by Kevin Jusino
Rachel and I get to him in just a few seconds, our backpacks shuffling loudly as we sprint towards him. For a moment, I fear that we’ve just watched someone die in front of our eyes, but the light rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s still holding on.
I only briefly glance at his face: he can’t be much older than Martin, his lips cracked and bleeding. I hold the back of my hand to his forehead, and it comes away burning.
“He’s dehydrated,” I say. “Maybe heat stroke?”
I hear a rustling and look up to see Rachel sorting through the contents of his backpack. Instinct makes me want to tell her to stop, but I realize it’s probably a smart move, either to confirm my theory…or to determine if he could pose a threat.
Rachel shakes her head. “No water.”
I’m already unscrewing the cap to one of my bottles, but I ask, “Anything else we should be worried about?”
She shrugs. “Just some crackers, and empty flask, and a first aid kit. I say nothing to worry about.”
I’m not exactly sure how to revive him, so I tip the bottle over his lips and let a tiny stream of water slip into his mouth. I quickly realize this might simply make him choke—which would really kill him—so I grab his slender shoulder to tilt his head towards the side.
“Hey,” I say. “Come on, wake up.”
His eyes remain closed. Rachel motions for the bottle, and I hand it over. Without hesitation, she pours half of it over his face, the liquid spilling off his skin and splattering on the ground. His eyelids flicker, and she empties the last half over him.
“Woah!” he sputters, coming to life and holding an arm up to shield himself.
I back away, holding up my hands.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We saw you pass out, we were just trying to help.”
He blinks away the water from his eyes and squints at me, then turns to Rachel. After a few seconds of silence, he must determine we’re not dangerous, because he lets out a low groan and flattens himself to the ground again.
Rachel looks over him. “You passed out.”
He clutches his head. “Yeah, feels like it. You got any more of that water?”
I take out another bottle, a spark of worry fluttering in my chest as I realize there’s only two left inside. Still, I hand it over to him—now is no time to start getting stingy.
“Drink slowly,” I say before he downs the entire bottle in just a few desperate gulps. “How long has it been since you drank water?”
He shrugs, eyes pained as he lets the liquid slowly dribble past his lips—it must be torture. Once he’s swallowed about two-thirds of it, he wipes his mouth and says, “I emptied the last of my water last night.”
I huff, using my arm to prop me up as I rest on my side, and he drains the last drop. This isn’t good news.
“Did you try looking for more?” Rachel asks, probably fearing the same thing as me, judging by the slight tone of desperation in her voice.
He nods. “‘Course I did. None of the people I came across were in a very giving mood—a couple of them even pulled weapons on me out of fear—and all the stores I looked at were completely raided.”
“Well, I don’t know if there’s a single person in this city that wasn’t terrified last night,” I respond. “Maybe people will be a little more generous when there aren’t monsters chasing after us.”
He squints at me again and tilts his head. “You have a very optimistic view of the human race.”
“I don’t see the problem in holding out a little hope,” I answer.
He motions towards his collapsed state. “Well, take a look at what hope brought me.”
“Looks to me like hope brought you us,” I say pointedly. “Maybe take that into consideration.”
Rachel clears her throat, interrupting my focus, although I can’t help but feel a bit smug at the look of admission on his face. However, Rachel’s expression is one of worry.
“What is it?” I ask.
She turns to the street we’ve yet to reach, nodding towards the distance. “Look, more people.”
I follow her gaze and see a larger group than ours—I count nine members in total—standing in the center of the distant intersection. From the looks of it, they’re well equipped; two of them have large-looking dogs on leashes, and one of them holds a rifle. All of them wear backpacks that look like they’re filled to the brim with what must be vital supplies.
“They look prepared,” Rachel says. “More than anyone else we’ve made contact with.”
No one gets that many supplies without having already stored it, or taken it from somewhere else. Someone else.
“We have to get out of here, now,” our new friend says, his voice dripping in fear.
“You know them?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, and I’m glad I don’t. Last night, I saw them. They were looting houses—breaking into ones with people inside them—and robbing those inside. They would’ve seen me, too, if I hadn’t found an alleyway to hide in.”
“I’d like it if we followed his suggestion,” Rachel says, turning to me with frightened eyes.
I nod. “Alright, let’s go.”
I help the guy to his feet and we quickly collect our things before heading back to the coffee shop, the threat of new danger far too close for comfort. He tells us his name is Connor, and I tell him about our own group.
Thankfully, the people we saw went off into another direction, but I know the relief will be short-lived; there’s still a chance we may run into them in the future. Once again, I find myself yearning to have the protection of the gun I lost at the warehouse. It’s not like I could take all nine of them with just a few bullets, but it’s better than nothing.
And in this new world, it could be the difference between life and death.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MARTIN AND CACY are the first to return.
What must be two hours later, we see them coming up the street, both of them appearing worn-out and heavy-footed. To my dismay, neither of them seem to be carrying any extra supplies on their backs. Just another nail in the coffin for our already-dwindling chances of survival.
