Page 9 of Before Their After

Grunting at the ironically relieving pain, I moved on to my wrist, patting both areas dry before dropping to pull a bandage from my bag. Wrapping Harley’s wounds, then my own, I pulled on another pair of cargos from my closet and grabbed my gas mask from the corner.

Placing the storage key in my pocket, I cloaked Xavier in the throw blanket from the couch, kissing the top of his head. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll find you in the next life and whatever comes after that.”

Taking a swig from the bottle I’d used to treat our wounds, I double checked my mental list. It could be the difference between life and death if I left prematurely, only to find out I needed to grab something else I would need out on the road. I’d packed whatever dog food, medication, and canned goods I could carry into the remaining space in my bag and then placed Harley’s leash around her harness.

I took one last look around the room, what had been my home,our home.

“Harley girl,” I said, “This is going to fucking suck. No, screw that, it’s going to hurt like hell to get there, and I don’t even know where there is. But this isn’t our end. Nope, our story has just begun.”

Run Girl, Run

AMAIA

Across the room,a phone rang. A sound I hadn’t heard in a week, a sound I never thought I’d hear again. It wasn’t mine. That wasn’t my ringtone. Light brown hair whipped around as golden eyes met my own. It was Sammy’s.

“Answer it,” I said, springing her into action as the shock wore off.

The book she’d been reading fell off her lap, the thud waking Harley from a deep sleep. Both of us watched Sammy answer cautiously.

“Hello,” her voice trembled. “Mom?”

The scene changed. Sammy faced me, an eager look on her face as she tried to contain her excitement for my sake. She hadn’t asked, hadn’t needed to, to know that there was no word from Sloan and my family was gone. That I didn’t have a refuge the way she did; I no longer had a home to go back to. Not an apartment. Not to my parents. Just her and Harley.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling her keys from her pocket, ready to lock the door for a reason we weren’t quite sure of.

If someone really wanted to get in, they could. We had no idea what life had turned into outside the walls and the safety of the place we’d hidden in. Simpletons, waiting for news about the state of our country or any plans to recover from this mess. We could see a sliver of the main street from her apartment window, but it wasn’t pretty. Few people wandered out on the street and the ones that did … well, we often heard them screaming shortly after. Whether it was people or those things outside, we weren’t sure and we definitely weren’t trying to find out.

Sammy never saw them coming, but I did. They were fast. Too fast for the elderly couple we had known through the few years she had lived here. The same sweet old couple who had asked us to keep it down late nights. Bribing our silence with leftovers, an attempt to put us into a food induced coma. I’d spent many weekends away from school, coming back to check on my best friend.

One second she was next to me, ready to see what the world had left to offer us. Smiling. Hopeful. Alive. And then she was gone. Her arms swinging wildly, trying to fight off what she couldn’t see. The shape of an ‘O’ formed on her lips, but no scream left. Her eyes were wide, searching mine for answers.

For help.

Help I could not offer, as their teeth broke the skin of her shoulders and then her neck. Blood splattered against the wall; warm, metallic scented drops flecked against my cheek. Horror rooted me in place, and I waited for my brain to catch up and decide what to do.

The elderly man tore from her shoulder, moving up and latching onto her cheek. Her eyes, the only visible part of her face. I fumbled in my bag for a weapon—anything that I could use—remembering the hunting knives I’d buried at the bottom.The movement drew the attention of the elderly woman, her eyes curiously glancing over me for half a second.

I ran.

My eyes opened, sweat covering my body, stomach clenching. That wasn’t a nightmare, but rather a haunting memory—one I deserved to have for the rest of my life. I rolled over, bile rising in my throat and finding freedom in the industrial carpet beneath me. Wiping the corners of my mouth, I pulled myself up to the edge of the windowsill. I raised a pair of binoculars to my face, scanning the town below as I had for the past twenty-four hours.

Going through a city was my least favorite activity, but I was low on food and the small town outside Salem, Oregon, beckoned me with the promise of finding some. Alcohol lined my stomach more than food did. For some reason, it was easier to come by than an old can of vegetables. That was fine. I could get by on less, but Harley couldn’t. Half of the food I gathered went to her. Hunting was an option, but wasting that energy to not eat the meat myself seemed like an unnecessary effort.

I laughed to myself, thinking of how my father would make a snide remark about the end of the world, and I still let my conscience control my eating habits. Driving a knife through a human skull, no problem. But actively hunting and preparing the meat of an animal capable of forming complex thoughts? Absolutely not. So canned food and a distilled beverage it was. Harley wasn’t picky and caught enough small game to sustain herself more times than not.

My own health didn’t matter. I no longer cared about myself. Simply wanted to make sure Harley lived. She was all I had left. I’d never considered myself a materialistic person, butdamn, did I miss my things. My books, cozy blankets, my coffee machine.Oh, to have a cup of coffee. My mouth watered. Music. I hadn’t expected to miss music or even TV Most of my free time was spent reading, and if I wasn’t reading, I was listening to an audiobook in the car, in the shower, or as I cleaned.

Sushi, good lord I missed sushi. I missed my life, my friends.Sloan, I wondered, letting my mind drift to my friend from university. Flame encased my body as my thoughts drifted toward the people I knew were gone. People I’d have to miss forever. My parents. Xavier. Sammy. The latter two losses would be a source of self-hatred for the rest of my life. My own inaction being the reason they’d never live another day.

Only one life depended on me now, and I’d be damn sure to keep her alive. The fire surrounding me died down under focus. Several buildings had succumbed to my flames in the process of figuring out my triggers and I still didn’t have them completely under control.

What happened after the bombs went off two months ago wasn’t clear. I didn’t travel in groups. Any information I’d come by had been limited, knowledge gained from spying or hiding and overhearing. Three things were clear, however. I wasn’t alone. You could be gifted with things other than fire, and if you were lucky the way I was, you could have the gift of more than one.

But there were also people who weren’t lucky. I’d observed them from afar and studied them up close, but there hadn’t been any outward similarities. No one else had determined a cause for their demise, either.

It wasn’t a transferable disease. Their bites wouldn’t cause you to be infected, though they hurt like hell.Pansies, I’d heard a few groups call them. No rhyme or reason to it, someone had mentioned. A name that had stuck.

To me, it just felt fitting. They were fast and strong, but their bones were frail—easy to pierce—and their movements wild and uncoordinated.

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