The dye had already begun to set in when Julia realized that she was horribly and irrevocably fucked. Her hands gripped the sides of her bathroom sink, carrot-colored skin tainting the porcelain, and the face gawking back at her in the mirror was adorned with a head of hair that was not the ‘Autumn Sunset’ the dye box had promised but instead ‘Orange Highlighter Smudged with Black and Brown Ink.’ Her once even, blonde curls sat matted across her scalp, appearing more like clumps of alien flesh than actual hair, and she resisted the urge to curse whatever god was out there or break down crying until her face began to turn to the same putrid red as her hair. It will look better when it dries, she told herself like she was the woman smiling on the box, radiant and ready to dazzle with her auburn locks. It had to. Glancing down at her cell phone, she grimaced at the 90 minutes she had left until 6:00 pm arrived and her date with it.
Julia wasn’t sure what possessed her to dye her hair for the first time in her 42 years of life, but then again, she wasn’t sure why she said yes to a dinner date with a stranger in the first place. She wanted to blame it on a misplaced mid-life crisis, one without the copious amounts of money to buy sports cars and Botox. Some subconscious desire to replace the ring that once clung to her left hand before the fading tan line filled in, perhaps? That was the theory her mother preferred, that her daughter was too entangled with others, too likely to crumble if left to her own devices — Julia pointedly refused to look at her orange reflection at that last thought. Her mother had told her that much during their final phone call six months ago before the Rot devoured the retirement home Julia had unceremoniously plunked her in. That she would have preferred to have Carolyn as a daughter with her six-figure research position, steely disposition and face that hardly smiled and looked like it was carved from marble,, and hands that knew exactly where to land on Julia’s body and how to push and prod with such scientific precision and… Julia quickly shook her head like the motion would dislodge the thought of her ex-wife and splashed her face with cold water to shock away her image. Carolyn had left her in two ways last year. She left Julia for mousy Linda in a lab coat and hands full of pipettes, a woman with an actual house in Fresno and two golden retrievers. And now, a baby, Julia learned in the no more than ten times she stalked her on social media. But, more than that, she left Julia alone as a sobbing mess filling the emptiness within her with vodka and mint chocolate chip ice cream. She left her alone as the skies blacked and buildings dissolved into inky sludge.
Before the cable lines succumbed to the Rot, Julia saw that Fresno had been wiped from the map, and she danced for the first time in years, limbs free to sway and stretch across her apartment. Maybe it was that freedom that compelled her to accept the date from the unknown woman on the other line. The festering dread that she was not equipped for solitude, that she needed to cling to someone, anyone before she shattered to dust. She wondered what it felt like, not necessarily being alone, but living alone, existing with no one to witness you. She wondered if Carolyn was happy despite the Rot, so long as she died in the arms of another.
Julia flinched as her phone rang — one of few functions that worked ever since the satellites dissolved — but her sudden shock vanished as she read the caller ID, a smash of random numbers and letters, and knew it was her admirer on the other end.
“Hello?”
Julia? The voice was strange yet familiar, gravelly like the words were transmitted through radio interference.
“Who else would it be?” Julia tried to imbue her words with a sultry yet casual smirk. “I’m assuming you realized you don’t know where I live.” She hoped the intended playfulness came across, and she didn’t just sound like an asshole right there.
No need to worry. Julia Kaufman, 1990 Park Street, Apartment 315, right?
Julia wondered if she should be concerned that she knew her full name and address, but she brushed that thought aside. For all she knew, she, this woman, and the few stragglers she saw in the grocery store were the only people left in the city, or the continent, or the entire earth. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.
“Well, if you know where you’re going, are you still coming at 6?”
Don't worry, Julia heard a faint laugh, I have a knack for getting to places right on time.
There was a soft rustling on the other end, and Julia wondered if the caller was planning on hanging up soon without so much as a goodbye, without allowing her the final word.
“Wait!” She cried out and then immediately cursed herself. She needed to be composed or at least act like she was. “I mean, you already know so much about me. Can I at least know who I should be expecting?”
