Equilibrium

One, two. One, two. The blood droplets that appeared on the asphalt in rhythmic increments invited Boulevard to follow its flow. And that was a welcome invitation; he had never run this far in his entire life. When he could focus purely on making sure his feet matched up with each mark on the road, he would never think of how hard his lungs were gasping for air and his burning calves were begging for a break.

Last night, he looked behind himself. And what was seen was a rather hefty Glutton, following the pack. At that moment, Boulevard heavily examined his callused, creased hands. From the palms to the fingers and it's prints and the blood that flowed through it all, he realized he had lived. He made it. This far, anyways.

When facing the extreme force of the Neverender, he primarily made sure to walk like the dead did. But whenever Boulevard did look forwards to gage how much longer he had and saw more and more endless husks, one thought was all he was given the time to think about before he brushed shoulders with a Glutton and went to divert all attention from himself. "Where would Wynter go?" Boulevard knew the truth when he arrived at the beach and saw no trace of her but a trail of blood.

The boat's poor condition combined with Boulevard's overall knowledge of the exterior made him turn a blind eye to the bent metal from storms. In the hurry she must have been in, Wynter must have sliced open something on her way out.

This filled Boulevard with worry. It also filled him with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "If she's injured and limping, my quickened pace will catch up with her in an instant." He was very confident in his ability to sprint. It's saved him time and time again from any harm. After packing a backpack filled with supplies needed to survive in the wild, Boulevard burst through the yacht's back opening and up the soggy wooden stairs to the forest. Boulevard knew how to run. Now he was running towards something. The flimsy steps broke as he leaped onto the plateau.

However, his leaving of the past wasn't as instant as he would like. Normally, the thoughts that would rush through Boulevard's head is to pack what needed to be packed and to optimize on time. But what does that matter when said time could be nonexistent, wasted on chasing and calling? The hermit knew he needed to make a certain something before he followed Wynter. Even if it was a fool's errand, he grabbed a spare stapler from one of his many junk drawers before he left and went to work creating his heart's opus.

After give or take three hours of nonstop running, Boulevard crashed nose first into some sort of pink metal. After some tumbling backwards trying to regain his balance, he fell on his back. Out of his peripherals, the recluse saw skyscrapers.

Getting up slowly while taking in his surroundings, Boulevard realized where he was. His destination. The City. Boulevard's first thought was that he was in a city out of a movie about treasure hunters, buried deep below ground and forgotten for centuries. Temples of a time long forgotten. Children will look back at these towering achievements of man and only see what others did before with old altars.

The City was abandoned. He half expected a tumbleweed to blow out from a nearby alleyway with the only noise present being a soft breeze that would caress his heated skin. No Gluttons, no people, nothing. Just him, the tumbleweed that blew out from the alley, and a trail of blood into a furniture store.

Boulevard bent down and put his fingers against the red on the street and was still able to rub his fingers together with the liquid in between. He hid behind the ice cream truck he had rammed into and peeked from the outside of the broken driver's seat window. What he could see showed advertisements for kitchenware and bedroom bundles, nightstands with lamps placed on top for show, and a slowly rolling rack of clothes into Boulevard's view. It was microscopic — the movement of the wheels — but it was all he could think about.

Coming from the sidewalk, Boulevard peered into the dark reaches of the store to see other appliances and goods for any suburban home. However, some chairs and tables had been arranged like they had been moved to form a path. Just the right size for a skinny girl to shimmy right by.

Boulevard tried to make no noise. He decided to crawl under the moved furniture. Ducking down was his only way to go into the store from a broken window, so it was asking for a lot to be unnoticed. After some uncomfortable twists and turns past blow up and spring mattresses, he saw a pair of shoes in front of another rack.

The sound of hangers going back and forth rapidly – one to another – was a racket Boulevard could easily follow. He creeped up, observing Wynter's frantic nature in searching for a certain kind of cloth. On the rack were shawls and towels. No blankets.

The sight made his eyes sink, it was saddening and made his core heavy. He could not hold back a grunt of discomfort due to his wound when Boulevard stood up and reached into his backpack, alerting his friend to his presence.

Wynter's eyes were like a stray dog's, not knowing what to think about the sight in front of her. She was waiting. Waiting for what he would do, just like when they first met. For all the traveler knew, this could have also been the first time they met. If Boulevard became his past. He pulled out something long and white from his pack. "I made you a new blanket. I-I call him Ignatius."

