by Kevin Jusino
And in our short silence, I wonder what else I will never get to experience again.
CHAPTER TEN
INSTEAD OF A nightmare, it’s Rachel who wakes me up this time.
The warehouse is alit with the same shade of bright yellow lights now, just like when we first entered. Rachel kneels next to me, tapping my shoulder with a finger while giving me an intent stare.
“Yeah, yup, I’m up,” I say with a groan, pushing myself into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
“They called for us,” she replies. “All those who were captured by the soldiers. Or the bad soldiers. Not the good ones. Technically, it could be either since we’ve been captured by both now.”
I look around and find that everyone else has disappeared from their beds. How long was I asleep for? I must’ve gone back to sleep late, it did feel like I was talking to Martin for hours, after all.
“Where are they?” I ask.
She darts to her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
Grabbing my backpack, I follow her through the center of the warehouse. Mostly everyone has stirred awake as well, and a line has formed in front of the food stash for breakfast, which is now guarded by two more soldiers than before. I doubt the piles of cereal and crackers cause much reason to feast, but it’s better than starving.
I try peeking over the heads of the crowd to see if Martin is among them, but Rachel’s walking so quickly I have to tear my gaze away to find her among the crowd again. Damn, for such a small girl, she sure is fast. Maybe we should send her out into the city to scavenge; I’m sure she’d just speed past whatever dangers there are out there before they can hurt her.
The fact that I’m even considering sending a fifteen year old girl out into a torn-up city makes me feel sick, and guilt gnaws at my chest. What is this turning me into?
We go through one of the hallways and out into a separate part of the warehouse. It’s much smaller than the common space, and looks like it was meant to be some sort of utility room judging by the variety of lockers lining the walls. Everyone who had been on one of the buses sits in a large circle at the center of the room; some of the same soldiers as before stand in the front, lead by the woman I now assume to be their leader. Martin is among them, and he gives me a nod as I sit down next to Cacy, Corey, and Henry.
The woman—who introduces herself as Viola—had already been talking before my arrival, but Cacy tells me it was mostly just repetition of the warehouse rules. It isn’t until she starts speaking about the reason they saved us that I lean in intently, eager to capture her every word.
Somehow, hearing it for the second time is almost worse than the first. Viola tells us again how those who had taken us for our homes did not do so for our own safety, but for the very opposite reason. Somehow, the aliens up in the Globe seem to have made some kind of pact with the humans below just days before the EMP attack: the tears were to turn over our children in return for peace. The last end of the bargain remains to be fulfilled.
Viola, and the rest of those part of their cause, had been given the same instructions in return for assured sanctuary for both them and their family. When they refused, their children were taken as well—including Viola’s daughter—before anything could be done. Not too long after, some of them started to disappear, eliminated because of the knowledge they held. That’s when they banded together into what was first a small team, but one that slowly grew in size as more volunteers joined the cause.
The first step was securing the warehouse.
Some scavengers had already claimed it for their own, but quickly ran at the sight of their weapons. Many of them brought what was left of their family along, and even accepted some strangers into the warehouse—which explains the somewhat large population. However, there came a time when the threat of losing supplies—all of which were brought from homes and scavenged supermarkets—became too high, and the gate was shut to survivors for good.
Three days after the acquisition of the warehouse, the first bus came. A few of Viola’s comrades had been scouting the area outside, and saw them come right through the city; there was only two buses, compared to the five that brought Backston’s youth here. Another pair came the next day.
That’s how they began to realize the city was part of the main route towards wherever those buses were going, and there was a pattern to when they would arrive.
We are the first to be rescued, and so far the largest group; just like I had feared, they lost two of their own during the fight to stop the vehicles that carried us. I can’t help but feel a crushing sense of guilt that someone sacrificed their own life to save me.
What did I do to deserve that? Do I deserve that?
If it turns out we weren’t the last, there will be another arrival two days from now. They’ll be taking those buses too, and bringing those children into the warehouse with us.
The group is alive with chatter at her words, most of it excited and filled with awe. Most of these kids aren’t old enough to even understand the concept of sacrifice; to them, these people are nothing less than superheroes from the movies. Maybe they should be viewed that way. It’d be far easier to turn a blind eye and pretend they never saw those buses. Still, one thing stays in the back of my mind, nagging and fearful.
Because…if whatever is up in the sky wants us so badly, what’s to keep them from marching right in here and taking us themselves? It’s only a matter of time until they realize someone is interfering with their delivery route, and then what?
I have a feeling the few guns we have will be no more useful than toys when compared to whatever technology built the Globe. That’s a fight I don’t want to be thrust in the middle of.
We’re dismissed, and I find myself feeling more nervous than relieved. Some of the other kids seem to feel the same, grim-faced against a backdrop of smiles and cheerful laughter.
“I don’t like our chances of survival in this place,” Rachel blurts out once we reach our beds. “The stockpile of food doesn’t look like it’ll last more than a month, and I doubt there’s anymore supplies left in the city. At least, not enough for us.”