Julia mentally applauded her brilliant save. And names were important. She needed to know what to call the woman when she walked through her front door, what name to save her contact under, what to cry out in bed.
The caller, however, was silent, almost dumbfounded by the question.
This may sound strange, but I can’t tell you. You absolutely cannot know it.
“And why’s that?” Julia hoped the woman wasn’t in danger, so much so that she had to hide her identity. Or, worse, this was a challenge of sorts, where she had to prove herself to win the privilege of knowing her name.
It has this effect on people when they hear it or see it written out. Even worse when they speak it out loud. They begin to act… unlike themselves, I guess is the best way to put it. Inhuman maybe? But if you want, you can make up a name for me! She sounded so earnest that Julia wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
“Then, can I call you Naomi?”
Naomi. I like it! Perfectly human-sounding. Maybe tomorrow Julia would acknowledge that comment, but for now, she focused on Naomi’s approval. She liked the name Julia selected, its sound, the way it rolled off her tongue. Julia couldn’t help but jump to the next likely conclusion: did that mean Naomi liked her?
Oh, and one other thing before I forget. When I arrive, take care not to look at any part of me for an extended period of time. More than the lack of a knowable first name, that took Julia aback. But then again, maybe Naomi was just shy.
“I-I see. But I hope it’s not because you’re self-conscious or anything. I'm sure you’re beautiful.” She winced at how forward she sounded, how degraded and raw her existence had left her.
Oh, thank you, but it’s nothing like that, I assure you. It’s much like how it is with my name. I mean, it gives off the same effect, and I want us to have a nice evening together. With how dark your skies are, it’s easy to hide, but it’s been so long since I’ve been in the company of another. I’m sure you understand.
“I think I do. And roger that! No real name and no looking.” Despite only speaking twice, Julia wondered if she and Naomi were one and the same, if it was possible to feel so connected, so seen, by a stranger. And yet, her name proved their nascent bond. Naomi. Created by Julia and thus already tethered to her.
I’m happy you’re so accepting! Well, I don’t want to distract you any longer. I’ll see you soon, Julia.
“Likewise, Naomi.”
Any excitement being the one to end the call may have given her vanished as Julia realized she had to shower, effectively sealing her hair’s fate for good. She knew the dye would grip its tangerine claws into whatever it landed on, but it wasn’t like anyone else saw her bathroom or her body on a regular basis. And, if the woman on the other line was just as willing to dial a random number and ask out whoever answered as said answerer was willing to say yes, Julia figured she wouldn’t mind a few stains.
The shower head sent streams of icy water down her back, and Julia wondered what her Naomi was like. Was she tall? Short? Did she have a thing for women with streaky orange hair? It was like this before every first date — questions of who and why and why her — though she had only been on four her whole life. Julia vaguely recalled the only date she went on after Carolyn left, a day before the Rot began, as if the universe was spiting her for her optimism. The memories trickled back, and she doused her body in lavender body soap like she could scrub them off of her. She was giddy as a teenage girl, nervous that her 19-year marriage had left her unequipped to find another partner, her legs live wires, squirming beneath the coffee shop table. Her date wore a short, floral dress and kitten heels, and Julia was trapped between wanting to immediately get down on one knee and wanting to escape through a back window. She did knock the woman’s almond latte over onto said floral dress and spent the rest of the afternoon peppering her sentences with hurried apologies. When she didn’t get a call back, she knew her date — what was her name? Chelsea? Rebecca? — must have been one of the first to perish. Probably turned to tar or was smothered when her building rotted to mush. Julia still found herself tearing up at the thought of what could have been between them, what now could never be.
As Julia squeezed a stream of iron-tinted water from her hair, her phone revealed that she had only 30 minutes left to prepare her apartment. She tallied the number of tasks she had left: her outfit was lying on her bed — a red dress she hadn’t worn in years and a black lingerie set — the dining area was freshly scrubbed down, dinner was… Fuck, she forgot dinner, hadn’t she? Fuck, fuck, fuck, Julia muttered to herself as she toweled herself off at record speed. She had been so focused on the dye job that she neglected to consider that a dinner date semantically required food, and, as she gave her reflection a withering glance, it wasn’t even worth the wasted time.
