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The Garden

By Rebecca L Bales

Born 1990, F, from Vermont, United States

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The Garden
By Rebecca L. Bales

Prologue
Earth has never been a utopian planet for anything or anyone to dwell on. Humanity has never been perfect; we never really got it right. Mistakes and misleading agendas always have crippled societies throughout time. Politics and greed endlessly led the world down a darkened path of no return. Humanity doomed itself with artificial monster hurricanes, tornados that wiped out entire cities, pandemics, wildfires, wars, and famine. One could almost call the modern era Biblical. Maybe God gave upon us. Maybe God realized He had created an unworthy species of chaos and suffering which was undeserving of salvation and mercy. At least, that's how it felt. That's how I felt.
In the beginning, everyone thought that now was the time for a "Great Redo" to fix inequality, fix racial injustice, and help those less fortunate. I don't think anyone wanted to believe what was right in front of us. We collectively made profound errors in handling our power as a civilization. We messed up. No one decided to step forward and lead our people into a better life. We all just sat back and let the world crumble around us as if we had no control at all. We had been brainwashed to be subservient through generations of mind-numbing technologies. We had been raised to listen to our government. We were never expected to rise and stand up for what was right. In the end, that's what was needed, and we failed.
Riots and protests littered the streets at first, however after no prevail, those that tried lost hope and gave up. The Military was used against its own. Families were torn apart by plague and ruthless laws and wars. Some believed that a man would show up and save them from ultimate doom, but they were wrong. We were our only hope, but we were too late. The revolution that was desperately needed never happened. A small yet powerful organization called EAT dominated the globe by that point. EAT proclaimed its stance on Equality, Alliances, and Transformation. However, those that knew better called it what it indeed was—the Elite Agenda Takeover. Not long after, a counterparty organization grew that called itself FFE. Freedom From EAT. They wanted freedom from the power of the few. They eventually got shut down in inhumane ways. Hopelessness settled.
Millions of people died during those early times. Whether it was because of the viruses unleashed on us or from EAT removing citizens with rogue Military and placing them in "survivor camps" to try and stop a revolt. Either way, most ordinary people died by the hand of something that could have been prevented. The wealthy, celebrities, the worthy, and those with certain bloodlines were taken to an unknown location to live out their days in peace and prosperity. At least that's what everyone was told. Those who could afford safety bought it. There were rumors that they were taken to Mars or one of Saturn's moons. Some believed that the viruses hit EAT and the wealthy the hardest, kind of like some wrath of God. They believed they were killed off early on, but honestly, no one will ever know for sure.
Survival became more challenging and more complex as the months turned to years. Abandoned by our leaders with no food, oil, transportation, or electricity, we felt like orphaned children lost and wandering the cities searching for hope. What was the point of trying to survive? Some never found that point and took themselves out of this unforgiving world. I watched as people I loved suffered. I watched as the cities I loved burned. I witnessed the death of one world and the rebirth of a new one. I'm Myrah for what it's worth, and this is my story.