“Well…they look like they’ve been doing okay,” Cacy says, biting her lip and casting a nervous glance towards the dwindling pile of food. “And they have weapons.”
Henry crosses his arms and leans against one of the cement beams. “Yeah, and pretty soon they’re gonna be used to start raiding homes to get food. We’ll be turning on each other in no time.”
“So what do we do, then?” I say. “It’s not like we can just leave; according to that Viola lady there’s already a target on our backs. It’ll take days to walk back home.”
“If there’s even a home to go back to,” Rachel whispers.
Shivers travel down my spine. No, home still has to be there. I can’t imagine anything else. I picture Mom pacing around the house, biting her nails, worried sick and waiting for my return. Maybe even pulling out the pack of cigarettes I found taped to the back of one of the boxes in our garage a year ago.
If that doesn’t exist, what do I have left?
“Zoey, I have to go pee,” Corey says, rolling over on the mattress. At least he hadn’t been listening.
Cacy stands up with a sigh and helps Corey to his feet. “I’ll take him…I-I think I need some air.”
They walk off towards one of the side exits guarded by a soldier, a brief flash of sunlight streaming through when the door is opened. The sight sends images back into my mind of the city in all its destructed glory.
There’s no way we could make it on our own out there.
But could sitting here like goats awaiting slaughter be any better?
Before I can decide, I spot Martin walking up to us. Henry stands a little straighter at the sight of him, as do I.
“Hey Martin,” I say.
“Zoey,” he replies with a nod. “You guys doing okay?”
No one answers, so I lie and say, “I think so.”
Hen
ry gives me a quizzical look, probably wondering when I had the time to acquainted with one of our hosts—let alone one I almost killed. I make a mental note to tell him about it later.
“Good. I was hoping you could help me out, actually,” Martin says. “After the rescue, we…we have two slots open to join our scouting team. You two seem to be the top candidates, so far.”
“I’m in,” Henry says eagerly.
Martin clears his throat. “Well, I was going to explain what that means. Basically, we’ll be going around the city looking for supplies. Not too far, of course, and we’ll have each others backs. It’s really not that dangerous anymore, since most people have either fled or holed up in their own shelters.”
I shrink back at the prospect of venturing out into that dangerous unknown. Can I trust myself not to freak out again in the case that my life might once more be on the line?
“They’ll make me find someone else if you say no,” Martin says, giving me an almost pleading look.
Rachel shakes her head. “I have to say I’d pass on that. I’d much rather sit back and watch how events unfold in safety.”
I take another look around at the rest of the warehouse’s inhabitants. The ones that can’t be much younger than Henry and I look like they haven’t slept in days—then again, neither have I. At least it feels like it. Can I really make one of them take my place in false confidence, only to find that they aren’t prepared at all for what lies outside?
At least I have some small sense of how to keep myself alive. Some kind of sixth sense that came with the years of training Mom gave me, the fear that her parents’ instilled in both of us. And maybe, this time, I can force myself to hold a gun without feeling like the earth has opened underneath my feet in order to swallow me whole.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”
“Alright, I’ll let Viola know. We’ll be leaving in an hour,” Martin says, a small smile growing on his face. “And I’d make sure to bring that backpack of yours along.” And with that, he walks off.
Henry tells Cacy the news once she returns, all the while I try not to let the panic inside me appear too noticeable. Corey is ecstatic that Henry and I will now be like the rest of the cool girls and boys with “superguns”, which makes me feel even worse. Even Rachel gives me a chocolate bar she must’ve been saving from her backpack, and I almost start crying. I just want to go back home.
The hour feels like it lasts an eternity, but I find myself wishing for it to restart once time is up.
Martin equips us each with leather jackets, meant to ward off the cold weather. Mine is a little too big and heavy on my shoulders, but it’s better than the thin long sleeve I’ve been sporting. Then comes the armory.
I feel numb as Martin passes Henry a handgun nearly identical to mine, the sound of metal on metal startling me. When it comes my turn, Martin only tosses me an army knife that’s much sturdier than the one in my backpack, and another magazine.
“There’s no room for being trigger-happy out there,” he warns us. “Supplies are low enough as it is. With enough luck, you won’t even have to so much as touch those things until you’re turning them back in.”
We nod, and our initiation is over just as quickly as it started. No time for take-backs now.
With the stares of the warehouse on our backs, Henry and I follow the rest towards the gate. With a deep rumble, it opens wide, and we’re thrust out into the city.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I EXPECT MONSTERS.
I picture them tunneling up through the earth, emerging into the sunlight with huge white fangs already dripping with blood, ready to devour me whole and send me into nothingness. That’s what the fear creates in my head, telling me to run, run, run.
But there are no monsters. There’s only silence and the feeling of the soft, chilly breeze flowing through the air on my skin.
My breath is foggy from the cold, forming small clouds that float up into the sky. I jump at the sound of the gate closing behind us, locking out anything and everything that might threaten the sanctity of the abandoned warehouse-turned-shelter.