Boulevard extended the loosely stapled together pile of button-down shirts made to perfectly fit Wynter's small stature from both of his hands. To any person from the pre-apocalypse, this would be a sick joke from a patient at an insane asylum. To Wynter, it was everything.

She moved forwards at a slow but light pace like she was floating. If she was covered in a muck of darkness, as she came closer, it flew off of her like the seeds of a dandelion in the wind. Wynter gripped Boulevard's arms and looked up at the hermit. It was a short embrace of acknowledgement, with both hoping "everything's okay?" Not one of them tensed up at the appearance of the other and their arms opened at the same time. A yin and yang of bonds.

With a shine in her eye, Wynter said, "I'm sorry. For making you worry so." She motioned to the gash on her ankle, covered by a bandage made from an old dress.

Boulevard scoffed at himself and responded, "Don't say that. I don't deserve it. I made a real mess of everything." She backed away from him and took her new blanket. Her mouth quivered as she moved her face away from Boulevard, trying to compose a twitching nose.

"Jeez, what happened to you after I left?" Wynter lightheartedly asked, pulling at the jacket tourniquet coated in Glutton blood. That gesture alerted him to acknowledge that he was now covered in crusted blood. Boulevard tried his hardest to brush it off. Crust is, and always will be, disgusting. But now, it was of no true importance.

Wynter moved her arms out and looked at Ignatius in full. Those emerald eyes that entranced Boulevard so went left and right and up and down, illuminating the tainted fabric with their gaze. When she brought her small hands back together, with the blanket following and revealing her face, she was smiling. "Let's go!" She stated, placing the DIY covering over her shoulder.

"These newest washing machines in the back run on batteries. I found some while scrounging around this place. Kind of inefficient for such innovators of cleanliness, but it would give Ignatius a good wash. Come with me." She motioned Boulevard to follow.

"Innovators of cleanliness? That sounds like a title the pioneer of knowing would come up with." Boulevard lightly chuckled. And with that, the sun and the moon took their places. And with that, those two were on their way.

The furniture store was very wide; the walls from the adjoining areas previously for rent were removed to make space for all the wares one would want. At the far right wall nearest to the front of the store was a free trial washer. Wynter bent over, opened the large compartment, and tossed the shirts in, pressing whatever buttons glowed the brightest and turned the machine on.

When the two were certain the water was flowing, Wynter spun around to a pathway to her east. "Man, I really hope the toilets work." She said. Turning to Boulevard for confirmation, she was met with a back and forth motion of the hand near his neck, signifying, "Don't count on it." Nevertheless, the curious Wynter went onwards to the lavatories.

Boulevard bent down, resting on his ankles to look at the inside of the washing machine. Ignatius and the somewhat murky liquid went around multiple times. He remembered how his dull glass of vodka just a day before went at the same pace. Those thoughts didn't latch on for long, being washed away as the white shirts took up his view. It would be best to let bygones be bygones. He still needed to say what needed to be said, no matter what.

"Boulevard! Help!" Came a yell from the women's restroom. No time was wasted when Boulevard bolted around and unsheathed his machete, cutting around every corner to make it to the bathroom. In the doorway, he saw a Glutton on top of Wynter with its jaw half detached, swinging back and forth with each snap. Every attempted bite made the Glutton's body go down further and further, the pendulum of teeth almost scathing the travelers' nose. One forceful heel to the side of the Glutton's head made it crash into the stall, breaking the door and its skull with it.

As Boulevard was wiping the blood off of his foot, Wynter was still on the floor. An extended hand helped her up, letting her realign herself to what had just happened. She began to walk behind Boulevard, speaking in a mousey tone, "Sorry."

With all the regrets Boulevard had bursting out and then turning into but a memory at once, he needed to shake his telling her that there's no need to be sorry. He knew it was unnecessary, but he had never seen a Glutton with that much strength. It was relentless in its assault on Wynter. If his instincts didn't act as fast as they did, one more second would result in a deep, unalterable infection.

As Boulevard went out with Wynter, he took some time to observe the glutton. All he noticed was its scrawny teenager look with pens still in its pocket protector. It was weak? Then why did it cause such trouble and spark such urgency?

"Hey, I think we got better than we bargained for!" Wynter exclaimed. Boulevard was removed from his thought tangent and went out of the restroom. He was impressed with the washing machine's ability to remove odors and stains. After the wash, the shirts remained stapled together and now had a tint of light maroon. Still kind of creepy, but not to them.

