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Chapter 1: The Magician

Jasmine Street, like most of the city’s streets, was quite narrow. Narrow sidewalks bordered the two-lane (barely two lanes, actually) street. Rows upon rows of tallish buildings crowded those narrow sidewalks, and rows upon rows of windows gazed down at the narrow street.

In other words, this was a typical street in the city.

Of course, the city was no longer “typical.” The air was still and silent. The narrow sidewalks were no longer crowded with folks. The narrow streets were no longer crammed full of cars and trucks. Neon signs were no longer lit up, and, at the intersections, traffic lights (no longer blinking) swayed quietly in the breeze.

Halfway along the block, a boarded-up clinic sat, quietly, nearly hidden behind a large and lush tree. A sign near the locked front door read “Roswell Health Clinic.” That sign was the only way anyone could know it was a clinic. Without that sign, that would be no way to know what the place was.

That sign, by the way, had been the only way I’d known the clinic was a clinic.

Rex and I had first met near the end of winter. Rex had been sick with some kind of cold - not quite a flu - which had lingered. And lingered. It just wouldn’t go away. I remembered walking past the Jasmine Street clinic, and so we’d gone there for some meds.

The clinic, at the end of winter, had been firmly locked up, but we’d found a way in. And we’d discovered that no one had been there yet. The place had been somewhat emptied, but there were still boxes of various kinds of medicine piled randomly in a corner. We’d found some pills for Rex, and then we’d found a stash of candy bars in a desk drawer.

We’d come back to the clinic a few times, mostly because the generator still worked.

But for some reason, it had been at least a couple of weeks since our last visit. And so, we felt some apprehension as we approached. We hoped that no one else had stumbled upon it.

We strode, trying to look casual, past the entrance - all the while, of course, keeping alert for any sight or sound of other folks who might be in the area. Two doors down, a nearly-hidden alley snaked off into darkness. The sun was high in the sky, and there were no clouds, but that alley was nearly obscured by darkness. We turned into the alley, and began hurrying through it.

On alert, we hurried. Soon, we climbed atop a dumpster. Moving fast, we clambered over a wall, into a different alley. And - within seconds - we were behind the clinic.

Rex went down to the basement, where he flipped on the generator, and discovered it still worked. We made our way through the floors of the clinic, checking to make sure all the lights were turned off, all the fans were turned off. Anything, really, that might come on and make noise needed to be off. We didn’t want to draw attention to the building.

There was dust everywhere. It looked like no one had been there since our last visit. And yet, of course, we couldn’t take any chances. We quickly went around, making sure the windows were covered and everything was off.

On the first floor were two locker rooms, for employees. They were in the back, and had no windows.

Rex sneezed.

“So much dust!” He said with a laugh. “How did it get so dusty, so fast?”

In the locker room for males, we firmly closed the door (it had no lock) and then we propped a desk against it. On the desk, an empty bucket. If someone tried to force their way in, while we were showering, we’d hear the noise.

Rex kicked off his shoes, then he took off his shirt.

“Laundry,” he said, firmly. “We need to do laundry.” He sniffed his camouflage-patterned shirt, then he started taking off his jeans.

“In the two months we’ve been hanging out, we haven’t done laundry yet,” I pointed out, as I got myself undressed.

“It’s been almost three months, hasn’t it?” Rex asked. “And - shit - we haven’t done laundry?”

“There might be some machines here,” I said.

“Genius.”

“Of course, we could only wash the clothes we’re wearing.”

“So?” Rex wondered. “We could just get new stuff. Maybe check the department stores? Though I’m sure someone’s living in them, by now.”

Each of us holding a towel, we went to the tiled area where four shower heads were crammed together. We turned on two showers that were next to each other, and warm - nearly hot - water rushed out.

“This was a great idea,” I said, as the warm spray hit me. “I didn’t know it, but I really needed this.”

“So did I.”

At twenty-two, Rex was a year older than I. He was a Great Dane with tall ears and a somewhat longish muzzle. He was one of the most chill folks I’d ever met. I felt grateful, every day, for his friendship.

“Tell me a story,” he said, suddenly.

“Actually, it’s your turn,” I replied. “Remember? I told you what happened to me, how I got injured.”

Without thinking about it, I ran a hand along my hip. Probably eighty percent of which was now metal.

“Oh, yeah, right. Well, what do you want to hear?”

“Another story from your childhood?” I asked, hopefully.

