"I Live in a Post-Apocalyptic World, and Nowhere Is Safe"
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A hot crimson wave splashes against the side of my neck. It trails down my ash-covered skin, sinking into my shirt as I tip my head and thrust the metal into the person at my feet. I force it until I hear and feel what I need to, the soft pop of skin giving way, the small jerk of the weapon pushing through meat, bypassing bone, and finding the ground below was all too familiar. The wide eyes that stare up at me, a pretty green, are not.

She is twelve, fourteen tops with short, choppy hair, the same ash-gray color as every other damned soul kicking up dust now. The girl's right hand releases a rusted blade in favor of groping the twisted metal of the rebar, gripping it as her legs kick in desperation. "Please," she whimpers softly. She begs in a voice that is young, so goddamn young. "Please, don't," tears well in those green eyes, and I feel my resolve falter.

The first tendrils of sorrow slithering up my spine to wrap around my heart and throat. They constrict my breathing, and I twist the piece of metal violently. A scream, the girl's and my own, breaks through the sound of fighting and the howling wind, and tears blur my vision.

"Hey Connor, where's the ration card?" A light kick to my thigh has me jerking away from the nightmare. I bite back the need to gasp for air. A quick jolt of panicked adrenaline shoots through me as I tip my head and meet my brother's narrowed green eyes. The scowl that pulls at the corner of Andy's mouth is an impressive imitation of our father, a man that the teen would never remember. "Ration card." His hand juts out, fingers scrunching into his palm in demand.

I trail my eyes over the skin of his wrist, over the gray scars that mars it like a corrupted blood vessel. "Second bag in her pocket. Putting it in your bag under your bed isn't a hiding place." Andy grunts as he yanks on the large duffel bag. "What do I need to hide it for?" Exasperation is the sigh that leaves my little brother's mouth, like a judgmental parent. "So it doesn't get stolen?"

Even with my eyes closed, I can see the roll of his eyes, the attitude that fills the 14-year-old's very fiber of being. "Who'd want to steal an empty ration card?" The silence from Andy is bliss, and it comes with a price. I pay it by taking the duffel bag to the gut, grunting. I curl against it as my arms instinctively wrap around the rough-sewn material. "It's empty?" His voice cracking brings me from my false apathy, as it feeds my annoyance instead.

"Have you done something worthwhile to get it filled?" My eyes are now open as I shove the bag to the metal floor, which sends a bass vibration through my bare feet as I sit up. "That isn't..." He trails off. "That's what I thought." My temper spins out into the small space. "Keep your whining down. We can't afford another complaint." "I'm starving!" He hisses. "Meet your pillow." I shrug as I stand, pulling a worn-out shirt over my even more worn-out tank top.

Shit. You are such a bastard! You don't even know what that word means. It means you should feed me!

With his temper tantrum already fizzling out, Andy sits hard in his own bunk that creaks with age. His eyes begin to fill with tears. I sigh. Do you see me getting dressed? Yes. Then stop being dramatic. I'm going to see if I can get a punch. What, credit? He asks incredulously. Nausea roils in my stomach, and I jerk a shoulder in a shrug. Yeah, Bertha won't go for that. Not after you skived out of your duties last time.

I curl my lip in annoyance. "I didn't skive. I had something else to do." "Your cutting side deals is what's going to get us kicked out." He sulks, and I wonder when in the hell he's going to grow up. "My cutting side deals is what's going to keep us here." I don't bother to hide the disdain in my voice. I tie my overly long hair up, wishing for something to cut it with. And when I turn back to Andy, his gaze is cast to the floor. "Child," I think with a scoff. "Stay here.

The heavy metal door slides open under my angry tug. It clanged shut with my order. It used to belong to a warehouse. Now, blue paint chips off in thick flakes, littering the grated metal flooring. Seven levels down from the surface is where we reside. One level below the last residential section. Three levels up from the bottom. Here, the air is stale. It's the last to be breathed before being recycled.

I can see level 8 with its rusted water pipes and level 9 with its steaming ones. The walls are made of collected scrap from buildings. There is aluminum siding, rusted out panels, and decaying wood that has yet to be replaced. Behind them is compacted dirt and sheared stone, blasted and bored decades ago by the Guardian's workers who were rumored to be slaves. History I sometimes let myself wonder about, but I know I'll never get the answers to.

In the berm, history is meant to be forgotten. Just like the sun. Taking the steel, slip-resistant stairs two at a time, I skip the bathroom on level 6, which is the closest accessible one to our home, and descend to level 2. Levels 3 through 6 are all living spaces with small bathrooms, and common areas on each floor. Retro games, books with disintegrating paper, couches that have been stuffed and restuffed occupy those spaces.

There's even a community kitchen in two of them. But since the collection takes everything grown or scavenged for compensation and distribution, no one has used them in forever. The steel steps turn into gray concrete as I hit level 2. Here, the walls were also concrete but were painted. Flat colors of sickly yellow and muddled blue are common. But there are also murals. They were faded pictures of humanity before the fire.

Blue sky, yellow sun, fluffy clouds over ground so green it looks fake. "Living today for a better tomorrow!" is the slogan scrawled over the expanse of the main wall leading to the collection's domain. And there I travel, running my fingers over the cool, worn paint. There are buildings that reach far into the sky, so high that the ground below is fogged, going from glimmering day to shining night.

Where the stars wink mockingly, like fiction. The receptionist pulls me from my thoughts. "Connor." Zane stands from her desk, her shaved head glinting in the off-yellow overhead light. "You don't have an appointment." Her eyebrows are drawn in confusion over her severe dark eyes. I want to ask her for her straight razor, but I don't need to rack up another favor owed. "It's free period, isn't it?"

coming up short against the desk. I bump my knee lightly against the metal backing and give the stoic woman my best, charming smile. "Let me check," she draws, unimpressed. I press the back of my hand against my mouth to swallow back the nausea from a pang of hunger and nod. I just need to ask her a quick question. "You skipped duty." "I didn't." The defense is instantly out of my mouth before I can stop it. "I was sick." "You didn't report it." "And neither did Andy."