I remember about the secret code Martin had used to get us in before. No one’s told me yet what that code was—should everyone die, leaving me all alone, how would I get back in without it? Would I be left stranded outside, waiting to meet the same fate as all the others? Surely it’d be a long and painful one, and I can only imagine—
Stop it, Cacy.
I feel a hand on my shoulder: it’s him, his brows furrowed slightly.
“Just follow me, alright?” he says, and I wonder how he’s able to always keep his voice so calm. “We’ll be fine.”
I nod, but only so that I can look away. “Yeah, okay.”
Somehow, his words comfort the chaos inside me, and I find the strength to finally move my feet again.
In some ways, Martin and I aren’t so different. Between the bag of chips we shared last night, we exchanged our stories, comforted by the familiar embrace our memories brought. His mother had died at childbirth, leaving his father to raise him alone. Ever since he was a child, he’d had a special urge to protect those around him—from fighting back bullies at school to helping one of his friends get sober again. That’s why he decided to join the police force once he turned eighteen. A year of experience isn’t much in the long run, but in this new world it could make all the difference.
I wish I could say the city isn’t as hard to take in the second time, but if anything, it appears to have gotten even worse. Maybe it’s just the fact that, this time, I’m not blinded by the same fear and confusion that came with our rescue. Everything is much clearer now, and much more horrific. I pick up on the little details I didn’t catch before, like how some of the broken shards of glass that litter the streets seem to be stained with blood, or how clear the sound of a child crying can be when there’s nothing else to block out the noise. What’s even worse is that there’s no way to tell where it comes from, and instead feels as if it’s coming from everywhere, all at once.
Martin points out how mostly all of the stores closest to the warehouse have a stripe of yellow spray-painted onto their fronts. Every time they go scouting, they mark the ones that are completely empty so they don’t waste their time on the next round. It’s clever, but reminds me of the chilling warning Rachel had given us earlier.
It’s only a matter of time until all of these stores have yellow stripes, and there’s nothing left to bring back.
About five minutes in, we come in contact with the first people.
They’re a group of five—three women and two men—each rummaging through the dumpsters in a dark alley. At first, I think the sounds belong to some kind of animal, but I spot them seconds after. Their faces are tired and weary, almost unresponsive to our presence. They shrink back at the sight of us, saying nothing, only staring. Dirt marks most of their faces, ugly black streaks that glisten with sweat. I wonder how many other piles of trash they’ve had to go through, only to come up with meager findings.
“Come on,” Martin whispers in my ear. “Let’s keep moving.”
I practically run past the alley.
After another ten minutes of winding through the trash-ridden city streets, we finally find a store without a yellow mark. It’s a small corner liquor store, surprisingly free of any visible damage. Smartly, all of the windows had been boarded up, so it looks like no one got through. Hope sparks in my chest at the thought; if this one remains untouched, then there must be more like it spread throughout the city. Maybe things aren’t so hopeless after all.
The front door is locked, so one of the burlier members of the squad tries kicking it down. They give it a few good slams, but it still doesn’t budge. Maybe, eventually, the frame would crack, but who knows how long that could take. Besides, we’ve already attracted enough attention as it is.
“There’s no getting through,” a woman from our group says.
I take a step back and take a good look at th
e building as a whole. The top floors are part of a run-down apartment complex, which means that everything must be connected from within. If we can get into one of the other stories, then maybe we can find some sort of alternative entrance into the store.
I tell the rest of my plan and set off with Martin and Henry, using the side alley to search for an opening. There’s a fire escape staircase a few feet away from the ground, and I let both of them lift me by my legs so that I can grab the bottom rung of the ladder placed on the bottom step and pull myself up. With a kick, I send the rest of the ladder down to the ground, and both of them climb up after me.
Henry opens the window in front of us—finding it unlocked—and crawls in first, holding out a silent hand before disappearing into the shadows within. Martin and I wait, neither of us daring to speak, staring into the dark apartment. Thirty seconds later, Henry reappears and waves us forward, telling us it’s all clear.
There’s no one in the apartment, but I still keep my footsteps light and cautious, as if someone might burst out of from under a table or the inside of a cabinet at any second. A feeling of wrongness creeps up my spine with each step I take, as I recognize the signs of a home.
Some pictures still rest on shelfs and tables, or taped to the refrigerator. Books, magazines, and papers still litter some of the spaces, the thought of cleaning them up probably nowhere on the minds of whoever once lived here. I see a portrait of a little girl, probably a daughter, hung up on one of the walls—perhaps too large to carry with them—and feel sick. Was she torn away from her parents, too, just like the rest of us?
I wonder if those who ran at the start will be hunted down, once whatever is inside the Globe realizes they’re missing.
Will we be hunted as well?
“Zoey, come on,” Henry says, standing at the open front door.
I realize I’ve been staring at the picture and blink away my daze, clenching the straps of my backpack tightly to root me to the earth as I follow them out into the hallway. My pulse starts to pick up as we descend the stairs into the lobby, realizing that there is a high probability this building has not been completely abandoned.