"Say, where are you going to sleep now that these button-downs have been given a better use? Maybe you'll tidy up your living room, eh? Wait, where did you find all these identical shirts in the first place? You raid a store like this too?" Wynter endlessly asked, counting each shirt. Boulevard didn't like to recall on such times, but it would do no harm to remember a story of those who have passed away.

"The Perilous Platoon – those shirts used to always be on their person and belong to those free spirits. Seven soldiers who always made a ruckus at each fair. Humorous and destructive. One battle they ran in head first, and the next battle they had no heads." Boulevard's mouth drooped into a frown at how they perished. How such a small contraption and a pulled pin can destroy an entire tank was frightening.

Wynter's only question stemming from her look of curious wonder was, "Fair? Like a county fair?" Boulevard smirked and thought about the aura of those gatherings. The people, the actions, the developments; all in the name of progress.

"Yes, or something akin to that. Some would talk, others would sing, and everyone felt... different there. They felt better. What I wouldn't give to be present at another. It's been six years since my tongue has touched a sweet apple." Wynter nodded and began leading the way to wherever she was planning on going, her pointer fingers doing calculations in the air of how many apples are left in the world and how much caramel she would need to make one for everyone. That is, which Boulevard didn't wish to mention, if there was anyone left.

"I came to the Unmei area for three things. The park, The City, and the canyons. I want to resume my sightseeing with that right there." Wynter pointed up to the top of a stout but tall square building. Boulevard didn't question why she wanted to go up to the top of this particular structure. She had that pep in her step he had gotten very familiar with, so he'll follow and keep a watchful eye.

When they had reached the roof of the complex, Boulevard knew what she was yearning to see. More accurately, wanted to ride. "The City's famous city-wide cable car." The sign advertised. The rectangular black box with red stripes was big enough to fit fourteen people. That's well enough room for the both of them to admire all the sights The City had to offer. The rails started at the west side of the streets and ended at the top of a mountain that casted a shadow over the whole city. This would be a ten-minute-long ride of industrial eye candy and whatever lies at the peak.

All the sky tram needed was a push of a button to begin ascension. When Wynter's finger flipped some switches and pressed a small red button in the middle of the console and nothing happened, she turned her head over to Boulevard who was already fumbling around in his backpack pockets, seeking his expertise.

What arose from the bag were different types of metals and small, centimeter wide rods. Kicking open the back of the rusted metal box of wires connected to the red button, he began to fiddle around with whatever was inside. Right when Wynter walked around to peek at his work, the bulbs on the surface of the console lit up and some machinery from the bolts above the cable car released steam. "Best to believe our sky ride is working now." Boulevard said, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Wow. I know I could never do something like that. It's really impressive! Glad it's gotten some more use." As Wynter was speaking, Boulevard was on his way to the windows of the ride to investigate. Three Gluttons didn't notice him on the other side of the double doors.

"I'm grateful to this railed contraption that my knowledge is finally able to be used for something good." He backed away from the stained glass and met Wynter halfway.

"What do you mean? That big brain of yours has created some cool machines. Bet you're the only person alive that can power a large boat with coins and aluminum."

"While true that what I know up there will come in handy, I only powered that yacht so I could see where I poured my liquor." Boulevard lifted himself atop the cable car and sat down, waiting.

Wynter walked under Boulevard, seeing his face in full as his long hair blocked out everything else from the sides. She asked with a somber tone, "Are you okay?" Boulevard stood up and faced the traveler. "Press that red button and find out." He teased.

Wynter smiled, bracing the hold she had on Ignatius. Running over and pressing the red button, she saw the gears in the rail above start to turn. Her expression was one of wonder, seeing something so new. The cable car moved, and Wynter dashed forwards, extending her hand out towards Boulevard's. Wynter jumped and, by the time the cable car had left the ground and hovered in the air above the street, she was playfully laughing at how daring she was. She was dangling in midair, confident in Boulevard's grip as she marveled at the whole city in this 360-degree view. From this vantage point, she could see high rise buildings, parks, and rows of neighborhoods with hundreds of little homes. It was a magical sight, a landscape of the history of possibility.

Tapping out after a minute, noticing Boulevard's straining breaths, the two sat down, facing The City. Their legs floated above the metropolis and Boulevard felt again what he did at the Neverender. This behemoth of the past society from this high up was something to behold. Every inch of it could be admired for hours. "Will it ever be like this again?" Boulevard began to ponder. He thought that if things were going to be the same as they were before, it had to start with him.