Before we can ask them what they found—or I should say what they didn’t find—they obviously have more pressing questions for us. I introduce Connor and explain how we found him, and why we had to turn back so soon. Cacy’s face grows even more tired at the mention of more danger, and Martin hardly seems fazed.
Maybe I really am putting out too much hope…but that can’t be a bad thing. Right?
Cacy barely has enough energy to react to anything we have to say, and she only lasts a few more moments before walking over to our makeshift cushions and collapsing in the corner. Martin, however, seems almost bothered.
He turns to Connor. “You’ve been by yourself this whole time?”
Connor shrugs. “More or less. I tagged along with some of my neighbors when things hit the fan, but a couple of us got separated within a few days. Then once…once those things came, no one really cared much about sticking together. No one cared much about making sure I had enough water before sprinting off, either.”
Martin dips his head. “Well, we’re already almost rail-thin on supplies, and from the looks of it we’re not getting any better on that front.”
The true meaning of his words dawns on me, and I realize I hadn’t even taken any of that into consideration when inviting Connor to join us. How much harder will things be with one more mouth to feed? It’s looking desperate enough with just the seven of us.
“You can use my help,” Connor says, undeterred. “Trust me.”
Before Martin can add anything else—or maybe give him a flat-out no, Rachel asks, “What did you have in mind?”
Connor pauses, tightening his grip on the straps of his backpack, and I wonder if he’s deciding whether or not he should answer truthfully. It’s not much longer before one of those wins out.
“I know a safe place,” he says. “Really safe, not
just some empty apartment or coffee shop. All that time I was in the city, I wasn’t just roaming around; I was trying to get to the forest.
“There’s a bunker there, hidden in the forest floor. It’s not meant for this many people, but we’ll all be able to fit…and there’s supplies there, probably good for a month or two.”
A moment of silence passes as we all digest this new information. A hidden bunker in the middle of the forest, somewhere? It sounds a little too good to be true…but I don’t see how staying here is any better. Like I said before: something has got to be better than nothing. Even if that something is a little fantasy-bent.
“How do you know about that?” Martin asks, unable to hide a small squint of his eyes.
“Because I built it myself,” Connor answers, quickly. “My father owned a chunk of land right at the base of the mountains. He passed away three years ago, and it was handed down to me. Only good thing he ever did for me, and it was still the crappiest piece of land he owned.”
I cross my arms, struggling to stuff this all into my brain. “So why a shelter?”
His cheeks turn a shade of pink. “It’s actually more of a hobby. I found it relaxing, making that out of nothing, a place hidden away, where the world just disappeared. So, it may not be the most well-prepared post-apocalyptic place to be, but it’s a lot more appealing to me than staying out in the open.”
“Waiting to be picked off by monsters, or monsters dressed as humans,” Rachel finishes, her eyes glassy with thought.
Martin sighs, and once again I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Let’s wait until Henry and Corey come back before making a decision,” I suggest.
No one seems to protest, so I take their silence as a form of agreement.
In my own head, I’ve already made the decision to follow Connor. Right now, I want absolutely nothing to do with this city; nothing but death and fear has come from it so far. If Martin feels differently, he can stay behind. I can’t help but admit to the feelings of affection I may have first felt towards him, but this is survival now.
And I don’t remember making him our leader.
An hour passes, and there’s still no sign of Henry or Corey.
Two hours.
Three.
Cacy wakes up by the end of the second, already looking far more alert than before. Still, she practically jumps awake when I tell her that her brother still hasn’t returned. It won’t be long before dark arrives, carrying along the threat of monsters.
I don’t even know if we’ll be safe here.
The tension in the air grows with each passing minute, and every possible scenario passes through my head, no matter how horrible. Maybe they’ve encountered one of those beasts, or those violent-looking people we saw before, or they’ve gotten lost, or a million other possibilities.
I can tell everyone else is fearing the same, so when we finally see them approach the shop, a chorus of relieved breaths rise from our mouths. Compared to the state of Cacy and Martin when they returned, the two boys are practically bouncing as they enter the shop. Cacy gives Henry a tight squeeze, and I feel a slight twinge of jealousy—I wish I had Mom here with me; but, after looking at the panic in her eyes when she saw her brother was still missing, maybe it’s better this way.
Most importantly, both of their bags seem to be heavier than before they had left.
“What did you guys find?” Cacy asks, her eyes wide with surprise as they open their bags.
Peering into them, I count five more bottles of water and four cans of food. Not great in the long run, but compared to what the rest of us found, it’s nothing less than a miracle.
“We didn’t find anything,” Henry replies, looking almost surprised himself. “Not technically.”
“People gave it to us!” Corey chirps, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Cacy nearly reels away from the supplies, and I ask, “What?”
Henry nods. “It’s okay, it’s not like we had to do anything for it. There was an older woman in front of one of the apartments we passed by, and she gave us the water. I guess she was doing it for all the kids.”
