Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos

Robert showed absolutely no reaction.

The wind was howling outside, and the rain was intensifying. Sbort ordered everyone to rest. He assigned the watch duties and refused to answer questions or comment on anything. When Sam tried to protest, insisting that we needed to hurry to get to the Gorgon’s cars and then our trailer as soon as possible, Robert cut him off sharply: "My people will not take a single step until they've slept for at least a couple of hours. They've been on their feet for two days. They're exhausted both physically and mentally. But if you're in such a hurry to leave, no one is stopping you and the doors aren't locked." Sam probably expected me to back him up, but I nodded in agreement to Sbort, took off my boots, and placed them on the floor next to my bag. I knew well that we were now dependent on the Gorgons, and we had to accept the decisions of their commander. Besides, I felt like I wouldn’t make it anywhere; I simply didn’t have the strength.

The Gorgons went about their business in silence: some stayed in the same room, cleaning and reloading their weapons, while others moved to the next room. Robert, pulling out a map, studied it intently, making quick notes. One of the soldiers, if I wasn’t mistaken, his name was John, was trying to set up a mobile communication unit and connect with the nearest military bases or the capital. "Mukro, do you read me? This is The Gorgon, I repeat, this is The Gorgon, location °22-1-20-21-14, Isthmus Region. Urgent report of a critical situation. We need air support, do you copy?" – "Crap… H… hard to… hear… us… Pr…m…"

Steven was rummaging through the cupboard and drawers, searching for anything useful.

I tried to observe and analyze, focusing my thoughts only on that to distract myself and calm down. It was chilly. I tried not to think about being side by side with the privileged government military group; the danger of being near them was nothing compared to the apocalypse unfolding on the streets.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. She looked at me, then at Robert (who gave a short nod), and then quickly, on tiptoe, crossed the room in my direction.

“Why are you lying here? The window is broken, there’s a draft. And it’s pouring rain,” she said, but before I could answer, she continued. “In the next room, there’s a giant king-size bed. We’ve already made it up, come on. It’ll be warmer and more comfortable. There’s even a free chair there,” she said, turning to Sam. He reluctantly got up and shuffled toward the second room.

“Thanks, Sarah, but I think I’ll stay here, because…”

“Go to the other room, Stephanie,” Robert interrupted me without taking his eyes off the map and simultaneously adjusting the frequency switch on the receiver. “It’s getting too cold in here.”

***

A dark room with one small window boarded up with wooden slats. The confined space made my head spin, and my breath caught. Through the narrow gaps between the beams, cold, pale light streamed in – the thickening darkness of the street seemed bright compared to the gloom of the room. A bed, smelling of dust, took up most of the space. A non-functional television on the wall. A worn-out armchair in the corner. Sam, curled up in a ball and covered with some blanket.

I lay on the right edge of the bed; colorful spots danced in front of my eyes, and I tried to breathe more evenly to fight the tightness in my chest. Sarah was breathing quietly beside me. Behind her, Norman had already fallen asleep, instantly cut off. Another spot – on the left edge – remained unoccupied for now.

I wanted desperately to sleep; fatigue coursed through every part of my body. But on some unconscious level, I scolded myself: Steph, how can you want to sleep when there’s so much chaos around? How can you fall asleep peacefully when you don’t know if Andrew is safe, if he’s waiting for you, or even if you are safe right now? I couldn’t allow myself to rest. I felt guilty for wanting sleep when there was chaos and madness all around. Although I understood that it was the emotional rollercoaster, the fear, the horror, and the confusion – those were the reasons for my exhausted and shattered state.

Sarah was right: this room was warmer – the wind didn’t blow so freely here, and raindrops didn’t come in – plus, we were all lying close to each other, warming ourselves with our bodies. And I did feel a bit safer; it was, of course, an imagined, illusory safety – but a body drifting into sleep didn’t pay attention to the details.

The door opened and a man walked in. For a moment, he was illuminated by the dim light from the next room. At first, I didn’t recognize him. The outline of his face was defined by a strip of beard running from his chin to his lower lip. Dark hair of medium length, shorter on the sides. On the left side of his neck, dark tattoo lines extended to his shoulder and, apparently, across his back and chest. Snake-like lines covered his entire right forearm and part of his upper arm. On the back of his left forearm, an all-seeing eye within a triangle, riddled with lines and inscriptions. All these tattoos became visible when the man washed the blood and dirt off himself. There had been so much blood and dirt that it had obscured the designs on his body. Christopher Lewis. The man who said he wouldn’t move if someone attacked me or Sam.