Though she half-expected it, Julia couldn’t help but sigh as she stared at the nothing waiting for her inside her pantry. Or at least nothing worthy of a meal anyone other than her had to eat. She shuffled through a few cans of succotash and chicken noodle soup, some boxes of saltine crackers, and whatever else she managed to get from the store. It was only when she opened her freezer that she found her savior: a frozen cheese pizza she swiped over a month ago. Julia readjusted her shower towel and preheated her oven, grinning as she read that the pizza only took 15 minutes to bake. And besides, who didn’t love pizza? Or, even better, the pizza could be a litmus test of sorts to see if this stranger, this lovely, mysterious Naomi, would thank her efforts, and her resourcefulness in finding quality food in this new world. However, as she placed the pizza in the oven, she felt a pit of sadness squash her wonder as she realized that finding the pizza and now baking the pizza made up the highlights of her past month and a half.
Julia expected the end of the world to be exciting, some otherworldly call to action. She imagined herself a survivor with ripped clothing and dog tags, camping out in abandoned shopping malls and building campfires out of old newspapers. Her anticipation only grew as the skies darkened for good, signaling the beginning of the Rot, and a podcaster she listened to spoke of something lurking in the darkness, a danger incomprehensible to the human mind. But instead, a new form of monotony began to set in. She found herself returning to work the next day, armed with a flashlight where the streetlamps couldn’t stave off the sunless shadows. It was better than remaining at home where there was no Carolyn and nothing to distract her from the news reporting on cities wiped off the face of the earth, 100 million killed the first week and the number only rising every day. A mood killer more than anything. And when the marketing firm she supervised succumbed to the Rot, she went shopping until even pacing through decrepit aisles and swiping whatever she could shove into her purse lost its luster. Julia realized then that she had nothing to look forward to but the spare luxuries she found in the grocery store: the loaf of white bread the rats hadn’t gotten to, the humble whiskey — a needed replacement to her bottles of vodka — she could steal with no cashier to judge her, the frozen goods she found stored in formerly locked back rooms. There was no danger she could avoid, spare for the inevitability of her own sad rotting, no gallant adventures to be had, no purpose granted by the Rot. She was just the same Julia she was seven months ago when the world was blue and bursting with life.
It was a small mercy when she smelled the faint smell of burning cheese wafting in from the kitchen. She sped through worming her way into the dress, inching up the zipper with her breath sucked in until she was finally sealed inside. Julia could hardly look at herself as she walked to the oven, stumbling on a pair of ill-fitting heels. She wondered if the bra strap she left teasing out in the open was too much, if her wobbling gait was off-putting, if her hair looked more like the flame on a red giant than any Autumn Sunset in existence. The same smoky flames engulfed the pizza, and Julia realized she had forgotten to remove the cardboard disc the pie sat on before baking it. Any buttery crust or gooey cheese had been replaced with a layer of bitter charcoal that spat out thin lines of grease.
“Damn it!” She raced for a pair of oven mitts and pulled the ruined pizza from the oven. Once she pried the charred cardboard from it, Julia realized just how utterly, utterly fucked she was. More than before, perhaps more than she had ever been. Bad hair was something an especially kind person —like she knew Naomi was — could overlook. Bad hair and a dinner fitter for starving rats than people? Well, that would require a miracle and a half for Naomi to stay for the entirety of their date, much less schedule a second one. And Julia couldn’t even fathom a reality where she would allow that to happen. Her body still buzzed from the kindness Naomi gave her, and she wondered how she had survived this long without it.
It was 5:53 pm when Julia resolved herself to salvage whatever she could of the date. Just enough time to push the pizza aside and pick out a bottle of whiskey to serve with dinner. Alcohol;the perfect coverup for any inedible meal. Hopefully, Naomi preferred whiskey to wine, but deep down, Julia had a feeling she did. She knew it, so much so that she had no doubt that Naomi would thank her, praise her even, for her drink selection.