"And he isn't cleared for the second level, Zane." I square my shoulders. "He's not old enough. So how is he going to report it?" Looking up from a piece of paper that has been through the recycler too many times as it flakes in her grasp, Zane arches a brow. "Nearly fifteen. They'd have given him a pass for the information." I run the tip of my tongue over my teeth and shrug, trying for a smile that feels far less friendly than I intend. "One cycle away. No need to rush him into the gleam and glory of the top levels.

Let the boy earn some appreciation first. We'd never rush a possible procreator. It's an honorable position. She gestures down the hall to let me pass, and bile rises in my throat. Yes, how could I forget the cattle herding system for the viable men and women of the berm? Sure, propagating the continuation of mankind. My parents never should have sold me the pipe dream of a dying world.

meet a nice girl, fall in love, have kids and a white picket fence, whatever the hell that was. Now it was a factory business for survival, and my little brother might have won the genetic lottery. I don't hide my grimace of disgust as I edge around Zane's desk and trek across the crimson worn-out carpet. I also didn't knock as I opened a wooden door leaning against the frame.

"Connor, this is a surprise."

As she stands, her flabby stomach pushes the desk away. She didn't look surprised. "I need to take out some credit for a ration punch." I get to the point, standing straight so the woman isn't looking down at me. She's an impressive 5'10", but I've got 3 inches on her. Her laugh jiggles her stomach as she walks in front of her desk and sits on top of it. It groans under the weight. "You already have overdue credit."

And the last time I did you a favor, you skipped out on duty. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, ignoring the way a cold drop of sweat slips down my spine as I step inside the office, closing the door behind me. Like I was just telling Zane. I was sick. Sick? Oh, con man. She coos out the nickname she's been calling me since I was four. After she'd taken over the collective position, I resist the urge to grimace as I walk toward her.

overly aware of her conflicting statuses. The holes in my clothes compared to her pristine garments reflected it. Behind Bertha's head, the walls are a fading navy where art hangs. There are more pictures that tell of a different world. The muscle in my cheek twitches as I clench my teeth. Then I take a breath in through my nose. "I heard you were down in engineering, fulfilling a personal favor on my time." Her eyes sweep over me suggestively.

and the nausea is replaced with a cold, oily feeling in my stomach. "Are the engineers trying to make you feel jealous again?" I slide into flirty banter. I have plenty of room in my stomach to swallow my bride. Barking out a laugh, Bertha reaches back onto her desk with a grunt of effort, pulling out a fresh ration cart, and wiggles it between two meaty fingers at me. "What'll you give me for it?" Now the bargaining begins, and I sit in the chair in front of her,

I have to tip my chin up to look in her eye. I wanted her to feel big and in charge. "What do you want?" "You," she says easily. "I'm not on the approved procreation list, Bertha," I chide. It was the same ask as always, and I'm beginning to wonder if this woman gets off on being rejected. "There's no list for pure entertainment," she stands, moving faster than I'd have given her credit for. Then she turns to the desk, patting it vigorously.

Imagine it, right here, bent over? No, no, sprawled out so I can see the fire in those deliciously dark green eyes. She grins, and her eyes all but disappear in the fold of her cheek and brow. I draw. I'm imagining it, and I was sure I'd never be able to stomach it. But when I don't play along with the flirt, her grin vanishes like it had only been a mirage. Then imagine this. You're not the only handsome green-eyed man here.

How long is it now before Andy is ready? A cycle? Whatever I was feeling for myself was instantly swept away with ear-ringing numbness by her words. Slowly, I straighten from my relaxed position. You can't abuse the system of the procreators, Bertha. Even if you had the collective. I say carefully, like I need us both to understand the rules set in place. Like I need it to be as true and real as the oxygen I'm now shallowly breathing. She crouches in front of me.

Setting her thick, sweaty hands on my knees, as she looks up at me, I can feel her clammy skin through the holes in my pants. "Tell me again, con man, what I can't do." Her friendly voice doesn't veil her warning, and my stomach pinches. "I do enjoy you, your snark, but just know who allows you to remain here when Andy comes of age. Generational protection only lasts for three branches of the family tree, and your tree ended with the death of your parents.

Heavens rest their souls. I remain statue still as she continues. He won't need a guardian anymore. And you, as you've said, are not on the approved procreation list. You're not on the engineering list. Her hands slither up to my thighs. You're not even on the collectives list. We're... I swallow the bile back and steady myself. We're not talking about a deal a cycle from now, Bertha.

"We're talking about a deal right now for the ration card." Her eyes bore into mine like blue flames. Then they wink away with her smile as she stands straight, her knees cracking with the effort. And she leaves the ration card on my thigh. "You're so right. New business comes with a new cycle. Old business is what will settle here and now." I scoop up the card. A thin recycled ticket with neatly printed numbers. I nearly crush it in my grip. "So, what do you want?"

Bertha shrugs. "You to scavenge," she says simply, walking around her desk to slide back into her extra-wide chair. My mouth goes dry. "Scavenging is rotational. I fulfilled my quota already." As she stares at me silently, I nod. "Is there anything you're looking for in particular?" "Just be ready tomorrow morning for the briefing." "All right," I say with some difficulty as I stand up. "Ah, con man, aren't you forgetting something?"

I turn just enough to look back over my shoulder. "Thank you to both you and the Collective for giving me this opportunity to earn my keep." "For a better tomorrow." She recites the quote on the wall, and I nod once, closing the door softly behind me as I walk out. I make an effort to keep my strides calm as I walk past Zane, as if to prove I can be calm in the moment. "Did you get what you were looking for?" "Yeah," I say, heading down the stairs. "Thanks."

With each step I take, the numbness wears down to the raw rage beneath. Painted walls turn to concrete, to steel, then to scrap. And by the time my boots touch the seventh level once more, my chest is rising and falling too fast. I know it isn't Andy's fault as I wrench the door open, the metal screaming against its track, but I throw the balled up ration card at him anyway. "Here's your fucking food!" I snarl, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

When night falls, a crackling overhead speaker announces it with a soft chime. It was designed to orient the firsts that lived here, the people brought in by the Guardian. Some had coping problems, being under the surface, the enclosed space. Others imagined themselves into hyperventilation, thinking there wasn't enough oxygen. Those who couldn't cope killed themselves and their bodies were used as fertilizer.

