smokeSCREEN: bookTWO

For a moment they're a pair of silhouettes against the setting sun – Sophie's blocky outline of baggy pants and plain toque beside Cypress's slim, uneven posture. His right shoulder is peaked under the burden of whatever is in his pack, and his staff is strapped to his back.

Sophie nods towards us and they step forward – hushed whispers follow them as they cross from the gates to our bench.

"Where were you two?" Lisa asks as they walk up. Sophie's all smiles.

"We found a stereo!" she chirps happily.

"You'd better not have found it in the mall," I tell her. "The glass celings are still coming down." It's now that I notice a small cut on Cypress's cheek. His skin is flawless aside from it – either cowardice or skill have left him with no noticeable scars aside from the two horizontal cuts on the back of his hand – the Westwood mark of a Beta.

Cypress just grins his grin, pushes some hair out of his eyes and reaches for my cigarette. He takes a slow puff and smiles again;

"Of course not." He flicks the cigarette so the filter's pointing at me, and I slowly draw it out of his fingers. "But I figured it'd be nice to have some tunes for the floor meeting, right?"

His eyes are too blue.

"Alright, fine – take it upstairs and see what Anze can do with it," I say – I can't help but smile.

"Great!" Sophie says. She skips ahead, while Cypress stops to flash his smile back at me before following her up and into the tower. For a moment, I just stare ahead. Then, remembering my cigarette, I take a quick drag and look to Lisa.

She's looking back, over the bench, watching them go. I snap my fingers in front of her eyes and she jerks back to reality, staring at me for a moment before shaking her head and pushing her hair back.

"We're fucked," she says. I close my eyes and nod.

"So fucked."

* * *

A half an hour later the Sun has set, and Lisa is up in the tower briefing Cypress on why he must engage in mortal combat with our best soldier. Cat, Crow, Sophie, Anze and I are part of the detail setting up the circle of torches in the courtyard. Anze doesn't want to be here – she's excited at the prospect of getting a working stereo.

Morbid as it sounds, it's a perfect evening for a "show", as Phoebes would say. The stars are bright and crisp, there is almost no wind and the torches burn brightly as Rachell, a Beta, follows us around lighting them. Crow spikes another hole in the broken ground for me to drive a torch into, and stands, bushing a mess of hair out of her eyes, nodding towards the Tower.

I look in time to see thirty or so pour out, all chattering happily at the prospect of watching Claire butcher Cypress, or Cypress butcher Claire – it's hard to tell which. By now half the Tower knows the story of the south end by heart – Crow told it with enough enthusiasm – and I don't presume to guess which way their sympathies sway.

As the champion, Claire takes her place first – at the end of the circle nearest the Tower – and waits.

Claire is six-foot-eight, if I were to guess, and every inch of her taught as steel. She's from Floor Five, where she reigns as Alpha, and is rarely seen without her full-sized pump-action shotgun, complete with a scope, always loaded with slugs. Tonight, she grips two eighteen inch machetes, which shine in the flickering light.

The wave of women washes around the circle of torches, keeping just outside the ring, as Lisa steps into it with Cypress. Cypress does not have his belt, nor his pack, nor any weapon but his staff.

I remind myself it's not just a staff as Lisa whispers something I hope is encouraging to him before striding over to where I and the rest of Floor Thirteen are standing. Cypress looks to me, as if wanting an explanation, before Phoebe steps into the circle and walks to the centre.

"Ladies!" she shouts. "…and you," glancing sharply to Cypress. A few laugh – most don't. "We haven't had a deathmatch in six years…"

"For good reason," I mutter. Lisa nudges me to keep quiet.

"But I'm sure you've all heard the story from Floor Thirteen – that this man is somehow skilled enough – somehow worthy enough to join us here at the Glass Tower."

A few people boo.

"But something tells me Claire has something to say about that…" Phoebe finishes, grinning wickedly as she steps off to the side.

Claire immediately strides forward, stretching her arms and getting a feel for the stocky machetes.

Cypress stands still, calmly drawing out his staff.

"I don't want to kill you," he calls across the circle. A few laugh. Most are waiting to see if he can.

For a moment, I feel a tinge of fear that he won't – after all, Cat did get the better of him for a moment on that rooftop.

"Then you'll die," Claire shrugs, taking long, powerful steps towards him. Cypress lights a cigarette, and Claire stops. He does have guts.

"I said I didn't want to – I never said I wouldn't."