Julia splattered on some makeup — hints of mascara that stained her bottom lids and red lipstick one shade darker than her dress — just as her phone’s clock struck 6 pm, and she steeled herself for what would inevitably come next. Would Naomi knock? Would she understand that locking doors had little purpose anymore and simply walk inside? The questions returned with a fury, swirling and churning until Julia had drafted a version of what would soon occur. Maybe a hypothetical, maybe reality. Naomi would have dark brown hair, neatly braided, as her name would suggest. Her dress would be blue to complement Julia’s, and her jewelry sparse yet bold. Her perfume would be floral — rose seemed fitting — but not overpowering. She would be perfection in human form, a light hovering in the night sky, just as she said. Yes, Julia murmured to herself. Yes, of course. Naomi asked her not to see reality, but she never asked Julia not to fantasize, not to spend the rest of her life wondering. She wrung her hands together, gripping her wrists until her skin turned red. She felt closer to a live wire than a person. Closer to something ready to erupt.
With her thoughts devouring themselves, it took her a few moments to register the gap that appeared by her apartment door. Less a hole than a tear, a jagged maw revealing pure darkness that unhinged its jowls until something slithered out of it, landing with a damp splat on the wooden floor. Julia could hardly get a good look at the mass, at where the tear ended and the being began when a soft voice emanated from it.
Didn’t I tell you? Right on time. Julia stared at the creature for a second longer before quickly averting her eyes. She had promised Naomi, and she wasn’t about to ruin their evening together before it even began.
“Naomi?” The mass let out an affirmative hum. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
Likewise.
Julia stuck out her hand, and some part of Naomi gently shook it. The possible appendage was soft to the touch — almost skin-like — but it was spongy and molded to perfectly fit Julia’s grasp. A slimy film clung to her fingers as Naomi broke from the handshake, and she couldn’t stop herself from cringing at how cold the film was, how it dripped to the floor in a languid stream. If Naomi noticed her indiscretion, she didn’t say anything.
The air smells lovely. Were you cooking earlier? So Naomi had a nose or at least something that served the same function. A nose that, unless horribly skewed, would have realized that any cooking was better left to rot in a dumpster somewhere far from the apartment. Julia wondered if she should ask if this was a trick, if Naomi was simply flattering her. If deep within her globby mind, she too had crafted a fantasy partner, an illusory, ideal Julia who the real one just proved she could never live up to.
But for now, she simply nodded at the floor. “I tried to make us a pizza for dinner.”
Really? That’s so generous of you! I would love some.
“Are you sure? I have some whiskey, so we could just have a drink if you want.” At least she could show that she was a solution-forger, a graceful pivoter. But Naomi wouldn’t let her have even that.
Both sound great, actually. It’s been forever since I’ve had a glass of whiskey. Julia heard her make her way to her dining table, the gap sealing itself shut soon after.
She selected two of her cleanest glasses and brought them to the table, the bottle of whiskey tucked under her arm. It was lukewarm but drinkable and more expensive than any spirit Julia would have purchased pre-Rot. She was lucky that it was technically free, that she had something worthy of presenting to Naomi. The slight squeal of delight and cheerful clapping of two appendages that followed informed her that she had made perhaps her first good decision of the evening.
Once poured, they both took a greedy sip of the whiskey. It burned enough to remind Julia that all of this was real and true, that no woman, tall or short, with skin scented with flowers, would arrive anytime soon. That in her steed was the bona fide Naomi with her staticky voice and unknowable form. The Naomi that knew her, knew with such unimaginable precision who exactly she was entering the apartment of.
“I never gave you my name did I? Or my apartment for that matter.”
You didn’t. If Naomi shook her equivalent of a head, Julia didn’t see, her eyes fixed on her amber-filled glass. But it simplified everything, right? I mean, from what I’ve observed, it’s customary to know at least a little about the human you’re going on a date with. It seemed rude not to know the basics about you: name, address, birthday, things like that.
