September 2030

3 years later

"Happy birthday dear Helena Willson, I wish you another wonderful year."

My raspy voice, dripping of sarcasm, echo between the empty buildings in the city. A warm breeze passes by and I wish that it for once could've been at least a bit chilly. Nowadays it's always hot, even during the night. A couple of years ago it used to get at least a bit colder when it got dark, but now it's summer every hour of the day. I carry an open can full of conserved corn that I slowly make my way through, not caring about the fact that the hands I use for eating them are covered in dirt.

"Miss?"

I turn quick as I hear a voice beside my own, the knife in my hand. A young boy, maybe around twelve years old, makes his way to me between the abandoned cars. The kid is really skinny, I can see his ribs through the thin shirt he's wearing, and his big brown eyes are dull. Even from meters away, I can see that the the kid now simply lives to survive. I wonder if he has anyone to take care of him. Hope he does.

"Food?"

The boy's voice is low and dry, and he continue to stagger forwards while staring at the can in my hands. Obviously, the corn does not taste great, but in cities like this where it still lives some people, it's hard to get a hand on food, even canned gods.

"Here." I whisper quietly to him as I place the can on the ground, turn, and run away.

I can hear his happy sounds behind me as he reaches the corn and as I make my way between the cars I know that he doesn't have many days left.

I myself haven't eaten as much in a day as I did during one meal before everything started, and I have forgotten how it felt to be full. I can even dream about eating dry old bread. I am close to the end of the small city, and houses have replaced the tall apartment buildings. All the lawns in the area are yellow from the lack of water, and there's not a single tree with green leaves. A fallen streetlight left a deep hole in the ground from where it used to stand, and everywhere on the asphalt there's cracks from the constant heat. Staying here over night could be very dangerous, but I'm not eager to sleep out in the dead woods again. I stop at random in front of a small white house with a big garden and step over the rusty metal gate. A low noise make me freeze with a hand on it and I listen carefully, but I only hear my own slow breathing. After a while I continue towards the house on the stone trail thinking maybe it was a false alarm, I've heard hunger and lack of sleep can make you imagine things.

I place the thin sleeping bag in the bathtub and my backpack by the broken sink. Nowadays, I always sleep in bathrooms so I can lock the door. Bathrooms also tend to be a small space, which means less places for someone to hide if they get in. Even if I can't see if someone is standing outside, I would definitely hear if they tried to break the lock up, and content with my decision, I go to bed.

I wake up to a low scratching noise outside of the bathroom door but I don't give it a lot of thought. It might be the air conditioning. After about ten seconds I open my eyes wide, realizing that there's no electricity to power it. There hasn't been in weeks. Even solar power is impossible, since the sun has been hiding behind the thick clouds. Slowly, I raise my head over the edge of the bathtub to look at the door. It's locked, and still closed. A cold shiver run down my spine as I listen to the sharp scratching and as quiet as I can, I stand up to reach for the knife my dad used to own. It have served me faithfully.

"Who's there?" I ask steadily.

Always talk steady, that's a rule for survival. Never show that you're chocked or scared. I take the few steps to the door and put my left hand on the cold metal handle. My right hand, holding the knife, is still and steady. I push the handle down and open the wooden door out to the dark corridor, but everything out there is completely still.