“And the food?” Martin presses.
“Another group,” Henry finishes. “They saw us on our way back—a family, I think—and I asked if they had anything to spare. I guess bringing Corey along was a good choice, little guy seems to be a great supply-bait.”
“They said they were going to the forest,” Corey says wonderingly.
Henry shrugs and puts the new supplies on the counter. “Well, not our problem. Those forests could be just as dangerous.” He nods his head at Connor. “So, who’s he?”
I huff, and realize we have to go through all this again. “Yeah, about that.”
Henry isn’t exactly open to the idea, and I can’t say I’m surprised. Still, I don’t waver from my original decision.
“There’s nothing for us here,” I say. “We’re sitting ducks.”
I’m sitting on the counter now, my legs having grown too sore to manage standing. Henry sits on one of chairs, arms crossed, while Martin, Cacy, and Connor surround us. Rachel retired to the cushions and is watching over Corey. I wonder if this potential change will frighten him.
I wonder if he still remembers the promise I made to him on the bus: a promise I don’t know if I’ll be able to fulfill.
Note to self: no more promises.
Henry shakes his head. “We don’t know what’s out there. For all we know, that’s where those things live. What’s worse: being a sitting duck, or walking right into the line of fire?”
Cacy bites her lip so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t started bleeding—I’m not sure if she’s chosen a side yet.
“We should at least look,” she says, glancing between our faces. “I don’t think there’s a point in limiting our chances.”
“I’m going there, no matter what,” Connor says.
“So why bring us along?” Martin asks—one of the only things he’s said since Henry got here. “Why not just keep it all to yourself? I’m sure your supplies are gonna run out a lot faster with us there.”
Connor whistles through his teeth and stares at the ground. “I don’t think I can do it on my own, to be honest. That’s why I stuck with those people at first…I was terrified of being alone. I’d rather be dead than be the last person alive on this planet.”
A current of silent contemplation passes through the air, and I’m almost angry at him for adding another fear to my already-growing list. Hopefully, it’s enough to turn Henry around, and…whatever Martin’s thinking.
Cacy turns to her brother. “Like I said, we should at least look, Henry.”
He lets out a low sigh, but I can tell he’s cracking.
After another minute of silence, he caves.
“Alright,” he huffs. “Let’s look at this damn bunker, then.”
“Martin?” I ask.
His face is still unreadable, so I have no idea what to expect before he says, “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE NIGHT ARRIVES far too quickly.
We all sit in silence, hidden behind the counter of the shop, as if it’ll do any good against those things out there: all which seem very talented in the art of making buildings explode. Still, it satisfies the instinctive, human part of me that yearns for some kind of shelter.
Rachel summons some plastic cups from one of the cabinets in the back, and we each give ourselves half a cup of water. Henry uses my army knife to open two of the cans of food—moist, canned chicken that’s a little hard to swallow—and we chew quietly, as if even a squeak from a mouse might alert the monsters of our location.
Somehow, I fall asleep. My eyes don’t open again until a loud noise in the distance jerks me awake, my heart leaping into my throat. Henry, Martin, and Cacy stare out into the night as well—unable to sleep or woken up like me, I can’t tell. There’s no doubt the sound came from one of the beats, but I can tell it wasn’t anywhere
close.
For now.
I sleep in pieces for the rest of the night, and I wouldn’t even call it sleep: more like long periods of time where the only thing I see is darkness. Again, Martin doesn’t seem to be able to sleep tonight, since each time I wake I see him hovering by the door, staring at the city. Without electricity to light it up, the skyline of towers in the distance is reduced to a muddy jumble of inseparable shapes and angles.
Our luck stretches on, and we all survive until morning in one piece.
I want to say the plan is simple, but I know better. Judging by how smoothly things have gone so far, I have no doubt the universe will gladly throw a couple curveballs in our way. I can only hope they don’t consist of being kidnapped, and then kidnapped again like last time.
Besides that, it’s practically a straight-shot to the bunker. Along the way to the forest, we’ll try to stock up on as many supplies as we can—if there’s any left to take—since there’s no telling how long it’ll take us to get to the bunker. Connor estimates no more than two days, but that’s only if nothing goes wrong.
I doubt that will be the case.
It’s a plan, though, and we’ve come too far now. It’s not like there’s anything to go back to.
The rest wake up with no trouble; I think we’re all eager to get out of this coffee shop: it’s starting to feel more like a coffin. We go through our supplies again, measuring how much we’ll be able to consume. There’s enough for the trip to the bunker, but only barely. I’ll gladly take any extra supplies we come across.
Martin comes up to me as I strap on my backpack, trying to keep my nerves from showing. He looks almost hopeful, reminding me of the boy I first met at the warehouse. I wonder how different we would be had none of this happened. I realize we’d never have even met.
“It’s gonna be a long walk,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
I shrug. “I’ve made it this far on foot. Most of the time, I was running away from something, instead of towards. At least this is a nice change of plans.”