Now the dead are ejected into the outside world, stripped of everything they knew. I can't help dream of that, when the war I'd never fought in came to me at night. I dream of walking out at the blast doors, breathing in the smell of the dead and radiation particles. The corpses are piled higher than four levels, sinking into each other so it's hard to tell where one person ends and the other begins.

I also dream of them rising. They're black, bubbling skin dripping from bone that sinks into my hair to drag me under. I wake up with a shout lodged in my throat. I realize something, someone did have a hold of my hair.

You didn't tell me! Andy drags me half from my bed by my ponytail, and my elbow slams into the metal floor, pain blooming white-hot through my arm. It clears the sleep from my brain as rage erupts from my core. Have you lost your fucking mind? My roar hurts my throat, and Andy stumbles back as my hand shoots up, punching him square in the stomach. He doubles over with a grunt, letting me go, and I lurch to my feet.

My elbow stings now, muted by my anger as I slam my palm against his shoulder, sending him sprawling onto his own bunk. "Answer me, you goddamn pest!" "You didn't!" Andy cuts himself off as he scrubs angrily at his eyes. "You didn't tell me you were sent out to scavenge!" "So you attacked me?" I step forward threateningly and he flinches back. "I caught up because I had to piss." His voice quiets some, and I have to focus on hearing it through the blood rushing in my ears.

I saw the bag. "Yes, Andy. I pack a bag when I'm sent out on scavenging missions." "But it's not your normal bag, and you packed extra things." His eyes are watering again. "You're going to leave me here." My anger deflates as I watch him swipe at more tears. Someone had given him a haircut yesterday, and it somehow makes him look more mature but smaller. "I am." I tell him flatly as I take a step back and sit on my own bunk.

"Why?" His voice doesn't crack, to his credit. But he stopped wiping at the tears. "Because I'm being sent on a solo scav mission. And because this'll likely be the last chance I get before you turn 15." "I don't understand." I scoff, shaking my head. "Of course you don't." And how could he? He's sheltered and pampered. If he was so hungry yesterday, he could have asked any of the women in the berm for help, and they would have praised him while they fed him.

It would have put me in the same position though, I think, without purpose. "Then explain it to me!" His sudden yell in the small space makes my ears ring, and I grab my pillow and chuck it at him. "Shut up!" I hiss. "God, you don't listen to a thing I say! Tuck me with you!" he says softly from behind the pillow, leaving it there to cover his face. Surprise lights through me, and I manage to tamp it down, even if I wanted to. "I couldn't manage to smuggle you out of the blast door."

"Then just stay here." "If I stay, they'll send me away anyway." "But not before Bertha gets her hands on me, I'm sure." And I swallow down the bile. "You know why. You'll be fifteen soon." "I don't contribute beyond the odd and end jobs." "Which you're bad at." Andy sneers as he pulls the pillow down. "Way to stay focused on what you really want to know." I shoot back sarcastically. "And thanks for proving my point."

I might be bad at things in here, but you'd be useless out there. You know nothing about the outside world. I paid attention in class. I read books. I know a lot. He breaks off as I interrupt him. That's not practical knowledge or skill. If you don't get a shower at least twice a week, you start to complain. If you don't eat for one day, you throw a tantrum. I'll be better, Connor. Just let me come with you. No.

I stare him down until he looks away. "Even if I could, I wouldn't. You'd just slow me down and get in the way." I harden my voice just to drive my point home. "Just like you always have." The slump of Andy's shoulders tells me I've won, and he turns over in his bed, facing the wall. "At least I'll be free of the burden," I tell myself as I close my eyes. It doesn't stop the guilt and the fear from creeping up into my head as I drift back to sleep.

I don't know how to say goodbye, and Andy is still facing the wall, his body still and quiet. I don't say anything as I collect my pack and gently slide the metal door open. For once, it doesn't shriek, and when I close it again, it feels like a finality that weighs on my chest as I make my way up the levels. It's early, just before sunrise. I know because only the dim lights buzz above me as I ascend.

My palms are sweaty and my heart is hammering in my throat as I stepped up to Zane's desk, and she leans back in her chair, looking me over. "No need for the conference room since you're running solo," she says as she stretches her neck. Her mouth moves like she's suppressing a yawn. "So it's either a short briefing, unless you need me to go over the rules again?" She holds up a copy of the map that's hanging on the wall of the conference room.

Pieces were missing, places were undiscovered, others were marked as empty or dangerous, and anyone who filled in blank areas got extra rations. The berm wasn't located on the map, of course. I think I've got it by now. No contact with any outsiders, no weaponry brought back unless officially requested, and checked in at the entrance. All items are to be turned into the collective for distribution. Gathering supplies for other bermers off the official scavenge list is a no-go.

Where is my gear? And if you don't make it by nightfall, don't come back. As always, the doors will be opened for you at dusk and will not be opened again until the next scavenge. It could be days, weeks, or months until the next scavenge. And don't bring any unwanted attention to the burn. I said I got it. Now, if you could answer my question. This is an unscheduled scavenge. She pushes another folded piece of paper across the desk to me and I pick it up.

The Collective has requests. Something about the way she says it makes warning bells sound in the back of my head. All scavenges are unscheduled, Zane. It's a smart system. If you don't have a timeline for sending people out, if they're caught, the enemy will never know when the doors will be open again. What's different about this one? On the last two scavenges, there have been signs of others in the area. My mouth suddenly feels like it's full of sand, and it takes me a moment to find my voice. What others?

The caravan, perhaps. Or solo scavs. The caravan conjures images of giants with weapons. Fiery gleams in their eyes. And I curl my fingers into my palm, erasing the childhood nightmare from my mind. They were men, nothing more. It could have been signs of something much worse. Anything else? We're coming up to a storm cycle, and the Collective would like these items before it settles over us. Be smart, be careful, and remember what you do today is for a better tomorrow.

"Gear?" I repeat once more, and she points towards the ceiling like she's irritated I messed up the flow of her final goodbye. There's no fanfare when leaving the berm. It's typically a simple walk up too many stairs, a nod from Bertha to get above the first floor with a pack full of gear, and then the wait for the blast door. Today, Bertha is waiting for me at the top of the stairs, my gear held under her thick arm as she smiles at me. "You come back safe to us, con man."

