Survive the Storm- Emergence

by Kevin Jusino

  And I wonder how long it will take me to stop being so naive. To stop holding out so much hope towards the possibility that everyone else out there is good like us, willing to do what’s right to survive.

  As if we’re the prime example of human decency, I laugh to myself, grimly. Images of the store-owner we robbed return to my mind, and I shut my eyes to block them out. When I open them, Martin is staring back at me with his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He turns his gaze back to the streets before I feel the need to explain myself, and I silently thank him for it.

  Even in the end of the world, there are still some feelings I want to keep to myself.

  “Zoey, I’m tired,” Corey whispers as we pass by what used to be a coffee shop; looking through the shattered windows, its interior has been stripped so bare you can only tell what it had once been by reading the sign above the door—and even it isn’t fully intact.

  “Is there anywhere we can stop?” I say, patting his head.

  Henry gives me a look, and I wonder if I should’ve even asked in the first place. It doesn’t take much to glance at our surroundings—boarded up buildings, broken buildings, sketchy buildings—and know that our chances of finding somewhere safe get worse by the second. Still, I have to at least try, for Corey.

  Besides, from the looks of it, all of us could use a break.

  “Those things could be making their way towards us as we speak,” Henry replies, the moon reflecting in his dark eyes. “We have to get away from this city.”

  “Henry, we won’t be getting anywhere without some rest,” Cacy says. “It’s not like walking out in the open is the safest alternative, either.”

  Henry huffs, but I can tell his sister has chipped at his resolve. Still, Martin says nothing: he only stares out towards the faraway trees, and I wonder what he sees in them. Safety? The unknown? More danger?

  “I would appreciate a chance to refresh,” Rachel says with a yawn, and I imagine her pressing a button on the back of her neck to restart her machine of a brain.

  “Martin?” I say. “Any ideas?”

  He turns around—quickly, as if he’d been in a daze—and blinks at me before saying, “We can start walking again at morning.”

  I look up at the sky, which has now gotten just a shade brighter. We must’ve been walking for maybe two hours—it won’t be long until the sun returns to its regular position.

  I nod my head towards the coffee shop. “We can find a way to get comfortable there. Maybe there’ll be some leftover coffee beans we can chew on.”

  The shop is a mess, but together we clear out a space behind the counter. Rachel finds a broom in one of the closets and sweeps away the layers of dust that had formed on the floor, and Martin spreads out the employee uniforms along the floor to create a very long and flat makeshift bed. It’s better than sleeping on the cold hard ground outside, though.

  Plus, we won’t have to worry about getting soaked with that deadly acid rain, should it decide to return.

  I open my backpack and pass out a few bars and bottles of water. The bars have gotten a bit stale, but my mouth still waters as I peel one open, my stomach rumbling at the smell. I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was when running for my life. We chew in silence.

  Corey somehow finds a way to get comfortable and falls asleep first, making me immediately resent his ability to block out everything. I know it’s probably not true—I’ve heard him sniffling to himself in the middle of the night, most likely missing his parents—and feel a dwelling hatred for the aliens in the sky, for making him have to grow up so quickly. A boy his age deserves to have far more innocent worries than the ones he has now.

  Rachel is the next to fall asleep, and I can only imagine what goes on in her head. I realize that I don’t even know what her last name is. Through everything that’s been happening, the thought never occurred to me. I don’t know if she has her own family to worry about, her own friends that she had to leave behind. I remind myself to ask her, when the chance comes.

  Cacy walks over and sits next to me, both our backs pressed against the furthest wall.

  “Thinking about home?” she asks.

  I sigh. “Something like that.”

  “You know something horrible?” she says, staring at the floor and twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “All this time…ever since we got off those buses…I haven’t thought of Ryan once, I don’t think.”

  “I haven’t thought about them either,” I say. “Thought of everyone we left, back home.”

  She smiles to herself. “You know, there was a time when he was all that I thought about. In class, I’d have these long, detailed daydreams of us having a life together. I even signed my name on one of the pages of my notebook with his last name instead of mine, just to see what it would feel like. I remember I dropped it a few minutes later and it flipped right onto that page, for everyone to see. No one did see, of course, except for Amber Wales, who was sitting right next to me.”

  I groan aloud, and Cacy giggles.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Ryan knew no less than two class periods after,” she continues. “Followed by the entire school, probably. But, it lead to him asking me out on our first date, and…and…”

  She pauses, and I realize that there are tears spilling from her eyes. My gut clenches and I put my arm around her, hugging her close. My own tears want to break free as well, but I push them back. Right now, I need to be strong for her. For them.

  I’ll have my own time to grieve later, when I know we’re truly safe.

  We both fall asleep like that, holding each other tightly, knowing that it’s all we have to keep us from breaking.

  The sound of birds chirping when I open my eyes is almost unnatural. It’s a sound that brings back memories far too peaceful for where I am, for this world. Before I drifted off, I was expecting to be awoken by more sounds of screaming, and the roars of those invisible beasts.