"I'm sorry." Boulevard said. Wynter unraveled Ignatius and wrapped him around herself and sat where knee met chin like she did before during the park station dinner. She looked peaceful. He felt that way too. This high up where one could face the lowering sun had no tainted air. Each breath moved through Boulevard's lungs and into his blood like how a calm river elegantly flowed in a perfectly green forest.

"You don't have to be. I was never mad, just confused. I don't handle conflict well at all. That wasn't you." She said. Boulevard still felt regret because of how she was misinformed. That man in the cabin was him at one point. He hoped she would see the present as it truly was.

"That's not... entirely true. I did have such a personality before. Talking like I knew what was best for everyone and doing what was needed from someone such as me to confirm one hundred percent survival. It was inconsiderate of me to be that way at the cabin and hurtful to you. I said it was because I cared for my crew. That's true. But I only wanted them to be alive, even if it meant they weren't themselves if they came out victorious. Hell, that's how I treated myself for years. I couldn't die, no matter what. For if I did, then everyone who died for my efforts would be wasted, right? No. That's not the same. A wise woman once told me that one must live to truly be alive. My stay at the peninsula was not that. I was a stationary wanderer. My troops — my old friends wouldn't want that for me. Now — here — I'm living. Now, I think I'll be alright."

While Boulevard knew Wynter would still be with him after admitting his once dictatorial personality wasn't so far from the truth, many people were like that and it didn't have a good outcome. "A necessary member" he was called by his higher ups in that army. Only necessary isn't what he wanted to be. Time had slowed as he awaited Wynter's answer.

"Well, to me, if you're the same Boulevard who accepted me into his yacht after he flung me out of it, the same one who shared dinner with me on our park station date, and the same who ventured into unknown territory so I could enjoy the snow, that's who you are. No grumpy army vet will overthrow the pioneer of knowing any time soon, right?" Wynter smiled at him, and he loosened up with a grin.

"Yeah. That's right." Boulevard said with a happy tone.

As the cable car rose and the cogs made a low, melodic turning sound, Boulevard wondered something about his companion that he had wanted to ask since they first met. It appears Wynter had a question as well. "Since we've known each other for a good while, you have to spill the beans." She waited for the only set of eyes to be focused on her, and she asked, 'What's your real name?"

"I have no name." Boulevard said. Before Wynter's confused eyebrows could reach their peak, Boulevard corrected, saying, "Well, no real name, anyways. My parents never left any info for whoever delivered me. I was just "that kid." I was given a title from my old drill sergeant. From then on, I was anew. Codename: Boulevard."

Wynter's fingers touched her cheeks, her mouth slightly ajar, giving off a satisfying aura of closure. Boulevard was itching to ask his question. "Have you always been you? Always the float like a butterfly, sting like a butterfly kind of bubbly?" Her answer was quick but had a hint of strain.

"Yeah. From when all this apocalyptic stuff started to now, I've been pretty much the same. For the worse." Boulevard tilted his head in confusion at her answer. He wanted to help.

"How is that a bad outcome? I like the way you are now." Wynter's eyes became less weary after hearing that, but her tightened figure disagreed.

"Others haven't. Did you know I've never killed a Glutton before?" She could guess his answer before he spoke because of his raised, widened eyes and hesitantly curious manner, reciting in his mind, "She has to be lying."

"No. That's something. How did you even manage to get by?" Boulevard inquired. That question was a tiny bit insensitive, but she knew he meant no ill will. As Boulevard leaned forward slightly, Wynter knew he was genuinely curious to hear her story.

"People died to get me here. You said it yourself even if it wasn't the Boulevard I knew at the time. The weak can't truly survive. They lead others ahead of them in the march to dying. I did that. I was that person. The only reason I met you and aren't rotten like those monsters is because others had to die for me to live. I ask myself if I even deserve to be alive."

In Boulevard's stomach, instead of the butterflies he normally felt when he was around Wynter, they were replaced with cutting knives after hearing her say that she deserved death when she's never even killed anything.

He felt the same way but in a different light. It was his wish to lead his comrades to victory in battles but, when no more gunshots and explosions rang out, General Boulevard was the only standing body for miles. And for the miles he walked afterwards, he couldn't even think because he had to focus on not tripping over all of the corpses. Out of all of these honorable people who fought for preserving the humanity he believed in, why him? Why did it have to be him that survived? He wouldn't let her think like that. It's honor among friends.

"Your friends chose to save you when you needed help." Boulevard stated. That didn't seem to help much, as she just lowered her head even more into her shallow chest.

