Dead of Winter

by Merrie Haskell

I wake up and walk outside. It's dark, the dark of midnight, not early dawn, which is the only time, light or dark, that it's safe. The streets shine with black ice.

I am walking quickly and carefully, doing all the checks for safety, when I see the girl. Maybe she is hooking. Either way, she's alone, at risk. She's a block away, across the street. I keep to my own side. She's small, but that doesn't mean she's harmless.

I am drawing parallel to her when a man attacks her from behind. I know I should go on to the East. I could run and be there in no time. I don't have to witness this.

Instead, I run across the empty street. I pull something heavy out of my pocket and hit the man hard, in the head. He falls on top of the woman. They both bleed.

The heavy object in my hand is a glass paperweight.

I shove the man aside, check the woman over, then lift her up and bear her away. I reach the East, crying and begging them to let me in, weeping that she is my sister, and not a rat…

I wake with a jerk. It was a dream. I turn over to look at the phosphorescent numbers on the clock. Geo stretches beside me, disturbed. It's time. It's an hour before dawn, and it's quiet on the streets. Geo tries to embrace me, but he's still asleep. I move away, out of the covers, and shimmy into my clothes. I feel strong, healthy. It's a welcome change.

I pull on boots, jacket. As I walk past Geo's desk, I see the glass paperweight. I take its smooth weight into my hands and tuck it into the breast pocket of my jacket. I pull on gloves, and step into the world.

The streets are dry. I walk quickly. I pass the old libraries. Pages used to flutter out from the rubble and frighten the soldiers, and they'd shoot at them. My mother saw my father for the first time when he was shooting at a dead book. She was sneaking past, but she failed. Obviously, because I'm alive.

I don't see anyone or anything. The rats are asleep, both the rodent and human kinds.

There are pale streaks in the sky as I approach the East. The guard in the squat tower sights me right off. I wait, very still, at the gate.

I look around at the still streets. I reach a hand into my jacket and caress the paperweight. The guard arrives; I give him my ID, take off a glove and pass my hand through the fence for fingerprinting.

The moments pass. The darkness is fleeing, and the safe time is gone. The guard confirms me, opens the gate. Before I step through, I look across the street. There is no one there. There is no woman hooking. Of course not. It's dawn in the dead of winter.