  Cacy rests on her side next to me, a tight frown pulling her forehead together. I wonder if she’ll remember the nightmares when she wakes up, or if they’ll slip away from her memory the second her eyelids open just like so many of mine do.

  Martin is the only other one awake, sitting on the edge of the counter, his eyes glued to the bright outdoors. He barely even glances away when I walk up to him.

  “Did you sleep?” I ask, trying to bend the stiffness out of my neck.

  He shakes his head. “Couldn’t even try.”

  I sigh, letting my gaze follow his own. Judging by how bright it is, the sun must have been out for more than a few hours already.

  “Why didn’t you wake us up?”

  He shrugs, glancing at the sleeping figures behind us. “Guess I felt bad. There’s no sign of those beasts, either. I was up all through the night, waiting for them to find us and tear us to shreds, but…I only heard them, further down towards the city. Once the sun came up, everything went quiet. No more screaming.”

  Shivers run down my neck as I remember the sight of those destroyed city streets we had to walk through last night.

  “Maybe they only come out at night?” I say.

  “Makes sense,” he replies. “I never thought these…these alien invaders would follow the same rules as our nature, but maybe they have to sleep, too. Maybe we’re not so different.” He pauses, and upon seeing my raised eyebrows, quickly adds, “In some ways, of course.”

  I cross my arms and lean against the counter. “You really think whatever’s out there wreaking havoc and busting up the city are the alines?”

  He closes his eyes, as if trying hard to think—or trying hard to block something out—before saying, “I think that’s just the easier thing to process. If they, somehow, had some kind of army they could just send down to take out the last remaining survivors…then what’s the point?”

  I’m suddenly glued to his words, pressed to understand their deeper meaning. “The point of what?”

  He sighs and clenches the edge of the counter. “The
point of carrying on like this. I mean, they nuked the hell out of us, they can make the damn weather deadly, and now they’re on the ground with us. How can we expect to fight against that?”

  HIs words sink deep into my stomach, making me uneasy. I suppose I hadn’t let myself think that far—it’s too frightening. The instinctual part of my brain has only been urging me to do whatever it takes to survive all this time, that I never fully wondered if there’s a point to it.

  There has to be, right? Or is living for the sake of living not enough?

  I’m starting to wish I’d just stayed asleep.

  “Sorry,” he says, looking at me with a pained gaze. “I didn’t mean to scare you. That probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing you could hear right now.”

  “Could’ve been worse.”

  He chuckles dryly, a hint of a smile on his face. “Yeah, there’s that.”

  I swallow my fear and feel the incessant itch to talk about something else; a topic that doesn’t make me question the purpose of our survival, preferably.

  “So why didn’t you tell us about your apartment?” I ask. “The real reason.”

  He takes in a deep breath, shoulders rising, and huffs it out. “Have you ever associated something…something bad, or scarring, with a place or thing? Like, you can’t really look at it the same way as you did before without a million memories spilling into your head?”

  I think about the gun that had once been stuffed into my teddy bear, the fear that paralyzed my body when I saw it, the panic that would course through my veins.

  I nod. “And no matter how hard you try, it doesn’t go away.”

  “I had a…a girlfriend,” he begins, his voice already slightly twisted with pain. “Her name was Shelby. Her hair was the most fiery color of red I’d ever seen, like her head was made up of a hundred matches and she was just a walking candle. I didn’t know what I’d do without her; I could only ever think about her when I was away, or even when I was with her. About…three, four months after she moved in with me, I found her in the bathroom after coming home from work. The door had been locked, so I broke it down…and I found her there. It was an overdose, not an accident. Her phone was right next to her, ready to dial 911. I don’t know if she meant to call for help, or call for the paramedics to come before I did, just so I wouldn’t have to be the one to find her body. I’ll never know. I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

  He stops and clears his throat, staring at the ground. I hold out my hand to touch his shoulder, but he shifts away and I let it fall to my side. I remember how it felt when I lost my father—I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I didn’t want that guilt of someone else’s sorrow on my back.

  “We don’t have to go back,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “We can find another place just as safe. There’s no guarantee that your apartment is even there anymore.”

  He sniffs and nods, raising his head again. “Thank you.”

  I turn back to the others, my heart skipping a beat when I see a head peeking over the counter at me, but it settles when I realize it’s only Cacy. Her eyes are sad, and I wonder how long she’s been awake, listening in.

  “Better wake up the rest, now,” Martin says, hopping off the counter. “We have a long day in front of us.”

  Cacy pulls herself up to her feet. “We’ll have to get food. These old bars won’t last us more than two more days.”

  “Okay, find food and water first,” I say. “Then shelter.”

  Martin nods, and together we wake up everyone else. We’re all still groggy-eyed and exhausted, but a little sleep is still better than running on nothing; something tells me we’ll be facing much tougher challenges in the future.

  But for now, I think I’m only going to focus on the present, if only to keep myself sane.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WE DECIDE NOT to stray too far from the coffee shop.