The crowd 'oooh's at this, but it only infuriates Claire further. She jumps towards him, slashing savagely, only to catch thin air as he quickly ducks and sidesteps, keeping a good eight feet between himself and the giant.

Claire stops and considers – he is quick. Cypress takes a long drag and draws the cigarette from his mouth. He grips the staff at the very top with his right hand – the cigarette in his left. Claire starts for him.

"Try it again," he says. "And I'll take your ear – but you pick which one."

She stops. He's being too cocky, but he sticks the cigarette between his lips and grips his staff in two hands.

"Whichever hand you lunge at me with – I'll take the opposite ear.."

Claire shrieks and lunges forward, swinging a machete for his head. He calmly sidesteps again and there is a split-second flash of silvery steel. Claire is grinning, and she turns for another lunge before she stops, staring agape.

The crowd shares a communal gasp - skewered at the tip of a four-foot blade is an ear, which Cypress holds out to her for inspection.

"I could take a hand next, if that would change your mind."

Claire grits her teeth – she feels for an ear that is no longer there and lunges again, roaring. This time, Cypress doesn't dodge – the sword flashes and she drops one of the machetes, screaming. The tip of his sword whips up and in – pressing gently at her throat. Her breath is coming in ragged gasps, her face an awful contortion of rage and bewilderment.

"Your right ear and left thumb – I can take you a piece at a time," he says, taking a drag. "But I'd rather not."

"The rules are you have to kill her!" Phoebe barks. Cypress turns and roars back at her;

"Then the rules should change! – Augh!" He stumbles back, gripping the bleeding slash across his stomach. Claire lunges again with her good hand and he jumps back a second time, whipping the blade around her arm and across her face, splitting the giant's nose horizontally across the bridge. Blood begins to pour out, and they both begin to stumble.

I wonder how deep that cut across his stomach is.

"I can kill you," Cypress barks at her. "End this!"

"Let them stop!" someone shouts.

"No one's stopping!" Phoebe roars. Cypress's face hardens and he begins backing up more, moving away from me, closer to Phoebe. Claire slowly edges towards him, now as cautious as a kitten.

"If someone is to die…" he says, dodging one more slash from Claire. The tip of the sword flicks across her shoulder and tears it open to the bone. Claire falls, crashing into the dirt, spitting blood, as Cypress spins and whips the tip of his sword to a point somewhere outside the circle of torches.

"…I don't see why it shouldn't be you," he finishes. The crowd clears to reveal the a trickle of blood at Phoebe's throat where the blade is held steady, and panicked whispers ripple across the courtyard.

"Perhaps you don't," she says calmly, "but for the good of the Tower, you had to prove your worth."

Claire is struggling to stand – blood loss has made her weak, and she falls back to the dirt. No one moves to help – no one moves to help Phoebe, either.

"Am I worthy, or should I take a limb or two off Claire until you're satisfied?"

"You're a man – why not just kill her?" Phoebe says. Cypress narrows his eyes at her and says softly;

"The human race wiped itself out. Everyone. Except us. We are humanity's second chance – and you would have us kill ourselves, one by one."

Despite his low volume, this echoes off the silent courtyard walls. This echoes through the entire crowd, and now Cypress draws back into the circle, not taking his eyes from Phoebe.

"But it's not my place to tell the leader what to do. It's my place to follow her rules – I'm just a Beta." He draws out his arm until he appears for a moment like the hands on a clock – one hand pointing to six, the other at five – the tip of his sword sitting easily at the back of Claire's head. Claire is still struggling to breathe through the torrent of blood.

"I'm a soldier of this Tower," he calls out loudly now. "So give me an order, Phoebe."

Phoebe's face, gently lit by the torches, is astonished. She swallows, and says the only thing she can;

"I order you… to spare her."

* * *

A half an hour later, Cypress and I lay on the roof, looking up at the night sky, smoking cigarettes. Sophie cleaned up the cut on his stomach – it barely broke the skin – and went to make preparations for the floor meeting.

"To be honest," I say, "I was worried you might not win."

When we walked up here, we were silent but comfortable. He felt like an old friend. Now, as he lays two feet to my right, I am severely conscious of his proximity. Too conscious. But Lisa and I made a deal.

"Well fuck, so was I – that chick was huge. I'm just lucky she was a split-second slower than me." He blows a plume of smoke up into the sky.