Her hand finds my ass, giving it a squeeze as I pass, and I clench my teeth as I take the pack. "Fuck off." I mutter under my breath as I crouch down and pull out the supplies. "What was that?" Bertha asks, wheezing above me, no doubt from her climb. "I said, sure thing." I still need to get out of the door, and as much as I'd like to shoot off my mouth, it's not worth the risk. She smiles at me with perfectly white teeth,

and I wonder which corpse they'd been stolen from as I pull on a thick, long-sleeved shirt, an overcoat, and an extra pair of lined pants. They're a little short, but I still manage to tuck them into the tops of my boots and tighten my laces to secure them. "Connor, you're taking a lot of gear!" Nylesh, the door operator, steps forward and then steps back again as Bertha holds up her hand. "He's skin and bones. He could use the extra cover."

She laughs, giving me a wink to let me know I'd owe her for that favor too. I return the smile, slipping on a pair of gloves that, to my dismay, are fingerless. Nilesh shrugs. "Supply's low. If you find any extra material, bring that back too." "Sure." I say as I pull on a second pair of gloves, also fingerless. "I'll add that to the list." Of shit you'll never see because I'm never coming back.

I reach into the dwindling pack and am relieved to find a flashlight at the bottom. It's heavy, but it comes with two charges, and I run my thumb over the grooves of the word "Maglite" along the length of it. Then I shove it a bit awkwardly in the inner pocket of my jacket and zip it up.

The last things I grab are a thick scarf that smells like burnt hair and a pair of goggles I tug down over my eyes. When I pull the hood of my jacket up, I glance at Nilesh. "Be back before dusk," he says in his most official voice, and I flash him a thumbs up as I tug my pack back on and turn to face the blast door.

My heart is racing as the lights of the concrete room go dim, and a warning alarm begins to blare overhead. "Caution!" A robotic woman's voice says above my head. "Contamination free zone breached. Oxygen systems shut down. You have 30 seconds until lockdown protocols commence." I hold my breath as a blast of frigid wind sucks into the room through the first crack of the door. "Caution!" I think as the first ash blows into the room like snow.

You're about to enter the Outlands, and there's no turning back. "Go!" Nihilash yells over the deafening squeal of the mechanics that bring the door wider. It's just enough for me to squeeze through. I dart forward like I have the first time jitters as the ash clings to my clothes and goggles like it's magnetically attracted. I skid on the cracked concrete outside of the door, slipping and nearly falling as the door slams shut behind me.

Debris shudders from the broken ceiling, spilling more ash and sprinkling degraded concrete down on my head. I squint against the natural light that funnels in through the fissure above me. Already, the room I'm standing in is more open than any of the levels of the berm. Its ceiling is at least two floors high, from my guess, and I give myself a moment to just breathe and look.

It had been a house, the house of the first Guardian, built and reinforced just for the people of this neighborhood. They revered him and worshipped him for his foresight, the stories say. But those stories say a lot. That he was also a criminal, or that he was a mad scientist who had the bunker built for heinous experiments on how long the human mind could fare underground. Either way, he got what he wanted, I suppose.

He got people to experiment on, and a dream came true. I turned my eyes to the floor that had once been carpeted, but now was stripped bare and adjusted my sight to the shadows. "Say goodbye, Connor." My voice is too loud in my ears, and the memory of my father saying those words to me for the last time is too real, too raw in the moment. I have to force myself to move forward. Regret of not saying anything to Andy is now bitter in my mouth, and I swallow it.

and the lump is lodged in my throat. Daylight had come an hour prior, which means I have an hour less than I'd like to find extra supplies and shelter. Adjusting my bag on my back, I push through the rotting front door of the house and hold back a gasp under the frigid blast of air that sweeps around me, seeping into the threadbare areas of my gear. It was a feeling I'd get used to, I knew, but the adjustment period was going to be hell.

Following the last protocol, I step out of the doorway and close the door behind me. In the distance, something metal screeches like a familiar tune, and I tip my head, listening hard. I don't hear it again, and I wonder if I imagined it. Holding my breath, I turn and face the street and take in the gray surroundings. The sky matches the ground, bleached by fire and turned cold. There are remnants of houses, all leaning the same way.

The skeletons of buildings, their final timbers barely managing to stand. I noticed that in only half a cycle. The house next to the Guardians, protected by it, has blown over and buried any secrets it might have kept from the berm scavengers over the years. The only thing that breaks up the monotony of the ash-covered world is the rolling hills.

I spot them beyond the building husks behind the guardian's house and feel a tremble of excitement that is fear masked by adrenaline. That's where I'll head, where the natural rolls of the earth offer some protection against the wind. Keeping close to the house, I brush my shoulder against the sturdy brick.

feeling it pick at the jacket, and I gain a fresh coat of ash along my arm that tickles the backs of my bare fingers on the way to the ground. Each breath is a warm gust of air against my face, trapped in the scarf, and I'm thankful for the thick material and the protection from the wind. Between the guardian's house and the collapsed neighbor's house, the wind is less, and I take my time, careful of where I step.

My parents would tell me stories of the past, about the adventures that they would take when the world was still alive. They warned me of worldly dangers in their mind. Something called quicksand, with a texture I can't really imagine, and thunderstorms that boom with lightning flashing across the sky. Now everything looks the same. Flat spots can be holes in disguise, and debris can be as sharp as summer brittle. One of our engineers, Franklin, who has often helped our family,

was a victim of debris in his prime. He was my unofficial trainer, and the chunk of his thigh that's missing was a constant reminder to watch my step. I didn't say goodbye to him either, and for the first time in many years, I feel my eyes grow hot behind my goggles. How in the hell am I supposed to do this? Why am I even trying?

If I'm lucky, I'll find another solo scav who hasn't gone completely insane and will agree to keep each other company and watch each other's backs. If I'm unlucky, I'll run into another group and they may take me in or they may eat me, one amputated limb at a time. And if I'm absolutely fucked, I'll run into… no, I cut that thought off instantly.

My boot slipping along a piece of metal buried under the ash as I walked over a small pile. I can't afford to think about them. What lives in the quiet, in the dark, and is the reason for everything. As I reach the road behind the Guardian's house, I start off in a slight jog, keeping my breathing even. Being out in the open is dizzying. It makes me nervous, just from the sheer size of everything around me. But there's also nowhere to hide.

