by Kevin Jusino
Each one seems to be worser than the other, and my eyes start to fill with tears as I realize just how much this has effected everyone.
There are other notes on the walls, too, but not cries for help like the others: they’re desperate messages to loved ones. Some are torn-out notebook pages, signs made with cardboard, and more, all collecting into a mural of desperation that seems to span all across the city. What makes it all worse is the pictures; they’re attached to the majority of the pages, right next to instructions left behind by whoever wrote them telling them where to go so they can find each other. It’s nothing less than heartbreaking.
I try to shut my eyes to block out the images, but all I see in the darkness is a wave of their faces coming at me, threatening to drown me underneath the depths. The only thing left to ground me to the earth is Corey’s small hand wrapped around my own.
Cacy keeps whispering something under her breath next to me, but it’s too low to hear clearly: it sounds like she says “oh my god”. I can’t say I don’t feel the same shock as her…it never truly hit me until now how absolutely different our entire world is now. There will be no more parties to look forward to, no more homework assignments to worry about, no normal future to plan. No questions to ask like: what will I do when I’m older? What do I hope to accomplish with my life?
Now, I fear that all those questions have no more use.
They, along with the rest of my normal life, have been replaced by something far different; an objective that scrapes away at the shield I’ve attempted to build around myself, replacing it with fear:
Get out of this new world alive.
I don’t see many other people outside while we follow our guides. There’s only a few that scavenge the streets, most venturing into shops that look like they can offer nothing but empty shelves and remnants of a past world, while others seem lost and walk away from our group as quickly as possible once they see the rifles.
The sights must have been far different during the first few days, I assume. Judging by the damage surrounding us, I imagine the streets filled with looters and chaos, paired with those who became desperate for supplies. I wonder how many people stayed back in their homes, too scared to go outside, assuming that things would go back to normal within a few weeks and they wouldn’t have to worry about dwindling supplies of food and water.
I remember about the desperate messages for help scrawled on the walls and shiver.
I feel like the bottoms of my feet are about to peel off when the woman from before finally motions for us to stop and says, “Alright everyone, we’ve made it. No more walking today, I promise.”
“Thank god,” Henry mutters.
Corey squeezes himself into my side. “Is this our new home, Zoey?”
I know his words are innocent, but they still send my stomach into a frenzy of roller-coaster twists and turns. Swallowing down the sickness in my throat, I try to wipe the horror away from my face as I turn to him.
“No,” I respond. “We left home a while ago, we’re just going to be staying here for a little bit.”
His face scrunches up like he ate something sour. “How much longer until we can go back?”
I open my mouth to reply, but my voice catches in my throat and I suddenly can’t find the strength to speak.
How much longer will I have to lie to him? Lie to myself? There’s no home anymore—it doesn’t exist. Now, there’s just where we can and can’t sleep with a roof over our heads.
After years of friendship, Cacy can easily notice when I’m frozen. She jumps to the rescue and bends down on a knee so her and Corey are at eye-level, distracting him from my panic attack.
“Hey, Corey, want to know a cool trick?” she says.
He smiles and nods his head.
“Well, if you ever feel like you’re waiting a long time, you just try your hardest to focus on one thing.” She looks around before pointing up towards a flock of birds flying overhead. “You see those birds?”
Corey stares at the sky. “Yeah.”
“Don’t let them out of your sight. Just keep watching them, and try your hardest to keep them in your vision. If you can find something to distract yourself, then it doesn’t feel like you’re waiting forever.”
I can’t help but ponder the efficiency of her choice of distraction when all I can think of when I look at the sky is the aliens that now occupy it, but it seems to work for Corey so I don’t say anything. Cacy stands back up and I mouth her a thank you, before the crowd settles their chatter and the woman starts speaking again.
“Now this probably won’t be the most comfortable stay you’ve ever experienced,” she continues, “but it’s the best we could do, considering how many of you there are. But, for now, it’ll work.”
I take the time while she talks to take a better look at where we are. We seem to have passed the main heart of the city, judging by how the tall buildings now reside behind us and are replaced by smaller ones that remind me of downtown Backston; the memory brings up the same sick feeling as before, but I successfully push it back this time.
We stand in front of a large warehouse with a rusted-over metal gate blocking access; the thought of safety is reassuring, but I don’t like the thought of also being trapped within. I suppose it’s a better alternative to being handed over right into the aliens’ hands.
The guy who I almost shot—Martin—walks up to a door on the side of the gate and slams his fist against it in an odd rhythm.
“Come on, a secret knock?” Cacy whispers next to me, a frown on her face. “Are these people for real?”
The door opens a crack, and Martin exchanges words with the shadows on the other side before it shuts closed again. At first, I fear something has gone wrong and we’ll be left stranded in the middle of an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar people, but a sudden rumbling vibrates through the ground and I realize the gate is being opened.
