Page 41 of Retrograde

Finally, I can’t take it anymore and on a straight part of the road, I let go of the bars with my left hand to try and loosen her fingers.

At first, I’m surprised when she puts up no resistance. But my shock only intensifies when her fingers intertwine with mine. Her small palm covers the top of my hand, and she wiggles closer to me.

There’s nothing like the roar of my bike’s engine—a noise to drown out all other noises, including the angry voices inside my head, yelling on repeat ever since the bombs fell. But I’m especially grateful for its shield today.

I have no idea what I would say, and no idea what she would say back. But it doesn’t matter because the winds whipping around us make talking impossible.

And here, in this forsaken land, it’s so easy to forget all about the world burning around us. So easy to imagine a different world instead, one without the Radiation Rift, one without vengeance and betrayals. One where she’s just a girl I took for a ride on my bike.

But we can never live in that world. A world like that won’t exist for generations to come. It may never exist again.

Riley and I might be the last generation to remember that world. Perhaps, in moments like these, our shared grief may be stronger than all our differences.

Still, Riley seeking comfort from me like that defies all logic. She should not be doing that. And I should not like it. But robbed of our words, all that remains between us is the truth of our touch and the secret of our silence.

16

RILEY

Aron drives off the road and onto the grass, its diseased yellow shade a stark contrast to the lush green of the valley we have just driven through. We come to a stop by an ancient castle ruin, nothing but a few crumbling walls still standing close to the edge of a large outcrop.

The blue hour is just starting, which means the light is perfect. I’m off the bike before Aron kills the engine, worrying the straps of the helmet.

“How do I get this thing off?” I snap at him as soon as the roar of the motor dies down. “Help me!”

He gets off the bike leisurely, kicking the side stand in place.

“Always so fucking impatient. Kill me, Aron, help me, Aron ...” he tuts, but he does as I asked before removing his own helmet.

“Where’s my camera?” I demand. “Give it to me. Quickly!”

He crosses his arms, and the leather jacket creaks as it stretches around his broad form. He laughs at me instead of responding, mahogany eyes burning into me. Everything looks better in this light—even this idiot—and he’s going to make me miss my window!

“Did you not bring me here to take pictures?” I throw my arms wide. “I only have about twenty to forty minutes before ... what?”

“Look at you bossing me around!”

He’s making fun of me. Of course. And talking so slowly it’s infuriating.

“Aron, there’s no time⁠—”

“You’re scared in confined places, you’re scared on motorbikes⁠—”

“Because I saw too many accidents and⁠—”

I want to lunge at him when he cuts me off again. “You’re scared of all that, but you take photos of active war zones for a living.”

The shift in his tone throws me off, and I blink a few times to regain my bearings, before dismissing the this-sounded-almost-like-a-compliment. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m shitting it there, too. I’m a complete wimp. Scared everywhere of everything. Happy? Can you let me do my thing now?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You’re a daft bitch is what you are. Wimps don’t keep doing things they’re scared of, do they?”

He opens the black saddlebag with a violent tug and hands me my camera sling bag.

It’s only when it’s safely in my hands that I finally explore our surroundings. I walk to the edge of the outcrop. Even though I’ve already seen it coming here, I can’t stop a voiceless gasp from slipping past my lips. The Radiation Rift lies below in all its bleak glory.

A bare, rocky valley stretches over the horizon, the grass thinning into nothingness, like sparse tufts of hair on an old man’s balding head. And there, in the dusty ash-coloured terrain, is the nearest crater from a nuclear explosion. Moon-like and serene, almost beautiful in its tragic way. Further away is another one, amid the rubble of what once was a city. And then another and another, as far as the eye can see, like a string of beads on a necklace.

A tall, barbed wire fence runs through the valley like a vein, the yellow of the radiation warning signs faded, but their message clear: do not enter beyond this point.