Stare On

He doesn't know what he saw. Things; human things lined up by the stream the deer drink from. It's the only clean water-flow this side of the deep lake. He bathes in it with Kielo when the dust gets heavy and his eyes itch and Kielo starts to sneeze and whimper. He doesn't think Kielo has sneezed today.
Right, the things. Not strange to see life this far in his wood, but not right either. It's why he stopped, isn't it? He considers this and clicks his tongue, the weasel ten paces behind making haste to meet his side. The tall one stood and met his stare...she? She.
The weasel senses his thought-wandering, his sudden but daily distraction, and jumps on the net of refuse at his friend's feet. He doesn't realize until the drag quits. He turns and the weasel is tugging at the sack with its tiny fangs. Little guy needs attention, he thinks cutely.
He asks Kielo what is the matter. It cocks its tiny neck, looking through the wasted man above. He knows this act: Kielo is curious; concerned about some mystery the beast's mind cannot solve. He tries to think back, to reflect for his his introspective little friend. He peers into recent memory, already disintegrating in the familiar dusty flame of a failing mind. Something he did? Something he...she? The lady! Her hair was longer than it used to be. Wait. Someone he knew? She used to smile and lay her head upon his shoulder for a long time. What happened to the kids? Did they...
But the pictures have moved on. Always move on! he chimes aloud to Kielo, but the weasel is unamused. His forced smile drops as Kielo hops off the drag-bag and continues onward alone. He is hurt by this treason and sulks before steadying the sack.
Kielo is waiting for him on the shores of the deep lake perched atop a stone. The sun is setting behind the ruins of that nuclear plant across the deep lake. His long trek to find Kielo was full of revelation. This was all his fault, his exile. He let the kids die, magical little readers, his students, and she had disappeared, and his face feels sticky. Without hesitation, Kielo slipped from the rock and into the water. He stares at the weasel's heading for minutes before understanding. But why is Kielo swimming toward that decaying architecture? I better go; weasels are not strong swimmers.
---
As he swims, he is entranced by the gushing black beneath him. And yet, even as he races faster and faster, he cannot escape those memories reclaimed. Their burden reappeared, his heart has grown heavy. And even as the depths transition to an odd green glow, the silt floor rising to meet him, his chest beats rhythmically to a choir of shame and regret.
He nearly shatters his hand on the concrete wall. A sharp and rust-ridden rebar ladder calls to him, and after catching his breath he starts to climb the ancient edifice. He is determined to conquer wall and find his friend. Times stretches on, until near the top he hears a familiar whimper. He darts the final length of wall, refusing to look down. There, in what may have been a guard tower atop this fortress, a dim red light illuminates a thin, long shape.
Kielo is coiled upon a desk littered with dust and filth. As he approaches, a shocking fear creeps up his spine. It was warm up here, so close to...hell, they were sitting on top of an enormous belly of radiation. He had never even considered.
But it was true, the horror his imagination cooked up. Kielo was dead. In time, his friend would be cooked on that desk. In more time: dust. And so, naked and soaking wet, his body absorbing untold beams of atomic poison, he decides.
He pets his friend's head, something he has never done.
He searches the desk and finds some faded scraps of paper and pencils.
He writes a quick note.
He gathers up Kielo, still warm, and sits by the doorway with his friend in his lap.
He can see a long way from up there, and it is into the distance he stares when he goes blind.
But he keeps staring, even after he dies.
Somewhere beyond, a colony trading vessel is sheared in half as it sits in queue by a silent rift, tunneling through the void for points unknown.