The Mountain and The City: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale by Brian Martinez

but she doesn't move, so I turn my Back and keep moving, listening for her moves. Finally I hear her feet shuffle on the concrete, one naked foot and one with Silvery Tape. I go all the way around the Fountain with her behind me.
    One of the Building's Doors has fallen to the Ground. I step Inside and wait for her. She waits nine seconds, then she steps through.
     
     
    **
     
     
    All the Buildings in the City look like this. Whatever wasn't destroyed in the panic of the Change has crumbled in the years after, either from Water or rot or the Small Winged Beasts living in them. I've gotten used to seeing places from the Real Times this way, seeing how they've fallen.
    I'm not used to smelling them.
    The Building starts in an open place. There's a large Desk in the center, and behind it another Fountain, smaller and flat against the Wall, where a long Time ago the Plants grew out of control with no one to stop them, then went dry with no one to give them Water. Above the Plants is a metal sign with words I can't read and a picture of the World wearing rust. In the Real Times I could have read the sign, but not anymore. I tried to keep reading on my own, to practice, to keep the words the way I kept the Time, but it was too hard to do both and listen for danger at the same time.
    I cough for thirteen seconds, then we follow the pictures of Stairs to the center of the Building and start the climb up. The first Floor we reach, I lean out and check the Building, listening for signs of Beasts or Munies, the usual croaking or breathing or foot sounds, but I hear none.
    Child is looking like Child again. She looks at me instead of through me.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Good.”
    “We can't let you go that long without Supplies, it's dangerous for both of us.”
    She nods quietly.
    “The eggs won't last you long. After we make a nest we'll search for Supplies. Most Buildings hide some.”
    I glance at the rooms around us. They're the kind Real People used to spend their Time in, with Chairs and Desks and Windows, looking at papers for many hours of the Day. It makes me think of my father and the way he used to spend his Time.
    Keep moving. Get to the top and find a place to hide.
    We go back into the Stairs and head up, opening the Door to each Floor to listen. They have numbers on them which I can read because they're the same as on the Watch. The Suit sticks to my Skin. I pull at it to let the Bastard Air cool me so I can breathe more Bastard Air in. The Building is tall and so are the Stairs. The Sun follows us all the way up.
     
     
    **
     
     
    “How feeling?”
    It's amazing how quickly Child learns. Yesterday I didn't know Munies could talk at all, and now she's copying me, echoing my words, reacting. I can see her pushing herself. She doesn't know it but she's helping me, too. I've felt my words grow clearer the more I think them and speak them to her.
    Clearer until now.
    She looks down at me from the next Floor up with her big, pink eyes.
    “I just need to rest for a minute.” I cough and feel the Stairs swirl under me like Water down the Sink. “Maybe two minutes,” I add.
    “No time.”
    She's right. Right now the first of the Munies are stirring in their nests with the Sun across their dirty eyelids. They'll stretch their stringy muscles and crawl out into the Streets with a Night's full of hunger in their bellies, hunting for the first Supplies of the Day. We were careful not to touch anything and leave a scent they could track, but it doesn't mean we should make voices and loud foot sounds.
    Hold the rail. Keep steady. Breathe deep and take the Stairs one at a time.
    Climbing again, Child stays ahead but keeps her eyes on me. The Bastard Air breathes in through the holes in the Suit and feels good on my Skin. I've never felt this way about the Suit before, felt it choking me. The Suit has been the most important thing in my life for so many years, but at this moment, I hate it.
    “I can't make it.” My