If I'm spotted, that'll be all," she wrote. "I'm also trying to get past the craters at the end of the street. When the bombs fell, they mounted up the dirt, cracked the earth around them, and scorched the land. Even if the sun wasn't covered by the rising clouds of dust into the atmosphere, nothing will grow here again. One of the craters was a mass, uncovered grave that I can only imagine the smell of in my worst nightmares."

considering it was below freezing during the day, and worse than that at night. All of the corpses were probably frozen in time, including my parents. Will they have decayed? Would they look the same? I shake my head as I leap over a small, broken brick wall, then duck as I hear a shout carried on with the wind. Heart pounding, I turn, pressing my back against the short wall, my ears straining to listen.

Maybe the sound was also in my imagination. I hope, silently. Then I hear it again, faint. "Help me!" The sound is distorted, but it sounds like a boy. His voice crackling on the wind, raw with terror. I clench my teeth hard. I should ignore it and keep moving. If they are screaming for help, it's probably already too late for them. And they could draw things to them, like a wounded animal pulling in predators.

Turning onto my knees, I dig my fingers into the cold ash and set my forehead against the brick wall, willing the shouting to stop. "Help me!" The person called again, this time fainter. Sounds carry on the wind, I know, and they can be carried away by it as well. I shift, then slowly rock back on my heels, pushing myself up again. There's something pulling at me, the urge to run, a desperate, instinctual tug.

But I don't want to run away from the sound. I want to run towards it. I turn my eyes to the crater. I whisper to myself, "Just leave." But I'm jogging towards the crater. "Leave!" The voice is clear now as I peek my head above the wall of the crater. A boy for sure. And then my blood turns frigid in my veins as I gaze into the depths below.

Instead of the bodies I've imagined, it's layered with bones. Ash that's stained a rust color is stuck together in some places like it melted into a puddle then refroze. Another shout brings with it the sounds of bones clinking together. And as the pile shifts, a skull rolls free, its jaw detaching as its hollow human eye sockets seem to stare up at the side of the crater at me. "Help me!"

The boy screams again, and it pulls me from my momentary shock as I search for the source. Beyond the edge of the pile, I see something black flailing next to a giant, rusted metal pipe. "ANDY?!" I'm moving before I give myself permission to, pulling myself over the edge of the crater, and my boots slide in the ash as I'm forced down onto one knee, and then to my hip as I slide down the steep incline. My hands scramble to find purchase. Ash and dirt gets under my nails as I try to slow my descent.

I swallow my own shout as the bottom comes up fast, and I skid into the base of the pile of bones that ripple with the impact, sending pieces of skeletons flying. And from below the pile and around me, grey water streams out in squeaking waves.

No, not water. I realize in horror as I try to scramble away, grabbing bones that give way as I try to pull myself up, only sinking further into the pile as rats begin to crawl up my legs and arms. What the fuck? Now I don't swallow my shout as I dig my heels into the ground that squishes on impact and grab a thick bone. I use it to dig into the ground, to push myself up.

I swing the bone like a bat, then I kick at the swarm, sending thick furry bodies flying. "Please help me!" The voice suddenly draws their attention, and, in unison, they turn. Scurrying back into the pile of bones picked clean, I heave my backpack further up on my shoulders and then take off running. I hit a patch of rusted ash and slide on the ice-like surface, sending me crashing down.

Fight! Use the bones! Anything you have!

It's Andy. I'm sure of it now. And I don't have the brain power to be confused beyond the burst of adrenaline. I'm trying! Andy sounds breathless. He's on the verge of utter panic as I reach the pipe and jump. My fingers burn like I've touched scorching metal. But I know better as I swing myself up onto the pipe, my thigh threatening to cramp with the awkward straddle. Come!

"Come to me! Come here!" I snap as I see my brother, clad in black clothes from head to toe and flailing helplessly in the bone pile. The goggles on his face are thankfully oversized, protecting his eyes and cheeks from where a fat rat is feverishly digging against the plastic.

I shoot further on the pipe until my torso is hanging off the edge. My heavy pack thankfully weighing my lower half back as I pull the flashlight free from my jacket and swing it out, smacking the rodent and sending it cartwheeling away. "Andy, listen to me. Grab this. I'll pull you out." I'm trying to remain calm, but the swarm is rippling the bones as it makes its way toward him, and all I can think is that he's going to drown in a sea of rats. "They're biting me!"

"They'll eat you alive if you don't move your ass." I grunt as I extend myself further, my ribs aching. "Open your eyes! They aren't getting through your goggles yet! And reach for me!" When his trembling hand reaches out, his blood-slicked fingers grab the thick end of the flashlight. I pull with every ounce of strength I possess. I tip my head back to the gray sky as I squeeze my thighs harder around the pipe until I'm sure I'm about to give myself a cramp. And I hear the bones scatter as Andy kicks his way free.

He lets go of the flashlight, and I'm sent, rocking back off of the pipe, falling to the ground on my pack. Through watering eyes, I can see Andy crawling on his hands and knees, and I take a few gasping breaths to catch my wind and sit up, grabbing the back of his coat. "Get up!" I snarl, fear crawling at my throat while the rats surge from the pile after us. Andy stumbles to his feet as I give another vicious tug of his jacket.

I hear it momentarily choke him as rodents fall from his body as thick as the ash had fallen from my coat. I crab crawl my way backward up the slope of the crater, never letting go of his coat as I half drag him up with me. And I watch the swarm as they seem to stop, shivering in unison as icy wind blasts into the crater. And then they turn, disappearing back into the bones. "Don't stop!" I'm gasping for breath as I grab the top of the crater. "I'm not!"

Andy snaps back as he collapses onto the top of the crater, and together we slide down the outside slope onto a pile of rubble. My fingers ache with my grip on his jacket with one hand and my grip on the flashlight with the other, and I stare at the sky, my chest heaving. "What were they?" Andy's voice breaks through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, and I blink sluggishly, trying to clear the shock from my brain. "We can't stay here. I need to move."

I roll over, dragging myself to my feet. Then I pull him roughly around the pile of debris, partially blocking the wind and the light. "Let me see your hands." I let go of his coat, putting the flashlight away. "They were biting me." "They were hungry. Let me see them." I say impatiently, then peel off his glove to look as he holds out his hand. The bites are superficial for the most part, but there seemed to be hundreds of them covering his fingers where they'd gotten through the gloves.