There’s too many people crowding my vision as those in the front are filed in to be able to see inside, so I just stay rooted where I stand, still clutching Corey’s hand. Something about going into that warehouse, knowing no one will know if something terrible happens to me—as if they could even help—sends my pulse racing. Corey removes his hand from my grip and wipes it on his shirt. I realize my palms are sweating, as is my forehead.
“You okay?” Henry asks me, his eyes cautious as he stares down the warehouse.
“I think so,” I say. My voice wavers with the last word and I know I couldn’t even convince a fly.
He looks at me and grimaces…wait, no, it’s his attempt at a reassuring smile. I think.
“Don’t worry, there’s more of us than there are of them,” he says. “If anything happens, we run while they’re distracted.”
I take another look at our hosts—and the weapons they hold—and find that I’m not so reassured. At least he tried. I manage to take a deep breath and hope my fear has become at least a little less noticeable.
And with that, we walk together into the warehouse.
CHAPTER NINE
THE FIRST THING I notice is the darkness.
The floor has been lined with small handheld lamps, but the warehouse is so large they barely combat the shadows, and I may as well be blindfolded. I’m so disoriented, I don’t realize I’ve been mistakenly staring at the ceiling this whole time until Cacy’s hand finds my shoulder, steering me away from walking straight into a cement beam that rises up from the floor.
“This place is crazy,” she says into my ear, breathless.
I blink hard, and it all comes into focus.
The inside is far bigger than I had pictured in my mind: a huge interior that I’ve only ever seen large Wal-Mart’s claim. The next thing I notice are the people: there’s dozens of them. It takes me a few good looks before I realize that the majority of them don’t seem to be a part of Marcus’ crew. They’re just regular people trying to survive, like us.
On the far left corner, mattresses and cots have be
en spread out into small clusters, piles of backpacks and miscellaneous items scattered throughout. There’s what looks to be a supply area on the right corner, but a gate blocks off the section; I’m sure that’s where they must keep the guns. A few hallways lead off into what must be even more sections, and a stockpile of food looms in the area directly on our right, its shelves guarded by an armed man.
I wonder what exactly it is that keeps this place from the brink of chaos, rather than overrun with it like so many other things have been. For some reason, it doesn’t help me feel any more secure.
Already the other warehouse-inhabitants give us curious, wary, and even frightened stares as we walk inside, none of us sure where to go. The gate slams shut behind us, and I feel the sudden need for fresh air.
Before I can find some reason to turn heel and run, we’re given a brief rundown of the warehouse: the food is not a free-for-all type of thing. Each person gets equal portions each day, and anyone caught stealing from the stash or from someone else will be kicked out of the warehouse—which partly answers my question. We’ll be provided with beds, at least, and that seems to be the most of it until they give us more information later on.
I want nothing more than to ask them about what’s truly going on, but the sight of mattresses being pulled out from the hallways and placed with the rest sends a wave of exhaustion through my body. It feels like it’s been forever since I last rested, with how much has been going on.
Maybe the questions can wait…at least for a little bit.
We find a small cluster of mattresses next to the wall and claim them for ourselves. I normally would reel at the thought of sleeping on a strange bed—I used to barely even handle hotel rooms—but now, I couldn’t care less. At least the sheets look clean.
I don’t remember what lead to my head hitting the pillow. The only sensations I feel before drifting off is the feeling of my backpack clutched tight against my chest, and the sound of Henry saying he’s going to take a look around—Rachel tags along with him, probably to collect as much information as possible into her calculator of a brain.
Everything falls away after that and I plummet into a restless sleep.
I wake up gasping.
Sweat drips down the back of my neck as I gulp in as much air as possible, the remnant fear from my nightmare still clawing at my chest. It takes a few more exhales to realize that I’m not being drowned—that there’s as much air as I need available.
In the dream, I had been walking along the shore of a wide, sparkling river that seemed to stretch on forever. The birds in the trees had been singing, and the air was quiet. Almost peaceful.
Then, everything went so deathly quiet the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat, and that’s when I could feel them coming moments before the Globe’s shadow drowned out the sunlight and sent the forest into darkness. It looked a hundred times more frightening in the dark: a massive golden orb hovering in the sky, a low hum radiating off its surface.
Before I could even react, three figures had appeared in front of me, each dressed in so much black their faces were nothing but shadows. They took ahold of me and dragged me towards the river—I was so afraid I couldn’t even scream. The last thing I saw was the dark, murky water that had just been bright and fresh moments ago, before my head was plunged into it and all the oxygen left my body.
I can still feel the tight sensation around my lungs, like they’re being squeezed from the inside-out. Swallowing my dread, I shake my head to clear it of its fogginess and take a look around.
The warehouse has gone blue. The bright yellow lamps that greeted us upon our arrival have been replaced with warm blue ones, and only about half of them have been turned on. I wonder if the change in color is to preserve their power.
The once-empty beds have been filled with sleeping bodies, a sight far too peaceful and silent when compared to the chaos we’ve all recently experienced. I notice there are a few guards scattered throughout, probably to keep sneaky hands from stealing in the night.
