Ardor

Four: Thicker Than Water

Blood may be thicker than water, but it's also messier. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about how readily my own mother was able to abandon me. My dad probably didn't even die in a heroic search to save my life. 

I lost it when I found my dog's crushed body plastered beneath our plasma TV. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I rushed around searching for as much non-perishable food as I could find (making sure to leave enough for my mother) and I packed as many pairs of clothes as I could fit into my backpack before storming out the door.

So here I am, collapsed among the ravaged remains of my neighborhood, staring up into the starless sky. My brain has officially stopped working on a normal level, and I find myself an aimless drifter among my own thoughts. All my previous adrenaline has left my body, leaving me feeling exhausted and totally wasted in more ways than one. Slowly my eyelids find their way to each other. As much as I try to resist, nothing can keep my body from sleep.

I blink awake to the sounds of chaos and the sensation of something sharp poking into my side. People have now collected into one disorganized mob, stabbing into the exhausted silence of dawn. I rub my sleep-sticky eyes and sit up. A haggard looking boy around my age crouches next to me, prodding my ribs with a piece of wood. It takes my mind a moment to connect the boy's face to a name; Kobe Croft. He was always more popular than me because people genuinely liked him, not just his money. We had hung out on a few occasions because we have been neighbors since the third grade, but always in big groups. With his dark wavy hair, not-quite green eyes, tall, athletic build, thousand-watt smile, and glowing persona, Kobe was the jewel to nearly every tenth grade girl's eyes.

But then again that was before the apocalyptic earthquakes. I can barely recognize him now, with haunted, hollow eyes, and an overall ragged appearance resembling that of a hard-knock transient. "Kobe? What are you doing?" I ask around an enormous yawn. I feel horribly insensitive for such a human act; how can I be worried about being tired when everything I know has been obliterated? He sits back on his heels, stick still in hand, and draws designs in the dust. "Making sure you aren't dead," he replies nonchalantly. I try and hide my surprise at the calmness in his voice. "Um, okay? How are you?" I say awkwardly, like this is the time and place for smalltalk. 

Kobe shrugs his broad shoulders. "That depends. I'm alive but no one else is," he replies, sounding empty. "I-I'm really sorry." I don't reach out for physical comfort. I don't need him to worry about me being gay (not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just...I'm not). He just shakes his head and continues to draw stick figures. "Why are you here?" I ask. He gives me a cockeyed glance. 

"Trust me, I've been asking myself that same question."

"No, like why are you here poking me with a stick?"

"Right. Well first of all I was making sure you weren't dead, you're welcome. Also you're the only person I know."

"Well no offense, but we weren't exactly been close friends...before."

"But don't all the best friendships come out of the worst experiences?" I have to admit I'm a little surprised. I never really thought about Kobe thinking on such a deep level, but I hear the end times can show you a lot about people. I shrug noncommittally. "I guess so," I say. He sticks out a hand, offering to help me up. I take it, feeling my own slender fingers being crushed by his broad, strong ones.

I look around, my eyes struggling to take in the ravaged landscape sprawled out before me. Entire houses have been flattened by sheer seismic force, everything is raw and torn and ruined. I grimace a little at the tangibly sour pain that coats my mouth with each breath. "Did you know my mom totally just ditched me? She flipped me off and then refused to come downstairs even though I was literally having a panic attack," I say as my eyes come upon the crushed bones of my house. The second floor completely collapsed, crushing the whole structure. "She always was a huge bitch," Kobe replies. I nod. It feels wrong to be talking so horribly about my now-dead mother, but it feels right to be exposing her--nobody ever said anything so horrible about her, so I think she deserves one last shred of truth. Even if she is dead.

I stick real close to Kobe, and he to myself. We wander around aimlessly because nobody seems to need the help of two scraggly teenage boys--well, a scraggly teenage boy and Kobe. By now people have begun setting up makeshift camps with salvaged supplies. "Do you think we should stick around here?" Kobe asks like he genuinely wants to hear my opinion. "We?" "Well yeah, I just thought...." For once he sounds like the unsure one. I give him a weak smile. "Well yes and no. There's always that safety in numbers thing, but I don't think these guys are really worried about each other. Then again our chances of surviving on our own are like, zero. Plus, where would we even go?" Kobe looks relieved that I've given my opinion. "Then it's settled; we'll leave right away."

I feel like Kobe acted a bit too quickly, but I don't have any better ideas and I don't exactly feel like arguing with my one ally. Plus there's no reason for me to stay here anyway. Some generous person gave us a meager amount of supplies and we went on our way. It's been an hour and I'm beginning to regret our decision. The wreckage all around us is almost too much to take in. The smell of death linger heavily in the air, fresh and coppery and sickeningly sweet, like the scent of a deceased flower. I step carefully, doing my best to make sure I don't tread on dangerous objects or um, corpses. I try to spare my eyes as much as possible but there's only so much I can block out at once. 

Kobe looks as if he's ready to either throw up or pass out, and I imagine I must look somewhat similar. The sun is high in the sky but there's no warmth to be felt from its sickly glow. I shiver and tuck my hands into the linty pockets of my jacket. My fingertips brush noisy plastic wrappers long-forgotten from last winter. My stomach growls at the thought of the junk food that must have arrived encased in those crinkly transparent packages. I try and force my mind to go elsewhere, but Kobe isn't exactly eager to start a conversation and even if he was, I doubt we'd have much to talk about.

The silence is eery and almost totally undisturbed. Occasionally anguished cries can be heard in the distance, or the soft noises of communities solemnly collecting themselves. Our footsteps echo awkwardly in the devastated quiet. I feel strangely alone despite Kobe's presence at my side. It bothers me that all I have to entertain myself with is my own thoughts. I brought my phone with me but naturally it doesn't work. Sometimes I see Kobe frantically searching for a signal, but at best the most he's doing is wearing down his battery. We are alone and totally cut off.

Disconnection.

Separation.

Desperation.

Starvation.

Devastation.

Funny, I never thought the apocalypse would come with so many side effects.