Page 10 of The Last Man on Earth
“You’re bleeding.”
I shrug, cough, then sit down on the ground. It’s not quite sand, not quite dirt. It’s a weird, jagged mix of the two.
“I need you to—“
“Why you always needing me to do something? Fuck!” I shake my head. “Let me rest for a second, damn.”
“Vincent.”
Ms. K is the only one who calls me by my government. I bring my eyes to hers, shamed by the tone of her voice.
“Please do what she says. She knows what she’s doing.”
More tears roll down Ms. K’s face, streaking more paths.
“What?” I finally say, looking up at Ariana. “What you need me to do?”
Ariana blows out a breath. “I need you to check on your friends. Also, grab all the luggage and supplies before the plane catches fire. I’ll help as much as I can.”
“Why do you keep saying the plane is gonna catch on fire?” I ask, ignoring the 'check on your friends' part. They're gone. I already know.
“I smell fuel,” she says matter of factly. “It might not, but just to be on the safe side, I think we should—“
“Honestly…” I trail off, searching for the words. “I don’t…I can’t…”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I understand. But if we don’t get the stuff out, we won’t have food or clothes or anything else we need.”
“A rescue plane’ll come. You know who I am, right? I’m sure they on the way right now.”
“I’m sure they are,” she says gently. “But for now—“
“Aight. Aight. Damn. Just give me a second.”
I blink against the glare of the sun. It’s bright and brutal, showing no mercy. I feel like the world is spinning around me. I’m nauseous. I’m tired.
I’m scared.
Tears fill my eyes as I stare up at the sky. I don’t even bother pray. It’s too late for that. I said what I had to say when we started falling out of the sky, and apparently, nobody up there heard me. I mean, I’m still here, but what difference does that make now that I’ve lost everybody?
I heave myself off the dirt, stumbling a little as a boom goes off inside my head. I stagger back to the wreckage, holding my breath as I step through the door. I smell what Ariana was talking about, the sharp, chemical aroma lingering in the air. My eyes water, but I keep it pushing. I got a job to do.
I keep my gaze low, scanning for backpacks, carry-ons, anything I can grab. I don’t let my eyes focus. I can’t. The silence hurts. No laughter. No stupid ass jokes. Even my music stopped playing at some point.
I feel hollow inside.
My hand closes on a duffel bag. I yank it free, sling it over my shoulder, then grab another. Focus on the work. Don’t look. Don’t think.
Most of the overhead compartments were ripped open. I grab more bags, finally moving back toward the exit when I can’tcarry anything more. Ariana watches me throw everything into a pile, finally standing up to follow me in on my second trip.
I pretend not to notice her checking pulses as she passes by the seats. I’m grabbing phones, snacks, unopened bottles, everything I see, my stomach twisting every time I let myself think about the reality of this situation.
Outside, I dump everything on the ground, then go right back in. The fuel smell is getting stronger now. Got me feeling like I’m breathing pure poison, burning my throat, making my eyes water. I keep my head low, eyes locked on the floor, pushing aside metal and wires and insulation. I don’t look at the seats. I can’t.
Behind me, Ariana is quiet. Steady. Steadier than me. “Check the galley,” she says, voice hoarse. “Just take whatever you can grab.”
“The what?”
“The kitchen,” she says. “Food and water.”
