Echoes of a Dying World: (An EMP, Post-Apocalyptic, Survival Story)

Chapter 1

"I'll have the cheesesteak...and a round of Vegas Bombs for the table." I peer over my menu at Emily with a grin, anticipating her reaction. She waits till the waitress has turned her back and is out of earshot before rounding on me. "Vegas Bombs? Really Morgan?" she questions.

I laugh at her protest. "Really Emily?" I taunt. "You're the one who invited the three of us up here," I say, gesturing to Leon and Felix who sit on either side of me. "Are you honestly surprised?"

"To be taking shots before noon? Yeah, a little," she says.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Felix says, raising his beer in toast and taking a drink. Leon leans in, laughing. "Come on Em, it's your twenty-first! You have to either go big, or go home."

She turns to him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you passed out by six o'clock on your own twenty-first?" she smirks, sending Felix into a coughing fit as he begins to laugh mid drink. I smile. That was one ridiculous day.

"Six o'clock—an impressive feat," Maya says approvingly. "I'm guessing it was one hell of a party?"

"You have no idea," Emily laughs before launching into the story. I find myself replaying the scene in time with her narration: the spring sunlight warm against my skin, warding off the chill from an intractable winter's fading grasp; the smell of smoke and grilling meats thick upon the air, intermingling with the shouts and laughter from the myriad of friends and family strewn about the yard; games of flip cup, and beer pong, and every other stapled drinking game we knew keeping a steady stream of alcohol flowing through our systems. Leon was the first of us to turn the monumental twenty-one, and Felix and I pulled out all the stops in planning the festivities—kegs, bottles of liquor, enough food to feed a small army—it was a party of epic proportions, lasting well into the wee hours of the morning. At least for some of us.

"So, suddenly I notice a crowd snapping off pictures with their cell phones and laughing at someone hunched over one of the tables," Emily says. "I go over to check it out, and sure enough there's Leon: blacked out, the left side of his face smashed into a piece of cake, and the right graffitied with magic marker," she finishes, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Leon shrugs it off, grabbing two shot glasses from our waitress who arrives a moment later. "Hey, no regrets here. I went big," he says, extending one of the shots Emily's way. "Now it's your turn." Peer pressure getting the better of her, Emily accepts the shot as we raise our glasses one by one. "To Em. And to one hell of a birthday," Leon says. With a chorus of cheers, we drop our shots into tumblers of Red Bull, and down the hatch, they go.

"Anyone up for round two?" I ask, smacking my lips. Emily immediately shoots the idea down, and I can't help but laugh: I've missed this. Ever since she moved to Denver for college, weekends like this have been too few and far between. Growing up we were always close. With only two years and one grade separating us, I suppose it was inevitable our social lives would overlap. We had the same friends, went to the same parties, did the same stupid things to pass the time in our quiet mountain town. We were as much friends as anything else, the friction often felt between adolescent siblings never an issue for us. Of course, there were times when I wanted to strangle her, and I'm sure she wanted to do the same to me. That's just the nature of brothers and sisters. But anytime she needed me she knew I would be there for her, just as I knew she would be there for me. She was my rock, and I was hers. I don't know how I would have made it through my formative years without her.

"Might as well grab another pitcher, yeah?" Leon says, topping off our glasses with the remainder of our first. At the bar, I notice him exchanging words with our waitress, nodding over to our table as he does so. I shake my head. He's been my best friend since the day he moved in next door, the summer before 2nd grade. My mother, the charismatic and friendly person she is, wasted no time in introducing herself to our new neighbors. Once she saw Leon I was summoned from the house, and in turn, volunteered to entertain the new kid. I'm not sure whose bright idea it was to have an ice cream eating contest, but nearly four pints of Ben & Jerry's later, we found ourselves hunched over and vomiting in Ms. Patel's rose garden. There's something bonding about emptying your stomach with another person. Or possibly there's something bonding in random acts of stupidity. Either way, like the rose's Ms. Patel so carefully cultivated, a seed of friendship took root in that garden, and it's bloomed beautifully through the years. Over time I've learned to read him—to figure out his traits and tells. Which is why when I catch his eye and see the subtle smirk he wears, I know Emily's going to be pissed here shortly.