We Didn't Make It After All

Chapter Seventeen

We boarded a flight to Monroe Hills early the next morning, the halfway point between San City and Holden. The familiar monoliths of cascading concrete diminished into the barren wastelands we knew best: thousands of acres of outstretched land, abandoned and untended to, intermittently disrupted by a faint glimmer of civilization. A waning crescent hovering in the periphery of the panoramic sky, we landed quietly with the town submerged in its nightly slumber.

With the exception of a few solitary travelers, Lara, Mama, Ezra and I were the only ones to land in the airport. The vicinity was quaint and desolate, with empty conveyor belts incessantly spinning and security personnel nowhere to be found. We followed the signs to the connecting train station. Ezra and I shared a bar of Kinder as we sped past Mama on the moving walkways. Clara shook her head, murmuring something akin to "How you two have this much energy at four in the morning is beyond me," while we laughed, racing past one another as if in a race against time. Lethargic from a lack of sleep with only our laughter to entertain us, we exited into the station.

"Eerie much?" Clara said as we stepped onto the platform.

My laughter subsided at the sight before me: the station, vacant and somber, with derelict street lamps housing its dim, flickering lights. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"We should be," Mama said. She looked behind her shoulder. "Ezra?"

Ezra pulled out his phone for a glimpse at what I assumed was the map, only to release a sigh. He held it up. "No service."

"Maybe we can ask a station master?" I offered, looking around for a hut.

Clara chuckled. "See any station masters around, love?"

"I guess not. When's the train getting here anyway?"

"Five thirty," Mama said.

"That gives us—"

Ezra glanced at his watch. "One hour and twenty three minutes."

We walked along the platform, discovering for ourselves the brittle silence that blankets Monroe Hills at four a.m. I looked around for an indication that we were in the right place to board the five thirty train to Holden. We stopped along a bench, dropping our luggages and taking a seat, Clara burying her chin in her palms. "Five thirty to Holden. Wake me up, will you, Ez?"

He bit his lip, pulling his earphones out of his pocket. "Of course, Lar," he said. He opened his music player, sliding one of his buds into my ear. "We've got to pass the time somehow, right?" he said, looking at me.

I rested my chin on my palms, observing him as he navigated his playlists: The White Stripes, The Velvet Underground, Honne, Earth Dad and other independent artists I did not recognize.

"You kids stay here," Mama said in the meantime. "I'm going to figure out if we're on the right platform and maybe grab some breakfast."

I nodded at Mama, brushing her off.

Ezra nudged me lightly. "Any suggestions, Narns?"

"Whatever you want."

A small smile graced his face. "How about this?"

At his words, a steady melody began to play—a mellow song, a lullaby under the velvet light of the stars as my legs sought solace on top of Ezra's, the confluence of our bodies providing a momentary fortress from the cold.

He placed an elbow on my thigh, resting his chin on his palms. "Thoughts?"

In the heart of that forsaken town,

Where we were never blue,

Where orchards bloomed like no other,

And we never quite knew