  For one, it’s a good place of reference, just in case we ever get separated and have to find our way out. It’s also nice to know that there’s at least one place we know we can go to rest our heads, just in case we have no luck in finding further shelter.

  The streets have doubled in messiness, since debris and discarded items have been blown down the roads from the destroyed buildings, carried by the wind in the night. I wonder how many months, maybe even weeks, it’ll be before we’re wading through filth.

  I can only imagine how much damage has already been done now that our waste systems have been compromised. It’s not like there’ll be garbage trucks going around anytime soon to empty the overflowing dumpsters that line each street. Already, a stench fills the air, heavy and rotten.

  We’ve split up in groups. At first, I was against the idea—a million horror movies and implausible scenarios rushed into my head at the mention of separating—but Martin talked me out of it. Even Cacy agreed: if we spread out in different directions, we have a better chance of coming across supplies. It sounds a lot better than spreading it out across a couple days, while our own provisions continue to thin.

  I’m partnered with Rachel, while Martin is with Cacy, and Henry with Corey. None of us really wanted Corey to come along, but leaving him behind wasn’t exactly an option and we can’t spare leaving someone behind to watch him—besides, it’s not like that’d be any safer, especially when there’s monsters roaming around that can make buildings explode.

  So far, the journey has been silent. Rachel and I have only travelled down one block, checking the buildings—most of which are either apartments or useless boarded up shops that only hold antiques or books, as if a century-old ceramic plate will do so much when someone’s aiming a gun at us.

  “So, do you have any family?” I ask Rachel, kicking an empty soda can from the sidewalk.

  Her head perks up, like I’ve interrupted a deep train of thought. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had—with the way she stares at the sky so intensely, her mind must always be racing with…well, something.

  “No,” she answers, peering into the dusty window of a nail salon. “Well, not really. I’ve been in foster homes all my life.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “I think I turned out fine.”

  I guess none of that matters anymore. We’re all on our own, now.

  I try for a lighter topic, so I ask, “What did you like to do? Before all this.”

  She steps away from the building, and we keep walking down the street. “Read a lot. It was kind of hard with all the yelling, but I learned to tune it out. I cooked, too. I never really used to like it, but the caregiver who owned the home I was in the longest never made anything other than Mac and cheese, so I learned to get creative. All the kids called me Rachel Ray.”

  I chuckle. “Did you ever wish you had a family?”

  She sips in a breath, and I feel an immediate wave of guilt at my question. I’m torturing the girl, probably bringing back a whole lot of memories she may have been hoping to forget.

  Instead of showing any discomfort, she shrugs and keeps looking at the sky. “I don’t know. I never thought about it, I guess. I always kept my focus on the present.”

  I find myself nodding. “I have a feeling that won’t change, especially now. I can’t think of much else anymore, except for where I am, what my next move is. It’s like we’re not even living.”

  She turns to look at me, blonde hair waving under her chin. “Maybe we’re not living, anymore. Maybe we’re just surviving.”

  Her words strike far too close to my own fears, and I turn my gaze to the pavement, disturbed. There has to be a reason for this all, though, right? A reason to keep going on?

  “There’s someone over there,” Rachel says.

  I lift my gaze, having to squint before I spot a thin figure far in the distance. They’re too far away to tell if they’re walking towards us or away, but I don’t exactly feel the need to find out. Most of the streets seem to be completely empty so far, compared to last night when they were floo
ding with people running away from the monsters, so I’m cautious about those who remain. They may be people who might not have any reason to fear anything—which makes them just as dangerous.

  Then again, we’re still here, so I guess I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

  I’m not sure if Rachel had the same worries, though, because she’s already a few paces ahead of me, set on following the path of the stranger. I jog the next few steps to catch up with her.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing our surroundings nervously, just in case the stranger has some friends hiding in the shadows.

  “They’re alone,” she replies, still staring ahead. “So low chances of him or her posing a threat. Maybe they know a good place to get supplies.”

  “Or they might pull a gun on us,” I whisper.

  “You’ve given up on everyone pretty quickly.”

  I sigh. “I guess I haven’t always had the highest expectations for people.”

  “Well, you’ve already seen some good,” she says. “Those people Martin was with saved us from the soldiers, took us in and gave us food. You made sure Corey wouldn’t have to be alone. You always make sure we’re alright before yourself. I think you need to give everyone a second chance; the probability of things getting any better are quite low at the moment, but there’s still no certainty that they can get worse.”

  How she goes from terrifying me one second, to reassuring me the next, I have no idea. Still, I’m grateful for her advice.

  “Let’s see if you’re right,” I say.

  As we get closer, the figure becomes clearer. I don’t think they’ve seen us—their back having been turned to us this whole time—but I see him. The first thing I notice is his brown shaggy hair that hangs to his shoulders, bright in the sunlight. The next thing is how he walks—slow and staggered, almost like the backpack he carries is filled with weights.

  Before we can call out a greeting, he stumbles and falls to his knees, finally collapsing onto his side in the middle of the street.