We Survivors [Published Version]

2: Saving the Human Race | Nadia

The sun's rays shone through the translucent green nylon of my tent the next morning.

There had once been days when the sun was up for hours before I woke. I smiled at the bittersweet memories that followed but pushed them away before they hurt.

Now I lived and slept with the sun.

It didn't take long to pack up my campsite. Before leaving, I knelt beside a tree and pulled a framed photo and a few tealight candles from my pack. I held the frame against my chest and closed my eyes, trying to see their faces as they'd lived: smiling, laughing. Each day it was harder, and I felt hollow every time I wondered if I was remembering them or just the photo I looked at every morning. Their voices had vanished from my memory. Even my dad's, though I'd last heard it only a few months ago.

As I propped the frame against the tree, my face and those of my parents, sisters, and best friend smiled out at me from my sixteenth birthday, nearly two years ago. The five candles I arranged in a perfect row, then used the embers left from last night's fire to light a match-like twig. I sent a silent prayer to each of them as I lit their candle.

Not that I thought they could hear me. It helps me mark each passing day, I told myself as the flames flickered, reflecting on the glass. That's all.

I blew the candles out, letting the wax dry for a few moments before I shoved them in my bag, then put the frame carefully in the safest spot, against my back. After double-checking the coordinates I'd scribbled into a notebook and consulting my compass and maps, I set off for the day.

When I'd been following an old railroad bed for about an hour, a rustling in the grass behind me put me on edge.

I spun, nocking an arrow and drawing my bow in one well-practiced motion. I scanned the grass, knee-high in places, that had grown up between the railroad ties. An orange tabby cat jumped out, and I sighed in relief, re-quivering my arrow. Harmless.

This time.

The cat rubbed its body against my legs, circling as it purred. I used to like cats, until I saw one too many enjoying human remains for dinner. Well, one would be too many, but I'd seen dozens by now. Dogs, too.

Moved by this one's sweet face and the way I could feel her rib bones through my pant legs, I dug a pouch of beef jerky from my bag and fed her a scrap.

"You wouldn't eat me, would you?" I asked her as she gulped down the jerky and mewled for more.

But it wasn't a fair question. There was a time—in the darkest days of winter, when enough people were still alive that scavenging supplies was fraught with danger, and my dad and I were not yet skilled at snares or hunting—that I would've eaten her, too.

She followed me for a while after that, until she caught sight of a rodent in the grass and gave chase. I was sad to lose her company.

A few miles later, beads of sweat trailed down my forehead and my water bottle had run dry. I stopped at a nearby river and filled my bottle through the filter, then clicked on the UV light and waited, squatting by the river and splashing my face.

On the wavy surface of the water, I caught the reflection of something—like a small plane or a large bird—flying in the sky above me. But when I whipped my head up to look, there was nothing there. Just a cloudless blue sky.

Great. If I could imagine huge brown birds, was there any hope Jake was real?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, putting a stopper on my anxiety. I couldn't afford to think like that. Jake was real, and I'd be seeing him today. Cupping my hands again, I brought the cool water to my face. And caught my reflection in the river.

Yikes. My hair was matted and my skin more tanned than I'd ever seen it before. My torn tank top accentuated my now-wiry arms, and my eyes looked wild. No one who'd known the girl in my framed photo would recognize her in my face now.

Words my mother used to say came back to me then: you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I blushed at my unkempt appearance, threw on my plaid button-down, and raked my fingers through my hair. This could be the last first impression I ever made.

As if I hadn't made plenty of awkward impressions on Jake over the past few weeks. Like the time I inadvertently implied that the two of us might be the last hope for "saving the human race".

At first he'd snorted and said, "We're a bit late for that."

I was unsure what was safe to joke about after the end of the world—though what did it matter, with only us?—but Jake was always making jokes about dark topics. There weren't many other topics left.

I'd stumbled over my explanation, digging myself a deeper and deeper hole. In the radio silence that followed I grew increasingly uncomfortable, finally stammering, "I mean—I don't mean... us. Whoever is left, if there are others..." I was half-tempted to turn the radio off and pretend to have no recollection of this in the morning.

"Sorry," he said. "I was thinking. It's a big question. Does humanity deserve a shot at preservation? They did do... all of this."

I wondered if he, like me, was bundled in his sleeping bag, peering out his tent flap at the pointed silhouettes of evergreen trees against the stars. No other lights on the horizon. No one left.

After his usual goodbye, a quick "Sleep tight," I'd had to admit he was right. No one knew what caused the virus; with only two of us left and no sign of other people—alive ones, anyway—for months, no one would ever know. But before the world completely fell apart, everyone had suspected other humans were the cause. They just couldn't agree on which ones.

The UV light in my bottle clicked off, interrupting my thoughts, and I took a long, refreshing drink. Then I followed the river eastward, the sun high overhead.

As I hiked, I kept my doubts and fears about that night's meeting away by playing a game I'd come up with since The End. "Game" may have been the wrong word, as it wasn't very fun, and I always felt I lost.

The game was really a simple question: what would I give up to have things back the way they were? Eventually I had to limit myself, because the answer was always: anything. My hearing, my sight, any or all of my limbs. So I set the bar lower.

What would I give for a day?

One normal, before-the-end day. I'd hide my novel-reading from my trigonometry teacher and be grateful for the mushy cafeteria burgers—meat I didn't have to track, kill, and prepare myself. I'd pass notes to Anna between classes and laugh at her dirty jokes. I'd spend time with my sisters—push Nicole on the swing and help Natalie paint her nails. I'd hug my parents once more...

Anything.

The game had become more interesting since I'd heard Jake's voice. Would I give up knowing him, and live alone like this forever, for one normal day?

The answer was still "yes", of course. But I had to think about it.

~~~

author's note:

This is the first chapter that's significantly different than the original, so I hope those of you who are re-reading enjoyed it! Want to read the complete story now? I have good news for you --

We Survivors is on sale this week!! Only 99 cents (US) and 99 pence (UK) for the eBook!! Check my profile for the link! :)