The Gorgon's footsteps were almost silent; he lowered himself onto the spot he had left on the bed and exhaled quietly, covering his face with his forearm. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, instinctively seeking refuge. The man did not move. He lay on his back, one leg bent at the knee, breathing deeply. At first, I kept my eyes open. I watched Christopher closely, scanned the corners of the room, and listened for sounds. Without even noticing, I began to breathe in sync with Lewis. And then, without realizing it, I drifted off to sleep.

I could not remember what I dreamt. In fact, it would have frightened me to recall it, as those dreams were bleak and painful. I understood what days those images came from; I relived the past over and over, drowning in memories that tormented my heart. And then I faced the bloody present. I cried out in my sleep, screamed, pleaded for help – and jumped from a height in the hope of breaking apart, but I just kept falling, falling into the abyss, unable to find help or save myself.

…And I woke up, gasping and feeling that my face was wet with tears. I lay on my back, my hand pressed against my cold forehead. Disorientation. Depersonalization. I often woke up in that position after nightmares. For the first few seconds, I remained still, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out where I was and what was happening. My heart thudded loudly in my chest. I carefully turned my head to the left and saw the girl peacefully sleeping, having pulled the blanket off me.

Sara Karani. The Gorgons. The infected from the streets of the Isthmus Region.

I struggled to sit up on the bed. All around me, there was the sound of quiet breathing and light snoring. Four more people were sleeping on the floor.

I was shaking a little. I was thirsty. The sense of time had disappeared. With effort, I stood up, put on my shoes, and made my way to the door, carefully stepping around the sleeping ones. The aching, burning sensation in my chest wouldn’t go away.

The second room was cool. Gray light filtered through the broken window; rain lashed against the wall. The weather made it difficult to even estimate the time. Everything was plunged into a blue half-light. It was very quiet, except for the sound of the downpour. I slowly shuffled to the broken window. The glass creaked under my feet. Carefully, I stepped outside, only now realizing why such a balcony had been made on a regular window, especially one that opened to such a dreadful alley. And why I needed to go out into the rain now. The slats under my feet quivered. I closed my eyes, tilted my face up to the rain, and realized I was still crying. I remembered the step I took from the height in my dream. It made me desperately want to go closer to the partition, but I stood still.

I felt myself sinking into the quicksand, which was pulling me deeper and deeper to the bottom.

“Stephanie?” A cautious voice called from behind me, and I still flinched before turning around. Robert stood by the window. He slowly reached out his hand, as if afraid to make any sudden movements, and looked directly into my eyes. “Come back, okay? There’s no need for you to get wet. Come on, take my hand.”

I nodded, hesitating for a moment, and took his warm, rough hand to pull myself back inside. He immediately drew me further in, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around me, covering my head. The Gorgon held me tightly by the shoulders.

“I didn’t see you,” I said quietly. My voice sounded hoarse. Robert remained silent, clearly searching for the right words. “I thought you were sleeping too.”

“Someone always has to be on watch, and my guys need rest and sleep,” he sighed. “Sit down,” he nodded at the bed and sat down beside me. “Honestly, you scared me a little. You came out crying, pale; when I called your name, you didn’t answer. Why did you go out the window at all?”

“I don’t know,” I answered simply and honestly. “Was I screaming in my sleep?” he shook his head. “Okay…”

My body felt limp.

“Dreams are just dreams, Stephanie. There’s no need to be afraid of them,” Robert said quietly, and I couldn’t suppress a bitter smile as I looked down at my hands. “Did you… dream about the happenings of these days?” He asked delicately, cautiously.

“Only towards the end, just a little.”

“Any memories?” Robert had a keen sense and understanding; I reluctantly nodded. “Did the events connected to those memories end well?” I shook my head negatively. Robert fell silent, exhaling loudly. He patted my back like a child and I looked up at him, meeting the attentive gaze of his gray eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered without sound; the Gorgon commander just nodded.

“For what? Let me tell you this: our past – the pain of what has happened, our memories, torment, and regrets – either makes us stronger or kills us. And there’s a very thin line between them, Stephanie, on which you cannot balance,” he leaned slightly towards me. “Don’t let yourself fall on the wrong side.”

I wanted to burst into tears. But I swallowed them and nodded. Then, I tried to put a calm expression on my face. For a split second, I believed it.

“What time is it? And… when will we be leaving?”