Cacy and Corey sleep on the mattress right next to mine, both their faces slightly troubled. I wonder if they’re experiencing the same terrible images I did. Rachel is on a cot a few inches away from my feet, covered entirely by a thin wool blanket. I wonder if the feeling of it over her head helps her feel more secure. I don’t see Henry, but the nearby empty mattress tells me he probably isn’t far.
I contemplate going back to sleep, but the memory of my head being plunged into freezing depths immediately ruins that thought. The rumbling in my stomach tells me that finding something to eat isn’t such a bad idea, though. Maybe I can convince whoever’s guarding the food to let me eat a few hours early, so I won’t have to dip into my own stash.
Slipping the backpack onto my soldiers—its heaviness is a reminder of the danger that lives within it—I set off towards the gate. My footsteps are light enough not to wake anyone up, and I can’t help but stare as I pass the other inhabitants of the warehouse.
I can’t say they look any better than we do. Most of those who cannot rest ignore my presence, but a few look up at me when I pass with wary, tired eyes. I wonder what hells they have had to go through to get here, what they have had to lose. I suddenly feel a wave of guilt wash over me as I realize I’ve been far luckier than most. The chaos this city experienced is in no way comparable to how we fared back home.
I eye the weapons locker as I walk past it, mentally noting what’s kept within. There’s not as much within as I thought—something that I can’t yet decide is worrying or reassuring to me. I remember what Martin had said about his crew being made up of old military and police force and realize it must all be from whatever they could bring.
There’s only one person guarding the food, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realize it’s Martin.
Of course it is.
Hey, good luck getting a late-night snack from the guy’s head you almost put a bullet through, Zoey.
But he’s already seen me and it’s too late to turn back.
“Here to finish the job?” he says, nodding towards my backpack.
For a single, terrible second, I think he’s being serious, that he’s been waiting to get me alone and make me pay for what I did, but the playful smile that emerges on his face makes me think that’s not the case. Maybe there’s still room for jokes, even in the apocalypse.
My cheeks grow hot with embarrassment at the memory. “Oh…yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
He raises an eyebrow.
At least, I don’t think so, is what I leave out. I honestly can’t remember.
“Right,” I say. “Probably didn’t look like that to you.”
He shrugs. “Can’t say I blame you, it was all pretty…tense. I’m just glad you decided to shatter a light bulb instead of my skull.”
“Yeah, me too.”
There’s a moment of silence and I find myself staring at the floor before asking, “So you’re not going to rat me out?”
“For what?”
I hold back a small laugh. “For carrying around a gun inside a freaking teddy bear?”
This time he laughs. “Wait, seriously?”
He probably didn’t need to know that. “Well, I had to find a way to bring it on that bus.”
“Clever. That’s survivor’s thinking right there.”
The comment kills something inside me, reminding me that this isn’t normal. We aren’t just two teenagers having a casual conversation; we’re stranded, trying to survive, trying to forget that everything we’ve ever known is gone forever.
“I’m Zoey, by the way,” I say quickly, as if it’ll be enough to ward off my thoughts.
“Nice to meet you, Zoey. So, what are you doing up so late?” he asks, his expression grown softer. “You all must be exhausted.”
I nod. “I was, but a nightmare woke me up. I came here to get something to eat.”
“You already forgot the rules?” he says with a twinkle
in his eyes.
I was too disoriented to fully capture what we’d been instructed upon arrival, but I got most of the important bits. Meals are only distributed three times a day, so that means no snack breaks for the likes of me.
I shrug. “Guess I thought I could put my charm to use.”
He laughs again, lightening the tension in my chest. “If someone had told me yesterday that I’d be breaking the rules for a girl who almost put a bullet through my eye, I would tell them to go dunk their head in a bucket of cold water.”
I hold my breath as he leans over towards one of the shelves and grabs a bag of chips before tossing them towards me. I catch it moments before it hits the floor, the foil crinkling in my fingers.
“Barbecue flavored,” I say. “My favorite.”
“Looks like it was meant to be.”
I don’t realize how much I missed junk food. Mostly everything we ate back at home the last few days had been either too dry or too soft to call good, but there’s not much variety in nonperishables. This, however, I can work with.
“Don’t eat it too fast,” he says. “This could be the last time you ever eat those.”
I open it with a delicate pull, wincing at the popping sound. Still, no one seems to have noticed us. I pull out a single chip and take a slow bite, holding back a moan as the flavor hits my tongue. Before I can stop myself, I take out another, and another, nearly finishing half the bag within a few seconds before I remember his warning.
I hold out the bag. “Here, you should have some.”
He puts his hands up in defense and shakes his head before patting his stomach. “Come on now, you know how hard I worked for this body?”
I groan and slump my shoulders. “Really?”
“Yeah, that was pretty terrible.” He grabs a chip and plops it in his mouth. “Damn, those are good.”
“Don’t get too carried away,” I say, making my voice stern. “This could be the last time you have them.”
He grins and says, “For both our sakes, I hope it isn’t.”
