Apocalyptia: Rewritten

Chapter 4: Kyle

The group fled their town, heading west for the radio station. Footstep after footstep, the munching of their shoes against the ground were all they could hear. Silence, among the group, they were walking with no words exchanged with any of them. Tired, tiredly walking, desperate for a break, their legs were screaming in agony. John fell down to the ground on his back, his chest heaving breaths in and out, the rest sat as well, grateful even for a short break. Thirsty, they wanted to drink water but the radio-man told them specifically to NOT bring any, it was probably for the best, the group reconsidered. They brought out whatever they had packed earlier on, eating out any food that had any kind of watery fluid, just to satisfy their burning throats, just a little. Nothing, nothing but the chips they brought along with crackers. They were all carrying lightweight backpacks, and it was all stuffed with either food or a little bit of medical supplies. The group lied down on the ground, next to a hill they had to climb since the station was right on top of it. Several minutes passed, maybe half an hour. They decided to finally climb the pretty steep hill, the sky gradually lit up. The sun started to show itself, had it already been hours? The sun shone over their burning town, distant figures jumping on one another, some were escaping the town but heading into the opposite direction. The group could finally see clearly, they finally saw the radio station in full detail. A small 2 story building along with a giant antenna beside it, the building was covered in red, paint not any sort of blood. Kyle looked down the hill, a couple of lively and healthy trees scattered along the path they had taken. He continued to walk up, struggling by a little bit because of his sprain. Kyle had put their past behind him and embracing whatever painful future they had in store. He was looking down on the ground as he walked up the hill, anxious of their fate. No one said a word, it was up until Arkin approached Kyle, obviously wanting to ask something. "What is it?" Kyle sensed his curiosity, Arkin paused for a minute, fixing and planning his question. "I didn't know that you were... smart." He said, offending Kyle by a lot. 

"How dare you."

"Wait, wait that came out wrong."

Arkin paused for another time, longer. "Since when were you, like that?"

"It's a... pretty long story. Though it's not that tragic, but, maybe sad enough."

12 years ago, Kyle was 8. He lived with his family, consisting of him, his parents, a brother and  a sister. Kyle was sitting on a couch in the living room, watching cartoons to pass the time. The walls were white, along with tiles that were also white but a little more colored. His family was arguing over funds, they were slowly going in debt, they needed to find a way to save money. Kyle overheard their conversation, he immediately thought of a plan. "How about you sell the stuff you don't use?" it echoed through the whole house, it was so loud that someone could've heard it even if they were on their rooftop. Enraged, his father came up to him, and without a word, slapped him across the face. Knocking him down onto the cold tiles below, "You raising your voice on me? On us? You think you're smart?" His father scolded, ignoring whatever suggestion he gave, even if it was a little useful. "I just thought that--" He said back but was immediately interrupted with "Silence! Get up to your room, we don't want to see your face for the rest of the afternoon." Kyle walked up the stairs, glaring one last time at his father. Never have they ever listened to him, not even once. The cold air of silence filled his nose as he went up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. Kyle knew that he had intelligence, not that much, but enough. He learned that he could never depend on his family, no matter how much he needed someone to talk to. His bedroom had... a bed, obviously, and toys scattered on the floor, it also had a broken television that had been there for years. Kyle distracted himself from the mess he called his family, he played with his toys, making jokes to amuse himself. He wasn't allowed to go to his friends' houses, no one wanted to accompany him. Kyle was alone in the world, his friends grew distant every year, only two stuck by him. "Well, at least I'm alive." Grateful, no matter how trashy his family was. He just wanted a caring father, an inspirational mother, and maybe to be best friends with his brother and his sister.

The next day, he went to school, meeting up with young Arkin. They were sitting next to each other in class, making each other laugh with whatever antics they found funny. Yet they still exceeded most of the tests, even if they just didn't care. Once in a while, they get punished for being too noisy, though they never learned their lesson, they just wanted to make the most of it before they had to go home, even if they didn't want to. Kyle was laid-back, chill, he studied, but not that much. Arkin was different, he was strangely, inspired. If Kyle was bored and didn't talk to him, He'd just study, Kyle gave him strange looks whenever he did. Kyle to this day never knew why his best friend was like that, he should ask him one day. The bell rang, it was time for recess, they went over to the canteen and ate whatever food the school provided them. Kyle showed Arkin his drawing of a house, his family was there, but more, happy. Although the lines weren't straight, not by a long shot. Arkin liked it. They continued eating, constantly thinking of something to say, when a tall kid stole Kyle's lunch tray. "Hey, give that back." Kyle commanded, deep inside knowing that he wouldn't. "Or what?" the bully snickered, expecting Kyle to just back down, sit and cry. But Kyle was brave, and also easily irritable. He lifted up his right arm, and then punched the... private part of the bully, as hard and powerful he can go. The kid, probably older than him by 2 years, kneeled down on the ground. Grasping his injury, inhaling and exhaling sharp breaths. Ignoring the pain, the bully rose up back again, raised up his left leg, then kicked straight into Kyle's stomach, knocking him down with no intention to stand up. The kid continued eating Kyle's lunch, and then walked away in the opposite direction. The whole canteen ignored whatever fight happened, nobody even tried to alert the teachers, nor the clinic workers. Arkin just held Kyle's hand, crying of the pain in his stomach. Kyle opened his mouth, was he gonna tell Arkin to go, call the principal? Bring him to the clinic? No. Kyle said "Hey, at least I don't have to drink the expired water they call soup." he laughed as he slowly drifted unconscious.

Arkin remembered more now, their past. Though he wanted to say something, he thought it wasn't the right time. They were almost up the hill, Kyle's story distracted them long enough from the pain and tiredness. The building got closer with every step forward, the sun reflected on the surface of the concrete walls of the radio station. Just a few minutes later, they had reached the top of the hill, successfully getting to their destination. The doors leading inside the radio station was close and secured, blocking any infected if they had somehow wandered there. On the corner of the building attached a surveillance camera, it had a red light down the lens, the camera was looking at the group. Behind the building was the gigantic antenna that had a red and white stripe, on the top of it had a few satellite dishes properly attached and scattered. After catching their breath, they finally headed for the door, John knocked on it. The door was made with glass, though it was covered with newspapers on the other side of it. John, once again, reached out for the glass door, and rapped it with his fingers. A few moments had passed, metal clattered on the other side, the door unlocked. "Stand back." the man on the other side had warned, they followed, walking a few steps backwards. He pushed the door open, to the outside world, his face finally revealed to the group. "Are you the radio-man?" Kyle asked, curious to know his identity. The man chuckled, "Yes, but you can call me Hans."