“Then should I expect a present on…”
May 19th? Only if you want one. Julia couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of Naomi somehow figuring out her birthday, and her name, when no one had reason to say ‘Julia Kaufman’ in months. She imagined her scouring through long-abandoned social media accounts, frantically tapping her cell phone screen and leaving webs of slime on it. The image was almost endearing, if not a little off-putting.
“So I guess it wasn’t fate that you found my number then. You knew that I was the person you were calling.” Another sip gave Julia enough confidence to take short glimpses at Naomi, averting her gaze when her eyes began to burn and her forehead throb. She didn’t appear to have a solid form, her body undulating like ocean waves. Numerous appendages hung from her torso, several clasping together like well-mannered hands. Anything above her torso — her head, her face — she refused to look at after a misguided peek revealed no sign of a mouth, nothing for noise to emit from or liquid to enter. Maybe it was the whiskey, but even with parts unlike anything she had ever seen, Julia had no desire to force Naomi out of her apartment, out of her life.
I have been observing you for a few months. Wait, that sounds creepy, doesn’t it? I was observing everyone, every human who stepped outside, from around a thousand-mile radius of this city. Like I said on the phone, it’s easy for me to blend into the sky with how it is now. You probably didn’t even realize I was there this whole time. Not that I caused the Rot or anything — yes, I also listened to podcasts, radio, anything to get to know humanity — but it allowed me to get closer to those beneath me, physically and in other respects.
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t accusing you or anything.” If Naomi truly was so vicious, so willing to cast aside innocent lives, she would never have told Julia not to stare at her for too long. She would have said Julia her true name and laughed as her prey fell into disrepair. Julia felt validated in her assumption of Naomi’s kindness, and she rewarded herself with another sip of whiskey.
But I will admit I watched you more than the others. It became less about knowing humanity, about witnessing this planet, its life and decay. I wanted to know you, every piece, every part of you. I wanted to see everything.
“Everything?” Julia’s mind flickered to her wanton shoplifting, her drinking, her desperate attempts to dye her hair, to reinvent herself by her bathroom sink. It was nothing to brag about, not even a funny anecdote. It was horrifying that Naomi could have seen it all to know about that before anything else, and she was suddenly grateful that she had more than one good reason not to look Naomi in the eyes.
“And you still decided to ask me out?”
It was actually why I decided. I needed to speak to you in person to know for sure, but I had a feeling we had a lot in common. That you, more than anyone, could understand me.
A connection, a nascent bond growing between them. Julia shot up from her chair and rushed to the kitchen, muttering something under her breath about the pizza getting cold. She was right about Naomi’s radiance, the shimmering light that seemed to pulsate within her. How could Naomi ever dream of comparing herself to someone who couldn’t even bake a frozen pizza without nearly burning her apartment down? Maybe that’s why she wanted to place it on the dining table and force Naomi to acknowledge her faulty hypothesis.
I’m sorry. Was that too forward? We can change the subject if you’d like.
“No, I just… that’s not something I’ve been told very often. I’m not sure if you picked up on this in your research, but I’ve been pretty much alone since the Rot began.” And more than a bit of time before it, but she banished that thought as she sawed the charred pizza into six slices.
Not even Carolyn found commonalities between you and her? It didn’t feel worth asking Naomi how she could know about Carolyn. Julia placed the pizza slices on the table and took a bite out of one, grimacing at its acrid flavor.
“We were young and thought we could overcome our differences, and then we weren’t, and we realized we were fighting a losing battle. So, no, I guess she didn’t.” She heard Naomi place two slices within her body with a soft, squelching sound.
Again, I hope you aren’t offended. As I said, I needed to make sure I was right about you. Here, maybe you should ask me something. I’ve never been the greatest conversationalist. She ended with a hushed chuckle before taking a long drink. Was Naomi embarrassed? Julia couldn’t help but imagine her amorphous cheeks blushing, her mind cursing itself for potentially offending her date. The thought was almost adorable, and Julia felt a warmness well within her, one she didn’t bother blaming on her drinking.