"It wasn't luck – you saved her life. People have been against deathmatches before, but nobody's ever been allowed to spare someone."

"Yeah, well, I should have thought of my little speech sooner – saved Claire a digit." I shake my head.

"No, she would have killed you if she could."

"Mind if I ask a question?" he says. I shrug.

"Sure."

"Why did you avoid me today?"

"I wasn't avoiding you-"

"Sure you were."

"No, no, you were gone with Sophie half the day-"

"After I got back with Sophie – you saw me three times but made sure it didn't look that way."

It's true, I did.

"No I didn't."

"Alright," he says, standing.

"Where are you going?" He smiles softly down at me and flicks his cigarette off the roof.

"Floor meeting's in twenty minutes – we should probably get going."

"I haven't been avoiding you, it's just…" I stand and face him, our eyes level. Even in the darkness of the roof, his are impossibly blue, and I have to look away.

"Okay, what did I do here, cause I don't have a clue," he says.

"Cypress… you didn't do anything wrong. You pretty much do everything right." His hand touches my cheek and a wave of heat ripples through me as he pushes the hair away from my face, and turns my chin to look at him again.

"Then what's going on? Lisa's acting weird too."

"Lisa and I have decided to try to be…" I struggle for the word, but the best thing that comes out is "Unaffected."

"'Unaffected'? Unaffected by what?"

"By you, you idiot!" He truly doesn't understand.

"Me? What did I do?"

"It…" I turn away from him and take a few strides across the roof. "It's nothing you did, it's something you do."

"Michelle, I don't understand-"

"I know you don't… why don't you?" I spin and walk up to him – our bodies press together, and the tip of my nose rests at his. His breath is hot on my lips, and already it's too hard. I'm not sure I could pull away now if I tried. "Does this make you feel nothing?" I ask. No answer comes aside from his breathing. His eyes tell me enough. "This.." I say – leaning forward and letting my cheek stroke gently against his. My mouth slowly draws open and I can't help but sigh. "This is what you do to us – all of us."

"I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's alright," I say. "But it…" Our lips are so close. It's an ache, deep down inside. Something I can't explain, something I can't begin to control. It's just… "Cypress…" I whisper. His lips graze mine – so softly and briefly, it may well be unintentional, but I am stirred to my core. His hand caresses my cheek on its way to stroke my hair, and I'm lost. I'm tumbling down. Suddenly, he's holding me closer.

Suddenly, I'm pushing him away.

"I promised Lisa!" I tell him, backing away and catching my breath. "I promised Lisa that it wouldn't effect me. All of us – all of us feel this way. All of us just…" I would die to touch him. "…just want to touch you – we want to… it's affecting the Floor, and I can't let that happen, Cypress! I'm an Alpha, I have to take care of…"

His eyes are so fucking blue, but he nods. He nods and hands me a cigarette.

"I'm sorry if it's hard," he says. "But it might be harder to have six girls affecting me, than one guy affecting you."

Shit. He's right.

"Let's get downstairs." He starts walking off towards the roof access door. Suddenly the wind picks up and my hair is blown across my face – I push it out of the way in time to yell;

"Cypress!" But my voice breaks, and it comes out sounding like 'Sah-eye-press". He stops, pauses before turning, and says;

"Nothing?" And suddenly, I realize it's not just my voice breaking. But I am an Alpha. I am strong. I nod, taking a step forward and a drag of the cigarette.

Suddenly it's not a step – it's a stride. And then two, three and four, until I'm on top of him. And he's kissing me. And I'm kissing back. His hands are in my hair – on my face – stroking down my back and hips – gently caressing my throat. Our lips dance smoothly – easily and without thought, and my heart is screaming. Every cell in my body is screaming.

The kiss becomes more passionate – I don't just want to kiss him. I don't just want to touch him – I want to take all that is Cypress and bring it into myself. I want to know this man.

My tongue instinctively caresses his lips – then his tongue, and after an eternety or a second, I realize we're holding each other tight enough to pop the stiches in his back. I lean forward, letting my head rest on his shoulder as we both breathe in deep gasps.

"Nothing," I say.

