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72.
It wasn’t the atmosphere in the dead city that scared Alex.
It was the gloom.
The air was a mix of ghastly-smelling and tasting oxygen and inert gases left over from eons. Perhaps the machinery of the city still limply functioned, producing a weak positive pressure, recycling unused air; or perhaps, yes, this made sense: stealing air from the vast green jungle cylinder and recycling it under solar power. In any case, the pressure was sufficient to prevent Alex’s primitive breathing apparatus from exploding.
Alex walked about the ancient department store testing his breathing apparatus.
“Take your time!” he heard Maryan’s concerned voice say from a new opening they’d forced in the plate glass window. He saw her frightened pale face hovering beyond the marred glass. She couldn’t see him, but he could see her face and her hands looking as though she were swimming underwater in some coolly lit aquarium. “I’m good,” he called back. “Go take a rest and I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful!” she called in a tiny, scared voice.
“I’ll run like the dickens at the first sign of danger.”
Each of the small breathing cylinders was good for about 15 minutes, and he had enough for several hours. He carried them in a bag slung over one shoulder.
He went back to say goodbye to her once more, just in case. He pushed through the cover she’d made and was glad to be on the other side again. The air was richer, moister, kinder to the skin and lungs and eyes. She wiped his face with damp leaves while he sat against the wall gasping. Dirty sweat ran down his face, and his skin felt gritty. His eyes felt irritated. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“What choice do we have? Just think how cool it will be if I come flying back in one of those silver boats.”
Her eyes lit up and she cradled his head in her hands. She bent to kiss his forehead. “My hero. Oh wow, I’d ride with you, everywhere.”
“I’ll take you to the beach,” he said. “Our beach. We’ll catch a nice fat pheasant and bake it in hay, with some tubers around it and those juicy mushrooms, and maybe some nice sharp radishes...”
“Stop!” she said laughing. “My mouth is watering.”
He rose. “Okay, time to get it over with.” He turned and eyed the hole in the wall through which he must again step with his breathing apparatus.
All their laughter faded immediately, and she appeared to be fighting back tears when he stepped into the stale darkness lugging his ungainly life support system.
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