Robert glanced at his large wristwatch. It was around one in the afternoon. He explained that about an hour ago, a large group of people from the neighboring building had tried to break through to the cars and had attracted the attention of the infected. Shouts and gunfire had echoed throughout the area; I was surprised that I hadn’t heard anything, even when the Gorgons had exploded out of the neighboring room and then returned to sleep. Regarding the second question, Sbort thought it would be foolish to go outside anytime soon. The loud noise attracted the infected, and there could be even more of them; it was better to wait a bit and then go quickly and quietly to the Gorgon vehicle parking lot. Robert wasn’t willing to take that risk yet. Plus, the rain had only intensified, now reminding him, as he said, of the Western downpours.

Then the door cracked open. Half-asleep, Christopher looked at us, nodded to Robert, and disappeared again.

“He was worried you hadn’t come back yet,” Sbort smiled condescendingly.

“Does he really think I could be a danger?” The commander laughed quietly, scratching his stubble, and I hurried to explain. “Otherwise, I don’t see why someone who reacted so aggressively to our presence would be concerned about us.”

“Chris had a reason to react that way,” Robert frowned regretfully. “You shouldn’t hold it against him.”

“Should I be worried about him? He looks like a two-meter serious threat.”

“You’re exaggerating, Stephanie,” Sbort barely managed to hold back a smile. "Two meters of serious threat? He’s only one eighty-seven,” and I wanted to laugh, but the realization that Robert didn’t deny my concerns made me uneasy. “I can’t deny the obvious, can I? Chris is truly one of… the most effective people in my group,” Robert said evasively. “May Mother spare you from seeing him in true anger, but he isn’t the type to hurt someone on a whim, and I’m certain you have nothing to fear from him,” he paused for a moment. “Besides, let’s be honest. Lewis is emotional, undoubtedly, but he isn’t more aggressive toward you than Sam is toward us.”

Insightful.

“Sam has his reasons for reacting that way,” I said after a moment. “He’s always been a very peaceful and kind guy, negative toward violence in any form,” I hesitated for a second longer, wondering whether to explain Dort's reaction to Robert; he continued to wait patiently and attentively for me to speak. “When his younger brother wanted to pursue a military career, Sam tried to make him reconsider, begged our parents to influence the younger son’s decision. I don’t condone Sam’s actions, but I can’t blame him either,” I took a deeper breath. “Their parents supported the younger one and were immensely proud of him. He got a college degree, went to serve in the navy. And a year later, his body was brought back to our hometown in a black casket, “Robert exhaled sharply through his nose. “Their parents were inconsolable, Sam cried his heart out… He hasn’t spoken to them since, Robert, he blames them for his brother’s death. Sam has been even more opposed to the army and military matters ever since. And he was already negative about it before,” I paused, thinking over what I’d just said and recalling Sam holding a pacifist flag at one of the demonstrations. “To me, he made a terrible mistake cutting off communication with his family. And blaming the soldiers for what happened…” I left the sentence unfinished, shaking my head. “Life is damn unfair. Sometimes, the ones who deserve happiness, health, and a long life the most, suffer the most and die young,” my voice cracked, and my eyes filled with tears. I quickly looked down at my hands, which felt foreign to me. For a brief moment, I no longer felt like myself; for an instant, I stopped perceiving the world around me.

It felt as if all my life energy had drained away in an instant.

“Go, get some sleep,” Robert’s voice pulled me out of my daze. I looked at the man as if for the first time. His tired gray eyes, a deep crease on his forehead, thick, slightly wavy hair. On the right side of his neck, a thin white scar stretched from the base to his shoulder.

In the State, everything had always been built on symbols. Progressively repressive authoritarianism was founded on symbols. The maniacally narcissistic monarchy arose through symbolism and ideology.

And The Gorgon, despite its very practical work, was also a symbol. Its fighters were given the image of harsh and unyielding soldiers; strong, resilient, and unshakable warriors, fighters whom even death could not conquer. An image that was frightening even. But I never felt unsafe around them. And from Robert Sbort, there was such an aura of inner strength and confidence that you couldn’t help but absorb his calm.

I nodded, rising from the bed. Outside, a long, drawn-out rumble of thunder echoed, and moments later, a cold gust of wind burst through the window. The entire house whistled. Through the ventilation shaft came the shrill cry of nature, and the apartment grew darker than before: the outlines of objects merged together. The clouds outside, black and ominous, thickened the already gray sky. Another gust of wind struck the remaining glass, whistling through it. From outside came guttural coughs and eerie moans. Almost immediately, the next clap of thunder roared directly above us.

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