* * *

* * *

i lay my head unto the sand / the sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punches in it / i'm counting u.f.o.s / i signal them with my lighter / and in this moment i am happy // i wish you were here

* * *

* * *

Every floor of the tower has a few dozen offices surrounding the space that was once taken up by cubicles. We threw most of that stuff out when we remodeled the Tower to suit our needs. Now the central space of Floor Thirteen is separated into a few areas; there is a sort-of-kitchen in the northwest corner, by the office we keep food in. The northeast corner is just a lounging area – old couches and puffy chairs, that sort of thing. In the southwest corner is a workshop – Anze spends most of her free time there, repairing weapons and clothes. In her enthusiasm for what little real work she is given, Anze has become excellent with basic electronics – a low, easy vibe assures that she has indeed managed to get Cypress's ill-gotten stereo running.

The others are just now putting finishing touches on the positions of couches and our most prized seat – the light blue chaise-lounge we found at the Forks. Crow busies herself, as always, with the candles as Cat, still not satisfied with the position of her trademark loveseat shoves it in one direction, before regarding it with a strange scrutiny and shoving it in the other.

Sophie is busy playing with the stereo, and Anze does her best to help Lisa position the hookah. They all take a respective glance up at us as we come in, first happily, then carefully not to look too long.

Cypress smiles his easy smile and strides up to Sophie and the stereo, while Crow takes a personal moment in a long look.

"Who's got it?" I ask.

"The chaise or the stuff?" Lisa calls back, finally satisfied with the hookah's position.

"Guest of honor gets the chaise," I grin. She nods, and sets about showing Cat that the position of her love seat is all wrong – it should be much closer.

"Then who's got the stuff?" Anze chirps.

"It's in my room," Crow says, finishing a row of candles. "Cypress?" she says. Cypress turns from the strereo and stands, in time to catch Crow's lighter. "Finish the candles for me?" She's smiling at him. Crow doesn't smile. And she certainly doesn't allow anyone else the mighty responsibility of lighting candles. That's Crow work.

But he smiles his easy smile back and walks up to the circle of couches to finish the job as she leaves for the stuff. Lisa and I exchange glances. We're both thinking the same thing. One of us must speak to her.

But that's soon forgotten. Soon the floodlights inside are turned out and all that's left is the candle, and the gentle pulse of the bass track on some pre-apocalpyse compact disc. And us.

Cat finishes prepping it and begins to pack the bowl – it can hold a gram and a half – while we sit back and wait. On average, we only have floor meetings every three months or so, but they're regarded with rnough respect that when the time does come, we wait patiently, first reflecting on the things we plan to talk about.

"Okay," Crow says. "Now we had like, the official meeting yesterday, so I take it this is just a casual Floor Meeting For Enjoyment thing?"

"Well, one thing," Lisa says.

"Have any of you told the others about… being able to touch Cypress?" Anze and Sophie shake their heads, but Sophie does pull her toque down a little.

"No," Cat says.

"Not me."

"Phoebe's ordered us to keep it secret for at least a week – sort of like a quarantine. And we're doing it – alright?"

"No problem," Crow saluts and double-checks the tubes on the Hookah, handing one hose each to Sophie, Lisa and I before handing the last to Cypess. Crow's a beta, and outranks Sophie and Cat, but as self-appointed Keeper of the Flame she never takes the first hoot. Lighting the bowl is Crow work.

Cypress sits on the only available piece of furniture – the chaise-lounge, as Crow drags her beat-up stuffed read chair to the bowl and readies her lighter. "Then we're set?"

"Set," we echoe. Everyone's grinning already.

"…what do I do?" Cypress asks. Crow glances to him, grinning and she holds the flame to the bowl.

"Suck," she says.

Suddenly, the flame is drawn down into the bowl and the huge glass bowl fills with smooth, grey smoke.

"Just take lonnnnnng drags off your hose, like it's your last one," Lisa says, drawing back a chestfull.

I don't take a hoot yet, I pause to say;

"Hold it deep in your lungs – keep it for a while – and breathe it out," before demonstrating for him. Sophie's on her second by the time he begins his first. Lisa hands her hose over to Cat while Sophie hands hers to Crow. Cypress and I go back for seconds.

"…what is it?" he finally asks. We all laugh.

"Pot," Lisa says. "It's all through the apartments downtown, and a lot of the West End."

"Before Jackie died she read up on it enough to set up a pretty decent greenhouse in a sub-basement – low enough the frostline doesn't get to it," I finish. This seems to be sufficient explanation, because he goes for another hoot. But now something occurs to me.

"I want to double-check," I say, as Lisa reaches for the hose from Cat. "No one's told anyone else about… touching Cypress, have you?" Lisa hands the hose from Cat to Anze, who sits on the floor between their feet.