by Amber Garr
Another bullet slammed into the van just as I ducked down to retrieve the bottles. Footsteps pounded against the broken pavement and dead leaves, sounding more like an army than a handful of survivors like me. I reached as far as my shoulder would allow, ignoring the pain searing through my tired muscles. My fingertips brushed the plastic container just before it rolled further under the van.
“Where’d he go?” one of the men called out. He sounded close.
Dropping to my stomach, I nestled the remaining bottles under my left arm, while trying to retrieve the others with my right. After squeezing half my body underneath the van, I finally grabbed the first, then the second. Another shot ricocheted off the ground in front of me. They were trying to flush out my position and if they found me now, I was dead.
Scooping up the prized possessions I’d risked my life for, I prepared to run. Trapped between two vehicles, only one option presented itself - I’d have to get to the old cargo containers. This particular group of deserters set up their camp inside a metal scrap yard. Smart and resourceful. The dilapidated containers had been pushed to the sides, creating a barrier and providing some semblance of safety. Although I’d slipped through them easily on my way in, my arms were now full of water bottles that slowed me down.
Water. Wars were fought and lost over it. People died. Billions of humans perished in the days leading up to the end. And now I risked my life for a mere eight liters because we’d used the last natural drop of clean water on the planet five years ago.
Metal cracked above my head. Dust fell into my eyes and tiny pellets showered over my back like a swarm of bees.
“I’ve got him!”
I looked up in fear, only to see that I still had a clear path to my escape. Shotgun man had his sights somewhere else. Now was my chance.
Sucking in a deep breath, I scrambled to my feet and ran as hard as I could toward the narrow crevice between the containers. Forcing myself not to turn and look where they were, I ignored the shouting and distinct sound of shells hitting the ground.
Five more steps.
I reached my destination just as one of the men tried to tackle me to the ground. He narrowly missed my shoulders, but managed to knock me off balance. I briefly wondered why he hadn’t just shot me, but understood when I heard the gun skid along the ground and out of his reach.
Tripping over my feet, I slammed into the sharp corner of the container. Broken edges covered in rust and other debris sliced into my arm. I cried out. Not in pain, but in frustration. I couldn’t stop now.
A piece of metal tore open my jacket as I pulled away. The bottles shifted under the pull of my fight, but I wasn’t going to lose this time. Yanking my shoulder forward, I felt the jacket give. It propelled me ahead, nearly causing me to trip again.
“Last chance,” a voice threatened. I knew the bullet would follow the second he spoke. Making a split decision to do whatever the hell it took to live, I dove head first toward the light at the end of the container. A sharp stab of pain ripped through my shoulder just before I hit the ground. The hill hadn’t seemed as steep when I’d broken into the compound, but now I rolled out of control down the embankment.
Large chunks of unidentifiable metal littered the area around the camp. An old piece of what looked like a tractor stopped my momentum, knocking the breath out of me. But I never dropped my bottles. All those years of football finally paid off.
Muffled voices on the hill reminded me that I wasn’t safe yet. Using the wheel axel to pull myself up, I winced when I lifted my arm. I’d been shot. Or maybe just grazed. Either way, it hurt.
The three men spread out across the edge of their wall, readying their guns and looking for a target. A squeal shattered the stillness when the axel turned under the pressure of my body. At once, the rifle fired. My heart stopped when I heard the shot hit a nearby tree, amazed he’d missed. I didn’t think I’d get many more chances.
Hurrying around the corner of the tractor, I saw another cargo container lying on its side just ahead. If I could make it there I might be able to get home.
Water suddenly sprayed over my face and legs, scaring me still, before I even heard the pop. They’d shot a bottle right out from under my arms. I didn’t have time to check if they’d shot me. Instead, I ran like an Olympic track star with only one goal in mind. Survival.
The shouts got louder as I approached the container, their footsteps barreling down on top of me.
“I’m out!” one of them yelled. “But I’ve got him.” The sound of a gun being thrown to the ground was quickly followed by a war cry. If not in this dire situation, I would have laughed at the man for his stupid noises. Instead it propelled me forward with a speed I didn’t know I possessed.
Just as I reached the far end of the container, something slammed into the side of my body. I grunted in pain, unaware that I’d been pushed to the ground. With my back scraping against the metal scented dirt, I barely heard my attacker speak.
“Stay down,” she commanded. Although the lower half of her face was covered with a brown bandana, I’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere. Vivienne. A second later, the man chasing me let out a scream so horrific it reminded me of an animal caught in one of our traps.
His severed arm fell on top of me, spraying blood all over my face. With another swing of her sword, his headless body followed next. A shotgun blast exploded where Vivienne had been standing just a second earlier, and my stomach dropped in fear.
Tossing the water bottles to the side, I pushed the man’s bloody corpse off my legs and leaned around the edge to look for her. Expecting to see pieces of body everywhere, my heart warmed when I finally found her.
The other man with the shotgun rolled around on the ground, screaming and cursing, while trying to stop a fatal bleed in his thigh. She’d already moved on to the rifle guy, and although he no longer had his weapon, he was a worthy opponent.