“Another one?”

“I like them,” I said, simply. “The way you grew up - where you grew up - was so different. From the way - and the where - I grew up.”

“Well, alright.”

And he launched into a story about himself, his brothers, and a few of his friends as they tried to build a rowboat one fine summer day back when Rex had been a teenager.

Rex had no less than five brothers, all of them adopted. Some were Danes, some weren’t. He and his family had lived on a ranch, an actual ranch, out West. Along with the brothers, there’d been cousins, and friends, and ranch hands, all of whom lived at the ranch at one time or another. His parents had been - and still were - kind and loving. They’d raised a large family with tolerance and love.

As Rex told his story, while we showered, I watched as he washed. He took his time, as he massaged the shampoo into his fur - he wasn’t casual about it. He vigorously cleaned his armpits, he washed - and then re-washed - the fur on his face. He turned his attention to his chest and stomach, then his arms.

Rex wrapped up the story, and I said something to show my appreciation. I can’t recall what I said. I was imagining a group of teenagers, on a boat, out in the middle of a lake, under a brilliant summer sky . . . How wonderful that must’ve been. To spend their day doing as they pleased. On the ranch, there’d always been chores, but every so often there was a day when the boys could do whatever they wanted to.

I envied Rex’s younger self, and I envied those other boys, for what they’d had while growing up. Well, for what I imagined they had. I had created a picture in my mind - based on the stories Rex had told me - of what Rex’s life had been like, while he was growing up.

Of course, envy wasn’t my only reaction. I was aware that I’d had a good life - after I’d left home. So it wasn’t like I’d never known happiness.

And - also - I was happy that Rex was my friend. The world had fallen, but we were - so far - doing okay.

Rex was cleaning his sheath. I looked away, then I looked down at my own naked body, as I rinsed off the soap.

“You humans have it so easy,” Rex teased me. He’d done so before, about this. I knew what he was going to say next. “Just slap some soap on that soft skin, and you’re all set. All you have to shampoo is your hair.”

“Soft?”

“Sorry, soldier,” Rex pretend-apologized, with that easy smile of his. “I meant - hard skin. Calloused. You know? Out there, fighting the Insurgents. Getting your skin all rough and tough.” He laughed. “A soldier’s skin!”

I flicked water at him, and he flicked shampoo at me.

Calling me a soldier had, of course, made me think of my army days. Back then, I’d told myself something that wasn’t entirely true - that I’d gotten calloused by the horrible things I’d witnessed. That those things had made me tougher, and thus less sensitive.

After, we found a washer and dryer. We washed the clothes we’d worn to the clinic, and while we did so we sat on a bench, draped in towels. Turning on the generator had turned on the vending machines. We found a large box of quarters in a desk, somewhere, and so we indulged ourselves in candy and two Cokes each.

We sat on the bench, in our towels, while our clothes dried, and we ate candy. We chatted about this and that.

I thought about how Rex’s childhood should have led to him staying right where he’d grown up. In my opinion.

It had made sense for me to leave the North. My path had truly been a path, complete with an exit.

But - Rex? There should have been no path for him. Just a circle. In my opinion. Stay at home, take over the ranch someday. Start his own family.

But he’d left, and he’d gone east, to the city. Where he’d met me.

The reasons why he’d left formed a curious tale, and I had - so far - only gotten pieces of it. I could have asked for more information, but I sensed Rex wanted to keep it to himself. And, hey, I had some secrets, too.

We left the clinic, then we walked quickly through that dark alley. We emerged into late afternoon sun. The city, as ever these days, remained a silent metropolis. Only the call of birds disturbed the air.

As we hurried back to the office - which we’d come to think of as our office - we walked almost side by side, as we usually did. However, I paid nearly as much attention to Rex as I did to the silent city which towered around me. I did that because Rex had a way of noticing things.

It wasn’t like Sherlock Holmes - Rex wasn’t on that level. But he did have a way of observing everything - literally, everything - that was going on around him. Rex had a tendency to see things no one else noticed.

Obviously, we were both worried about running into other folks, while out and about. We might run into folks who were friendly . . . but we might also run into gang members, or thieves, or - worse - Insurgents. Rex, however, had a way of seeing folks before they saw him.

With Rex around, I had this feeling . . . It wasn’t confidence, and it certainly wasn’t optimism, but I did have this feeling that, with Rex at my side, things would be alright.