The food is excellent, by the way! The words were tentative, like Naomi was attempting to assuage whatever hurt she may have caused, and Julia melted further. How thoughtful, how wonderfully sweet of her to say.
“So, what was it about me that attracted your attention?”
I’ve seen you live as though your world won’t dissolve in a few weeks' time, your isolation, your fruitless attempts to nurture relationships, your desperation to be more than you are if only to avoid being alone.
“And you liked that?” Julia wasn’t sure if she should be offended at Naomi’s brutal honesty, her clinical evaluation of her every weakness. But more than that, she was intrigued. No human would find that appealing, would adore her despite it all, or perhaps because of it.
Naomi consumed a third slice before continuing. My kind is a solitary one. We have no planet, no kin, nothing but our studies and the endless expanse of space. Most have no desire to even communicate in the way I have with you, much less love another. And I’m sure you can understand why those are harder for my kind than others.
“Yeah I can imagine how the whole unknowable name and unseeable body things are deal breakers for some people.” Naomi chuckled softly.
And yet it isn’t for you. It wasn’t a question, but there was no reason for it to be. Julia could have backed out when Naomi first gave hints of her true nature, but the thought never crossed her mind.
“What you were saying about loving another. Do you love me?” She wished she could tolerate the pizza if only to have something to fill her mouth with and stop her from asking such asinine questions. Love was something reserved for at least the third date, sometimes before sex, but never like this. And yet did she not love that woman in her floral dress and kitten heels? Did she not love so many shadows, so many figments of possible futures?
Not yet, but I can imagine loving you, growing to love you. Is it so unthinkable that I could? Naomi didn’t sound biting like she assumed Julia thought her kind to be incapable of love. No, instead, she placed part of her body – an appendage by the feel of it – over Julia’s hand, looping her flesh around her fingers. It was cold and sticky, but Julia had no repulsion to force down this time. She gripped back, stroking her thumb over Naomi.
“I’m not sure about your kind, but we humans tell stories about love at first sight. But they’re just stories, fantasies to help us rest easy at night. So, yes, it is a bit unthinkable that you could care so much, nearly love, someone you only just met.” Julia didn’t know who she was fooling with that response, but she wanted to believe Naomi. To trust that connection, that affection, she felt over the phone, deep within her mind.
As unthinkable as it is for someone to accept a date with a stranger? You call it a fantasy, but didn’t you say yes, hoping it would be true? That this would make everything – the Rot and all that came before it – worth it?
Julia was sure whatever she said next would make her look like a hypocrite, so she finished her whiskey instead. Naomi’s appendage never left her, and she lifted the squishy limb and pressed it against her cheek. She nuzzled it and hoped Naomi got the message, that she wanted to believe her, so desperately wanted to prove that she was worthy of the beautiful being before her. That she was worthy of loving and being loved in return.
So, what do you want, Julia? And know that nothing you say will change my mind about you.
“I think I want another drink before I answer that.” They both laughed, but Julia wasn't completely joking. She filled her and Naomi’s glass and took another long sip. She glanced around her apartment at walls that once held framed photographs, signs of a time when she never had to want for anything. There was nothing left to tie her to this location, this life. More than anything, she needed an anchor, a shining light to guide her to a better tomorrow.
“I would like for you to come over tomorrow.”
And then? A different set of limbs took her hands.
“Maybe we can go on a walk or stay here and have drinks again.”
And then?
“You can tell me about you, everything there is to know.”
And then?
“It doesn’t matter. I just want you by my side when we do it.”
Well, Julia Kaufman, I would like that very much. Until the world rots away, until I know I love you, you never have to be alone again.
Julia closed her eyes and looked forward, letting Naomi guide her head to where they could have locked eyes. She imagined the sky falling to ash in months, weeks if Naomi’s prediction was correct. Buildings would fall, oceans blister.All of humanity, all of its joy, sorrow. love, and loss, would be forever decimated by the Rot. And yet, in the darkness, she saw the table before her, the remains of pizza and whiskey scattering its surface. She saw her wondrous Naomi beaming down at her, holding her, smothering her in chilling warmth.
“Yeah, I would like that too.”