His fist smacked against Vee’s face, and she yelled out in pain. But just as he jumped forward for another blow, she ducked and slammed her hand against his nose. Immediately, she kicked out at his chest, knocking him backward and leaving enough time for her to pick up the sword again. He tried to reach for his rifle but was stopped with a warning swing. Blood dripped down his face as he smiled at my friend. Although capable of handling herself, I worried about that look in his eye.
“Vivienne!” I yelled. The man on the ground made contact with his gun, and he tried to lift it enough to fire at her. I saw her eyes widen in fear just before I threw myself on top of the guy. Ripping the gun out of his hands, I rolled over him enough to straddle his stomach. The pain of the maneuver shot through my body, but adrenaline won out. With one quick downward thrust on the butt of the gun, I stopped his movement forever.
Vivienne yelled out and I whipped my head around to see what happened. The last man standing held an impressive hunting knife in his hand, while Vivienne had a fresh cut on her arm. Still, she held steady, sword gripped tightly in front of her, legs in a fighting stance.
Something stirred inside of me at the sight. Time slowed when I watched her wield the sword like an ancient warrior. It was hard to imagine that just a few years ago we were in high school worrying about football games and which party to go to on the weekend. Now we stayed in abandoned houses, scrounged for water, and spent most of our lives running. If things had been different, Vivienne and I would be graduating college this year. I had plans to go into medicine, and she wanted to be a vet. Funny how those dreams seemed so far away now.
A loud thump echoed through the now darkened night. She almost fell to the ground with the amount of momentum needed to decapitate the man. He dropped to his knees like a sinner begging for mercy, head rolling further down the hill. My stomach fluttered with admiration and annoyance.
“I didn’t need your help,” I said to her, getting up on my feet and trying not to wince at my injuries.
“Sure,” she huffed. Ripping her bandana off h
er face she tore it in two. “Here, wrap that up.” She nodded toward the tear in my sleeve and I stubbornly yanked the cloth out of her hand.
“I had everything under control,” I said between clenched teeth. It was the only way to mask the pain. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed the girly shrieks,” she said without missing a beat. I looked down at her in time to see a smirk pull at the corner of her mouth. “Let me do it.”
Once again, I allowed Vivienne to rescue me. It killed every part of that male ego inside, but I knew she’d let me do the same for her. In fact, I had. We always saved each other.
“Ow,” I said when she tightened the bandana a little too rough around my arm.
“Stop being a baby.”
“Stop showing off your man strength.”
She pulled even tighter but let a small laugh escape. I sucked in a breath at that sound, realizing how close I’d come to never hearing it again.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, turning me around and patting her hands along my body. I froze, trying to ignore how comforting her touch felt. We’d been friends for years, and she was the only person in this world I trusted. Why had I risked so much for this run?
I stepped away from her, not liking where my thoughts were headed. “I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Stop mothering me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d listen to me.” She stopped in front of my face and stared me down. I stood a little over six feet tall and she was just a few inches shorter. Together with that glare, almost any man would cower under her. “Was it worth it?”
“Huh?”
“The water. How much did you get?”
I hung my head in embarrassment. “I had eight, but they shot through one. So six, I guess.”
“Six bottles?” She looked impressed.
“No, six liters.” Silence.
“You just made me kill three men for six liters of water?”
I shuffled my feet. “You only killed two.”
She reached out so quickly, I couldn’t defend myself. Both hands pushed against my chest and I stumbled back, falling to the ground.
“I could make it three,” she hissed. “I should kill you for your stupidity alone.”
“You wouldn’t survive without me,” I countered.
“I’d—”
Vivienne’s sarcastic comeback stopped short. I followed her gaze back up the hill and saw what she did. Flashlights bouncing along the makeshift wall as the rest of the group I’d stolen from looked for their companions.
“We have to go,” Vivienne said, as though I hadn’t thought the same thing myself.
Whereas I would have been a gentleman, Vivienne turned and ran toward the three remaining water bottles instead of giving me a hand up off the ground. I guessed I deserved it. I almost got myself killed.
Sliding the sword into the sheath across her back, she bent forward and picked up a bottle. “Really? This is it?”
I marched up to her and snatched it away. “It’s better than what we have now,” I said, getting irritated with her attitude.
“Well, I hope it was worth it. Sasha’s pissed.”
“I don’t care,” I said. Sasha was the leader of our little group of deserters. I didn’t like her much.
“You will,” Vivienne replied, already jogging away from me into the woods. Her long black ponytail bounced in her wake; a camouflage like the dark outfit she donned.
I picked up the last two bottles and ran after her. In no time at all, the flashlight beams disappeared and we were thrust into darkness. Vivienne moved quickly, like a stealthy ninja focused on her next kill. A deadly vixen.
“Stop laughing, Zach,” she snapped at me.
I hadn’t realized I’d laughed out loud, but now I couldn’t stop. “So how many is it now?”
“Shut up.”
“No really, Vee. How many heads have rolled under your sword?”