"What were they?" he repeats as I shrug off my pack, pulling out my canteen and a piece of scrap cloth.

I thought you knew things. I don't stop the sharp crack of my voice. And how could I when confusion was squeezing my head like a vice? I do. His voice trembles, and then he jerks his hand away from me as a rat crawls over the top of my shoulder. Impatient and much less terrified now that there was just one instead of hundreds, I snatched it from my shoulder and snapped its neck, dropping it onto my pack. It's a rat.

"A rat," he repeats, then hisses out a breath as I pour water on the bites and then wipe them dry quickly. "We can't get them clean out here, and I don't have gloves that will cover your full hand, but the blood will stop soon and maybe even freeze in the wounds." "Where are we going then?" "Back to the berm," I say with my jaw tight as I screw the lid back onto the canteen. "What? No! I'll be looking for you, and you can't be out here!"

He's already shaking his head no. "They won't look for me until tomorrow at the earliest, and I can't go back! We can't go back, Connor!" I pause at his tone as I repack my canteen. Then I look at him. "What do you mean? What did you do?" I notice his gear then, which is too big for him and oddly tactical looking. There hadn't been tactical gear in decades. "I did what you do, and I asked for a favor." Images flash in my mind of Bertha, of her smile. "From who?"

"Franklin, you..." I chuck out the word, stunned. "You asked Franklin to help get you out, and he did?" Andy nods slowly. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small piece of paper, and hands it to me. I unfold it slowly, scanning over the note. "Sometimes a person must do what they can to survive, even if it's something against their inner voice or a moral code. Live today freely because there's no guarantee of a better tomorrow. Goodbye, kid."

I read the twisted saying of the berm, and my throat constricts. "What does it mean?" Andy asks as I tuck the note away and pull off my second pair of gloves, giving them to him. "It means we need to get to the first shelter before I'm too sore to move." I pull up my pack. My right arm is already aching as my adrenaline wanes. "We're not going back?" "No," I say as I stand, wiping the ash from my goggles. "We're not going back."

The parking lot to Parkview Elementary School is one I have only crossed over once on a scavenge, and it's as far away from the berm as I have ever been. It's one of the places where, aside from superficial damage to the glass and the front windows, it looks untouched from all of the destruction around it. Old lamp posts stand like sturdy soldiers, guarding the blacktop that has been blown mostly clean of ash.

faded white lines, some straight and some curved with arrows, seem to beckon strangers to its doorstep. I know it's already been picked through, the red X on my drawn map having told me as much. But the blue circle that also colors its location states that it's a shelter as well. A shelter in case there's a sudden issue. It's a place to hide from a storm swooping in, or a place to rest. If the berm comes looking for Andy, the earliest they'll leave is the morning.

and then it's over half a day's walk. And this isn't the only shelter. It's just the furthest on the edge of the map. Now, anything beyond here shifts to being known as the Outlands to the Wilds. And no one goes into the wilds alone. I glance over at Andy as his muffled voice reaches me. "We're going in there?" "This is where we're staying the night," I confirm as I gesture to him to pick up the pace. My skin is itching with the want to get indoors. There's no evidence of other people here.

There's no trails in the thick ash covering the ground before the parking lot. No signs of markings like paint or tied ribbons. But the concern Zane shared about another group being in the area has stuck with me, and I'm not about to let my caution slip. Suddenly, I feel hypervigilant, and I don't have to wonder about the cause. I'm back to being the caretaker, and my little brother has no idea what's out here in the world. I stop by the door instead of walking straight in, and I lean a little.

"What is it?" Andy asks, and I clap my hand over the outside of his scarf and mouth, my eye twitching. "I can't hear if you keep asking questions," I whisper, and I can see his green eyes narrow behind his goggles in a glare. The wind blows hollow through the empty atrium, where shadows turn to darkness, where the dying light of the covered sun can't reach. I stand there for a moment longer,

and when I'm satisfied with the lack of other noises, I drop my hand and then step through the broken door frame, nodding for Andy to follow. We move through the glass entryway as I pull the flashlight from my coat. Watch your step, I tell him softly. Is the floor weak? At least he knows that much, and I shake my head. There's no basement in this part, but the linoleum is old and cracking. If you trip and break your arm or something, I won't be able to stand the whining.

His fist hits my shoulder, which is dampened by the glove and my layers, and I find myself smiling despite the dark sinking around us as we move further into the building. No, no one goes into the wilds alone. But I'm not alone, am I? Andy suddenly grabs my flashlight, and I instantly regret not being alone as I try to shrug him off. The painted cement block wall is fractured. The ceiling tiles are nearly non-existent above our heads.

but there's colorful pieces of children's art still on the walls. I didn't notice them the last time, and I stopped to let him look, and maybe to look at them myself. Think you can draw something like that? I ask him, and he leans forward, snatching the picture of a house by an ocean off of the wall. He folds it up and sticks it in his pocket. We have it now. I don't have to draw it, he challenges, and I hold back a laugh as he struts past me.

That's so lazy. I don't have anything to draw with. Remember, they were taken? He asks. And I hate that I'm reminded of the feeling of a fist slamming into my face, dislocating my jaw as I tried my best to keep the fifth floor assholes from taking the nubs of colored pencils Andy had left. No, I lie. But the disgust creeps into my voice. We can always find you more. Little kids went to school here.

so I'm sure there's crayons. I tease as we turn the corner, and what I consider to be a healthy dose of fear creeps down my spine as we leave the remaining light of day behind. "Oh, I remember rats now. They had something on them, a bug of some sort, and when they bite people, they die." He lets go of my hand slowly like the thought of dying out here finally crosses his mind.

There's no plague now like that, I say after a moment, letting the reality of his situation sink in. He needs to be scared. He needs to know this isn't some game. Out here, he's not special. Why not? Because everything that carried it died. He looks down at his hand, pushing his bitten index finger and thumb together until they squeeze out a drop of blood. Not everything...

"Alright then, you'll soon get sick from the black plague carried by the pile of rats you decided to swim in. Congratulations, you'll be the first to die of it in 50 years." I start walking again, ignoring the feel of his glare on my face, and then I feel his jacket brush against mine as he steps closer. He decides to change the subject. "Why are we going so far in?" Andy isn't afraid of the dark, but this is a different kind.