"Yeah. They had to save me. Wynter, the helpless snowflake. My one life has cost fifty-one others. I've counted, Boulevard. I said it myself. When you're alive, you have to live with yourself. I'm not sure." She whispered.

The thing that hurt the most is that the puppeteer of anarchy was saying she didn't deserve life. In a matter such as life, she was the definition. So Boulevard would think of a way to show her why people died for her. The right way. He just knew he had to.

"You're the strongest person I've ever known." Boulevard said.

Wynter looked up at him in disbelief. She was happy to know she was worth more than jokes and a morale booster, but his claim about her strength she couldn't believe. She thought it was said out of pity.

"Thanks. But I'm okay." She stated, settling into Ignatius more than usual like she was trying to hide away from Boulevard's overwhelming praises.

"I mean it with my everything." When Wynter looked over at Boulevard again, she couldn't help but turn to face him. He was different. He was sitting up straight, his head was high, and he had a tone of fire in his voice. Not like the inferno before in the cabins, but like a campfire with its heat enveloping her and making her feel at true peace. Boulevard looked strained being out of his comfort zone, but he looked more in his element than ever before. Like he was reborn.

"You haven't taken any life. Dead or alive. That makes you the strongest. No easy way out like what some of those warmongers were looking for. Killing so that the only people left are yours was true weakness. You haven't hurt a soul. That makes you the strongest."

She looked onwards, a subtle gleam in her now blissful eyes. Boulevard hugged Wynter. His large figure made it a bear hug, physically and mentally. It was an embrace. A true embrace with nothing but emotion powering it. Warm cheeks and blooming smiles followed. She was being told what all her friends who passed away wanted her to hear. That everyone who died did what they did so that she could live. For the future.

After a minute of perfect silence, the two went back to their positions right next to each other. Boulevard went for his ripped black backpack and took out a fishing rod. Wynter laughed. "Oh my gosh. Old habits die hard, huh? What are you planning to catch with that?" The sky tram car was nearing the height of the largest buildings in The City's northern district and a chilly, gentle breeze started enveloping the tourists. Boulevard shivered and started to unravel his improvised bandage when Wynter's hand stopped him. "I've got you covered. He's for the both of us." She said.

Ignatius wrapped perfectly around Boulevard's broad shoulders and the ends of the blanket took in both of them. And there they sat, looking at the beautiful sunset. "I was planning on catching some well needed rest. Even if I never enjoyed the act of fishing, the water always gave me peace of mind. I want to sit here. Just that is okay."

The both of them nodded and looked at the mountain range, filled with endless peaks upon peaks and meadows upon meadows, beckoning. For now, Boulevard and Wynter sat there, just existing. And that was all that they needed.

A noise. A very faint noise came from below them. The two looked down to see a speck. An ant like splotch in the streets, looking up at them. A Glutton? No, it wasn't reaching out with rotten hands looking for the impossible. It was looking at them with wonder. Then came another. And another and another and another. Soon, the streets were filled with something else. People. Hundreds of humans came out of their apartments with flower pots and tapestries on their balconies and the two could also see smaller dots rushing down a playground slide to see who had fixed their sky tram.

Before the two friends could look each other in the eyes and say what was on both of their minds, they reached the largest skyscraper in The City. From the highest window was a frail, old hand, waving a frilly napkin. Boulevard hurried to lower the line in his reel to reach the window. Said cloth was placed onto the tip of the hook.

Every second used to send Boulevard's biggest catch up to him was like a crescendo of possibilities. Every turn of the reel, bringing in more line, was an action of anticipation of what's to come. When he finally saw the designer napkin with words inscribed with pen ink, he opened it and the two sets of eyes saw the promise of, "Welcome home."

With a gasp of excitement, Wynter looked over at Boulevard, but he was looking at the streets again. Moving forwards to catch a glimpse of his face, she saw his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes almost glowing.

"The marble temple." He said slowly. Observing where he was staring, Wynter saw a building behind a stage with microphones and banners. This building was chiseled out of a smooth, white stone, looking like an old depiction of Mount Olympus. Delicate but gargantuan pillars in rows held up a roof carved with a symbol in the middle of its triangular surface. It was of an extended arm with a hand's palm facing the sky. Above the hand was an ideograph of a heart.

The sound of flipping of pages directed Wynter's attention to Boulevard, who was expeditiously searching for something in his notebook of black leather. When he found what he was looking for, he closed the book on both sides with both hands. Placing it next to him, he turned around fully to look at Wynter with whimsical passion.

"I want to see the Unmei Canyon next." Boulevard said.