“It’s going to be one more if you call me that again,” she warned.
“Thirty? Forty?” I kept pushing, I couldn’t help it. “You certainly are a sight for sore eyes. All angry and bitter. It’s like you visualize the thing you hate the most and then chop it in half.”
“That’s exactly what I do.” Her tone sounded harsh and I worried I’d gone too far.
“Listen, Vee. I’m sorry I left-”
“Shh,” she stopped and reached back to slap a hand over my mouth. I batted it away and glared at her.
“I’m not a child,” I spat at her. But she shushed me again.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered.
I stopped focusing on her and paid attention to my surroundings. At first I didn’t hear it and almost said so, but then I froze. The distant sound of an engine spiked instant fear in me.
“They found us,” I whispered.
“Come on.” Vivienne broke into a sprint and I followed along at her heels. We’d been safe for too long, I should have known this day would come.
“Can you tell which direction they’re coming from?” I yelled at her.
“I think they’re behind us,” she said. “Maybe they found the other camp?”
I heard the faintest glimmer of hope in her voice. The mercenaries hired to retrieve deserters were nothing if not evil.
“Maybe,” I said. “Come on, we’re almost there.” I pushed past her like an opposing player and focused on getting us to safety.
“You’re an ass,” she said, and I smiled. Vivienne couldn’t stay mad at me very long.
We ran hard through the night. I hadn’t realized the camp was so far away. I guess I’d been too intent on getting the water that it seemed like a simple jog through the woods. Instead the barren pine branches whipped at our faces and dirt covered rocks tried to trip us up. With only a quarter moon, limited light penetrated the forest. Most of the trees died years ago, yet their skeletal bodies hung like pioneers accused of treason, daring us to walk by.
With a scratched face and a bruised ego, I ran in silence hoping the mercenaries weren’t coming after us. Some days I wished we could turn back time.
Some days I worried that my luck would run out.
Zach’s boots crunched on dried leaves and broken tree branches. He might be fast, but I swear he couldn’t hear the amount of noise he made.
I wanted to kill him. Not really kill him, but teach him a lesson. I should have let him fight his own battle tonight. Serves him right for being so stupid. But I couldn’t stand back and do nothing. I didn’t think he realized how close that guy came to grabbing him.
Shivering with the thought, I focused on Zach’s question. How many had I killed since the war? Thirty-five I think. No, thirty-seven now. Thirty-seven men and women who only wanted the same thing I did - not to be taken to the factories. You would think we’d be supportive of each other, but if I’d learned anything over these past few years, it’s that humans are inherently a selfish species. Survival of the fittest at its best.
Too bad humans were the ones to put us in this predicament in the first place. Too much pollution, population growth, and development contaminated the water. Sure, the oceans were still here, but we destroyed every last desalinization plant in the world. First in China, then in India and Japan. Eventually global greed led to a nuclear holocaust and virtually ended any chance humans had to make it through.
If not killed in the crossfire of war, we faced disease outbreaks of monumental levels. With no clean drinking water left, people resorted to homemade sterilization techniques and martial law. It worked for some, but countries with large urban populations didn’t last a year. A world that once housed eight billion people had been reduced to a polluted wasteland with a population of less than a million. At least that’s what we guessed. Once the nuclear attacks started, no one reported casualties anymore.
Zach and I grew up in suburbia near Philadelphia. We each had a perfect little family with parents who had perfect l
ittle jobs. Once evident that the world was coming to an end, our parents moved us deep into the mountains of West Virginia. I didn’t understand it then, but somehow they knew their children would be safer off the grid. There we met others like us who hoped this would eventually pass. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t, but it wasn’t until I lost my family to disease and other deserters that I realized there was no going back.
Five years ago, our government, or what had been left of the structure, decided to initiate a draft. All persons age eighteen and older were forced to give two years of service to the factories. They are the only facilities where clean drinking water is produced and there are two in our country. The problem was, once people went in, they never came back. It didn’t take very long for the citizens to figure this out and rebel. At seventeen, I fought alongside of them, dreading the day I, too, would be old enough for the draft.
“Penny for your thoughts, Vee?” Zach asked, startling me out of my haze.
I punched him in the shoulder. “I said stop calling me that.”
His face crinkled in pain. I’d hit the good arm, or so I thought. Grabbing his jacket, I forced him to stop moving. “Where is it?” I asked.
“Where’s what?” I knew I was right the second I saw his face.
I punched his shoulder again, and this time he whimpered. My gut twisted with that sound. Zach always had to act tough and one day that would get him killed.
Sliding my hands slowly over his shoulder, I felt for blood or bone. Instead I found another tear the size of a bullet hole. “Zach! Were you shot?” Panic made my voice squeak.
“No, it’s just a scratch.” I grabbed his face between my hands and forced him to look into my eyes. He smiled and said, “I promise. It only grazed me.”
His eyes sparkled in the limited light. Mischief glinted at the surface, but there was a something else lurking underneath. Then he surprised me with a kiss. Not on the lips, but on my nose.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine.”