There isn't the calming buzz of the air purifying system, the hiss of the steam pipes below us, the metal scraping and tired squeaks of our door and bunks. Here, there is a deafening silence beyond our steps and voices. I shift, glancing behind us. Then I look forward again, as dust swirls in front of the beam of light as we move. Since this was used as a shelter, there's a supply room just in case. There might be some extra gear, maybe some food.

I doubt either were true. Scavs aren't known for leaving behind things, but I have hope. "I brought food," he says, and I stop in the hallway, looking at him. His pupils shrink in the sudden glare of my flashlight, and he squints. "What? You gave me the ration card! So I punched all of them and brought the squares with me! Seriously?" The urge to wrap my arms around him and squeeze this typically idiotic form is strong. "Yeah?

"Fuck, Andy! You're so smart!" I slap him on the back instead, and he grunts. "Ow!"

I think about the frozen rat hanging from my bag and how it will barely feed one of us, and then about the week's worth of rations we can probably spread out for three or maybe even four weeks if we can find a water source. "I'm glad I let you come along," he snorts. "Sure, take all the credit now. I just saved your ass and you- What was that?" I hear a man say, and I slam my hand over Andy's mouth, shoving him into a classroom.

He stumbles back, catching himself on the only sturdy desk in the room, his eyes wide. "Connor," he whispers, and I shake my head at him firmly. "Connor, no." His whisper turns into a hiss of panic as I mute the light of my flashlight against my pant leg and pull the classroom door closed. "Shut up. Stay there and shut up." I hiss through the crack as I hear the heavy thump of boots coming down the hall. My heartbeat is in my throat as I look down at the disturbed dust on the floor.

It's going to give him away, and my hand trembles as I click off my light, plunging the hallway into complete darkness. I see it then, the fanning of two flashlights, something higher powered than mine, cutting a crisp line through the air. The footsteps are growing closer, and I'm having trouble controlling my breathing. My fear response is so strong that it makes me want to run and not look back, but I can't leave him, and he can't run as fast as I can.

A beam of light falls over my face, temporarily blinding me, and I bring a hand up, scrambling back with a shot of surprise. I'm not surprised, but I need an excuse to trip over myself and fall to the floor. The dust I move through is choking me, but I'm confident it'll hide the prints to the classroom door, and he would be safe as long as he kept his mouth shut.

"What the hell? It's a person! Kylie, it's a guy!" The much larger man says as he lowers his light a bit. I see his broad shoulders, the clothes he's wearing, and something that looks like body armor. A woman steps around the corner, dressed just the same, and I see a holster and a glint of metal against their hips. Guns. They're part of the caravan.

I spin around and break into a dead sprint, clicking my flashlight back on as I track back through our prints. Their boots are heavy footfalls behind me, and I don't have to look back to know that they're already gaining on me. Stop! The woman shouts. It's dangerous down there! The man follows up, and my legs already feel weak as I turn the corner, moving away from the front where we'd come in. I should have eaten. I should have dropped my pack. I should have...

The thought is knocked from my skull as the woman tackles me around the lower back with a grunt, crashing us to the floor. We slide across the cracked linoleum and into a pile of stacked desks that rain down on top of us as the air is forcefully removed from my lungs. "I'm not going to hurt you," she says in a voice that might have been soothing if she hadn't just assaulted me.

"This world isn't like the one from my childhood stories. This world was frozen and cruel, and the humans that roam the surface are like soulless wraiths that take everything bright and crush it underfoot," Franklin told me once. "And that's what I believe with every fiber of my being.

"Get off of me!" I snarl as I get my breath back, clawing at the floor with one hand while she grapples to grab my other. A large hand closes over the back of my shoulder, fingers twisting in the fabric of my jacket so hard it chokes me with force as I suck in dust and the remnants of whatever has been left behind. And the hallway is suddenly upended as I

as I land hard on my back. She said... The man begins, and I cut him off as I twist my hand free of the woman's grip and slam my flashlight against the side of his head like a club. Hey!

He crumples to the floor as the woman scrambles back to avoid getting pinned by him, knocking over another stack of desks, and I feel the floor beneath me shake before Andy's shout echoes down the hallway. "Connor!" He's running. I can feel the vibrations of his feet slamming on each step, and dust rains down from the ceiling. "Hey! Stop!" The woman shouts as the sound of metal whining pierces the air, and terror sinks into my bones.

We're above the basement. "Andy, stop!" I yell, but it's too late as the floor collapses between us. "Connor!" His voice is fading, like it's getting farther away, and I'm up on my feet.

The woman grabs me, and I shove her away violently. Then I'm running towards a beam of gray light cutting through a collapsed wall, illuminating the dust as I skid to a halt just before I slide into a cavernous hole. "Andy!" I can't manage to bring my voice above a constricted whisper, and I kneel down, wrapping my fingers around the crumbling edge in front of me. "Connor!" Wind gusts through the collapse, clearing the dust, and I feel myself beginning to shake as I push my dirty goggles up into my hair.

"You're okay, kid." I lied. It's a lie as he stares up at me, his green eyes wide, and am taken back to my nightmare. The girl, the fight. Did I do this? "You're-" My words choke off as I lean forward, stretching my hand out towards his broken body in the debris, too far down to reach. "It's going to cave in," the man behind me says, and I ignore him. "Kylie, just grab him. We have to go."

Andy's body strains against the piece of twisted rebar protruding from his chest, and I push myself to my feet, looking wildly for a way down, and I simply step off of the edge. "Walker!" Kylie shouts, and I expect to feel the rush of air, but instead, I'm yanked back by my pack. My choice to be with my family is stolen as I'm dragged away from the edge. "Shit, Walker! He has a rat hanging from his bag! Let me go! Fucking...

I fight with everything I have as Walker's arms wrap around my neck, vice-like, as he drags me farther and farther away from my brother. Did you get bitten by that rat? Kylie's flashlight is in my face, flashing over my body. Did he? He's not dead! He's not! I heave, and her palm cracks across my face, knocking my goggles free. Answer me!

I blink the stars back for my vision, and an odd, humming silence fills my head as my body slowly numbs. I nod, barely. "He did. A lot of rats." An odd laugh bubbles up from my chest. "He went swimming in rats." Tears blur my eyes. "He's not dead. No," Kylie says, pulling a gun from her holster. "He's not." Her mouth was a thin line as she cracked the butt of her pistol against the side of my head.

