bury her? In the concrete? He felt satisfied with his justification and slowly made his way from the dead woman. He looked down at the child and tilted his head. “Ah, I’ve decided.” He declared quietly. “You shall be known as Butt. As in ‘pain-in-my-butt.’ Which is what you are.” He gave the baby a sidelong glance as he trotted up the stairs. He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do with a baby. What did they even eat if they didn’t have a mom to give ‘em...you know...boob food. He certainly didn’t have that capacity. The only liquid he had around was the last little bit of a bottle of whiskey. That meant he would have to spend the morning scavenging for food, and not just for himself. Where did a person go to get food for babies?

    He arrived at his small cubicle fortress and sat down. The kid gurgled again. Jethro’s jazz was still playing. He looked down at her and instead of finding eyelids, he found soft blue eyes full of curiosity. The tiny human in his arms smiled. He frowned. “Hey now...that’s not fair. Don’t be expecting me to love and take care of you. As soon as you can crawl, you’re outta here.” He couldn’t help but crack a smile at his stupid joke. “Fine. You won’t be Butt. You can be Blue, after those peepers of yours.” He wrapped her up in an old coat and tied the sleeves around his chest to make a crude papoose. “Alright, Blue...let’s go find you some breakfast.”

    Jethro returned to his old hunting grounds five blocks down the street. Weirdly enough, it wasn’t a grocery store. Most of those places had been emptied weeks before everyone was gone. It was the house of a couple of doomsday preppers. They were really well stocked, and had gotten to use next to none of it since they caught the plague and died. Jethro hauled open their basement door, which was made out of some pointlessly heavy steel. Well...the weight probably DID have a point back then, but it didn’t seem to have one now. The stairs were smooth and walking down was easy. He had done it countless times before. He still got that tingle at the back of his neck as he descended into the darkness. That maybe when he turned the corner there would be a screaming skeleton with piercing red eyes in the darkness, ready to pull off his skin. It never happened, obviously, but the chill running down his spine at the thought made him curse his own imagination.

    They had a small generator down here that Jethro had managed to refill a few times with fuel he siphoned from abandoned cars. Getting it started wasn’t usually a problem, but today it seemed that his desire to not disturb the baby was getting in his way. Eventually, he just had to give up on the idea of keeping the baby quiet. He yanked the cord back with all his might, and the generator grumbled to life. The baby woke up against his chest and peered around in an apparent daze of unknowing. Luckily, she didn’t seem to be too panicked. Just confused by the sudden increase in volume. Jethro sighed with relief as the lights slowly flickered to life. Row upon row of canned goods slowly became doused with dim yellow light. One of the lightbulbs down the hall was out. Jethro would have to find a replacement for it somewhere. But he could do that later.

    Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just move in here...but he supposed it felt wrong, to live in someone else’s house. Even if they were dead. Now, if he could find a mansion that would be a whole other story. He found himself humming softly and bouncing a little, just by virtue of having a baby attached to his chest. He had never had a baby on his person for this long before. Last time he had a baby for an extended period was some time back in the 90’s while he was at a party. He had been enjoying a beer when suddenly he was holding a tiny, pudgy human. Not five seconds passed before the thing started crying, and within another five seconds it puked on him. Before then, Jethro had largely been on the fence about babies. That moment officially made him dislike the puke-slinging fiends. But...he supposed this one was okay.

    Jethro’s hand passed over a few cans. Peaches. Pickles. Chili. Ah, they had some powdered milk. That should work well, yeah? Babies liked milk. He didn’t know a whole lot about babies, but he did know that they had a fondness for milk. He grabbed a few cans of powdered milk and tucked them into his bag. He would just take a few for now. He could come back as he needed more. Blue snuffled and sighed against his chest. Jethro double checked the work on his makeshift papoose. “Alright...Food acquired. Now we just need a bottle. And maybe some diapers…”

    It took Jethro two hours to find a bottle. Blue had decided to start screaming near the end of hour one, so he was incredibly relieved when he finally found a bottle to feed her with, and a jug of water to go with it. Jethro wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he gave a shoutout to whatever deities still bothered to watch over him. One bottle of powdermilk and a tiny burp later, Blue was back in dreamland and ready to poop her pants. Or Jethro’s shirt. Either one, maybe both.

    Jethro spent the rest of the day searching for baby clothes and diapers. In the end he managed to find 6 diapers that were too big for her, a single packet of wipes, and a baby jumper designed for a child twice her size and decidedly male, based on the big colorful truck on the front. He never would have found any of it, if he hadn’t come across a Baby Deluxe store. It was pretty bare when he arrived, but he found it educational as to the potential needs of a baby. So there was that.

By the time Blue was changed and dressed, she looked like she had been shot with a shrink ray. Everything was just too big compared to her. But dammit, at least she had more than she started with this morning. Jethro settled her down on his pillow. He could spare it for now until he found another pillow, or maybe a crib. They probably had one or two of those in a department store.  He cranked up his radio and resumed listening to the sounds of Wilbur Higgins. Blue sighed with tiny baby breaths in response to the sound. For the first time in around 3 years, Jethro fell asleep knowing for certain that there was someone else in the world.