Once upon a time, the caravan was known as the U.S. military, the strongest force in the world. They were proud, dedicated, and ordered to carpet bomb from the east to the west coast to save the rest of the world from the problem we created. Or so the stories go. What was left of their forces was still strong, proud, and armed. And through the years, and their offspring, and their offspring after that, they became warped.

Raiders, murderers, the best of the best turn to the worst of the worst. Except for one factionless group. Shut up! A voice whispers against my ear, bringing me out of my dreamlike state as my head lolls, only to be jerked up straight as a hand closes around my mouth. I can smell the sweet stench of blood, of sweat, of the man and woman's collective breaths as they breathe silently through their mouths as they huddle together, holding me between them.

"Just snap his neck, leave him here," Kylie hisses, and I feel Walker's shift, his hand remaining clamped over my mouth, my head pulsing in time with my heartbeat. "And to have two of them? We'll never make it out to the car and-" A shout pierces the air. I flinch at the sound, every nerve in my body stiffening as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I can feel the air around me like it's vibrating. No one moves as something shifts closer to us.

Perhaps on the other side of the wall in steps that are slow, deliberate, but not as heavy as they crunch debris underfoot. Human, I might have guessed. "Hello?" they call, and I jerk hard against my captor, against the bindings tying my hands against my back as Andy's voice reaches me through the wall. It's muffled, but so close. It's as if he has his mouth right against it. Then came the knocks. Three curious taps in slow succession.

Hello? His voice takes on a sing-song tone, like he's playing a game, childlike and teasing. Tears run down my face as I try to tug free, desperate to go to him. And when I suck in air to try to make noise from behind the hand, Kylie pinches my nose shut. Silence follows as I'm forced to hold my breath. And then Andy laughs. I can hear you breathing! Shit! Kylie snarls.

I'm released all at once, and just as I stumble to regain my balance, my upper arm is in a vice-like grip, and I'm being dragged down the hallway in a blind dash.

A high-pitched ringing courses its way with pain in my right ear, dampening the sound of another quick explosion that I vaguely register to be a gunshot. Walker's voice is a barking order as I stumble down the hallway with him, and when I finally regain my senses, I dig my heels onto the floor and jerk my arm free. I heard Andy. I heard my brother. He isn't dead, and I'm not about to leave him there.

Get off of me! I kick out at him, and he grabs my foot, shoving me backward. I stumble through the partially open door of the classroom and crash to the floor. My head bounces off the crackled linoleum, and I'm suddenly floating in a memory. Do you know why the world burned? Franklin asks me as he helps lace my boots for my first scavenger run at 15, and I shake my head no. Because people tried to play God.

They saw an opportunity, scientists did, to stop decay, to stop death. And when they tested it, they found a miracle. Miracle doesn't sound like a reason to burn the world, no. But when you misuse a miracle, it can corrupt. He pats my knee as he stands. And when the scientist realized his mistake, it was too late. Eternal life spread like a plague. And do you know the best way people have found to kill the plague?

Fire? Franklin tapped me on the nose. Bingo. I don't have time for this. I don't have time to fight you. You shouldn't even be here. Walker yanks me back to reality as he grabs the front of my coat, dragging me back to my feet. I'm going to ask you this one fucking time and then I'm going to leave this room. And you can either stay and die or you can come with me.

"I don't understand. Andy's... that's not your brother!" "Christ! Are you an undergrounder?" "He was bitten by the rats and his heart stopped. Don't you get it?" He gave me a quick, hard shake. Rats carried the bugs that carried the plague. "He's..." I choke off the word. "He's a boiler." "Do you want to live?" Walker's question is punctuated by another distorted scream from Andy.

and I drop my eyes to the beam of his flashlight, watching the dust move in waves from the odd way the noise ripples through the air. Andy is dead. Andy is dead, but... "Yes?" I say dully, and the classroom door bursts open as Kylie stumbles in, slamming it closed behind her. Walker tugs my bindings free, then catches her right before she collapses to the floor. "Did you get him?" Walker asks, crouching down beside her.

"Would I be running if I had?" she wheezes, and I take a small step back as I watch blood drip from her open, gasping mouth and onto the floor almost sluggishly. Then she raises her eyes to me. "It's worse though." I can feel her gaze in the dim light, and my heart slows in my chest, thickening in my veins to what feels like a sluggish beat. "What's worse?" Walker helps her up, nudging her shoulder, and she doubles over with a groan. "Kylie?"

Run!

I fumble the catch. It flashes across Kylie's pale face. Her head is twisted to the side, pupils all but disappearing from the shine of the light, almost reflecting it back at me. But she's grinning widely, blood boiling from the corner of her mouth in a stream. "Run," she says to me mockingly. "But I can hear you breathing." I stumble out of the door, and I turn, running.

Adrenaline fuels me, pushing me past the point of the stitch in my side. Past the need to stop because the cold air burns into my lungs as harshly as fire ever could. The boilers are worse than the caravan, because they are like homing beacons. Memories without control of the body. A regenerating system of cells that keep them going. That's what Franklin said to a 15-year-old me. Just to scare me, I thought. Just to keep me on my toes in the Outlands.

They always bring the sickness home to their loved ones. My boots slap against the hallway floor as I slow to a stop next to the colorful drawings on the wall. My chest heaving once again. My heart pounding in time with the pain in the side of my skull. They bring the sickness home to their loved ones. But this was the first time Andy had ever been away from home. This was the first time he'd gone into the Outlands. He'd never find his way back.

I pressed my palms against my burning eyes, letting the tears flow again as I turned and leaned against the wall. What was I doing? How could I keep going like this? How could I leave my little brother? And then I think about the berm, the people there, the way we've been treated since our parents died, the procreation system, Bertha. And I lower my hands slowly. They'll never find his way back.

I say softly to myself as I stand slowly and let my light shine down the long, dark corridor. Andy's eyes shine back at me as he walks forward. His steps slow, calm. Blood is bubbling black from the corner of his mouth and the hole in his chest. Connor! He calls to me in a voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Andy. I reply, holding my hand out to him. I wasn't going to live in this world without him.

And fuck everyone who helped take him from me. Let's go home.