Chapter One: Apocalypse Blues

The Apocalypse sounded so cool before I realized what the end of the world would be like. I thought it meant dressing like some tough steampunk chick, with a Skrillex haircut and a sawed-off shotgun on my hip. I thought it meant joining a gang of thugs who would storm the empty streets screaming like heathens and hanging around fire pits revving the engine of my spiked-out motorbike. I imagined zombies and excitement. I thought the end of the world would mean no rules, no restrictions, and doing whatever I felt like. I didn’t know it would be like this. Not like this.
I didn’t think I’d be breaking into locked cars on the side of littered streets searching for shoes that fit and didn’t have holes in the soles. I didn’t think I’d be shivering in the bathroom of a decaying RV hiding alone from a pack of wild, hungry dogs. I didn’t know my life would take me down this path. I thought I’d grow old with a partner by my side and loved ones around me. I thought I’d get to buy Christmas presents for my family and have “back in my day” stories. I never thought I’d have to worry about having enough water for the day or if my clothing would be warm enough for the night. The old me only worried about bills or deciding what I wanted to eat for dinner. In this new world, I worry about life and death.
The year 2020 began like any other: mass celebrations and the banging of pots and pans. Hearing “Happy New Year!” screamed throughout the city, laughing and partying echoed through the night. I have this memory of standing on my old balcony sipping a cold beer with the woman I loved, believing that 2020 was going to be our best year yet. I had so many hopes and dreams for us that would end up being shattered by fate.
“Happy New Year, baby!” I whispered in her ear as we listened to the town celebrate.
“Happy New Year, Myrah!” A warm smile spread across her face as she leaned towards me for a passionate kiss.
I would have held her closer if I had known what the future would bring. I had so many memories of her. It was the only thing that kept me going. The recollection caused my heart to ache as I broke the window of a dusty old van with the blunt end of a small hammer. As I reached in and flicked the handle, the door creaked open. I took a rag from my back pocket and whipped away the dirt and glass from the seat.
I was searching for anything I could use. Clothing, food, water, and anything of use such as weapons or matches. In the beginning, armed gangs and certain military members who worked for EAT broke into the homes of the weak and stole what they could. Most places were emptied or burned to the ground. Instead of wasting my time searching through the rubble, I decided to search through cars along highways that had been abandoned for some reason. Most roads had been blocked off, so walking the streets was safer than taking my chances going through homes or stores.
I flipped open the middle compartment and found a pink lighter and a half-used water bottle. I opened my black, mud-stained backpack and quickly placed the contents in. A light blue wallet filled with old cash and pictures of a family: two little blonde boys, a woman, and a man was sitting in front of a pumpkin patch. A part of me wondered what happened to this family. Did they survive the viruses as I had? Did they survive the wars? Did they make it to a safe place? I wanted to believe they did, but deep down, I knew they were probably just another family who had been slaughtered during the early days.
I opened the glove compartment and found a granola bar and a few other items I thought might be helpful. I searched through the rest of the car and found nothing. I stopped for a moment, thinking I heard something off in the distance: a faint rumble, the smell of new rain on dirty, cracked pavement. A storm was coming. My stomach dropped, and I felt the tiny bits of trail mix I had eaten earlier start to hit the top of my throat. I remembered a time when storms were beautiful forces of nature. A storm would replenish and nourish the Earth and help plants and ecosystems thrive. Now, when a storm was headed my way, I shook on the inside, my blood turned icy, my knees felt wobbly and numb. I only expected destruction, fear, and an urgency to find shelter. Fast.
I looked around, scanning the horizon for shelter. I avoided going into the cities as much as possible. Survivors were not people I wanted to meet up with. People meant danger, not safety. I had joined a few wandering groups after leaving my small apartment after losing everything and everyone. I had hoped to find others who would help each other stay alive and rebuild a better future—what a naive thought. I saw groups of scared, cruel individuals with a taste for power and blood. Human nature, I suppose. My trust had been destroyed along with the rest of modern civilization. That’s why I always stayed alone.
My thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar above me. The thunder shook the ground, and I jumped and covered my head. I had to act fast. Heavy rain hit the windows and flushed the dust away, the wind swirled around me, picking up debris and crashing it into the sides of the vehicles. There was a house about a football field away. I spotted a tall wooden fence around the backyard. I had no way of knowing what was beyond that. I had to choose between staying in this rusted van or running towards the unknown.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I trusted my intuition. I grabbed my bag, zipped it up, and quickly jumped out of the van. I covered my head with the hood of my ragged sweater and started to jog towards the house. I had to dodge flying rubbish as I kept my eyes on the ground; a twisted ankle would not be ideal. Out of breath and drenched, I finally reached the fence. I quickly looked for a gate but didn’t find one. I shook a few of the boards, hoping one might be loose so I wouldn’t have to try and jump over the 6-foot wall as a 5-foot two woman who refused to go to a gym in my previous life. I didn’t feel I could manage jumping over this thing. I felt a few of the board’s creak and sway. I was in luck. I grabbed my hammer from my waistband and pried the wood free.
I chucked my bag onto the other side and quickly squeezed through the gap. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, and a warm liquid oozed down my skin. I realized a large nail had dug across my stomach. I knew I had to hurry into the house to assess the damage done to my already weakened body. I was soon on the other side and darted my eyes around the yard. I saw a medium-sized doghouse, a tire swing hanging from an overgrown tree, and a small wooden porch that led into the home. I didn’t see any signs of life, but I had to be careful. I had already made too many mistakes, and the storm was getting worse.
I flung my backpack over my shoulder and hugged my stomach. I slowly crept across the yard and peeked through the nearest window. It was getting dark, and the storm clouds had caused the sun to be shadowed entirely, making it hard to see who or what was on the inside. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I crept my way onto the squeaky porch and jiggled the door. Locked. I took my hammer and tried to pry the door open. After a few failed attempts, I realized I would need to find a window to climb through.
The pain stung as I gripped my stomach and prayed the lowest window would open. Luck must have been on my side because the seal broke, and the glass flung open after a couple of hard pulls. I ungracefully wiggled my way in and landed with a thud on a carpeted floor. Winded and wet, I lay there trying to catch my breath. I looked around and saw a pleasantly furnished living room. It looked as if nothing had been touched in years. I sighed with relief feeling a rush of security fall over me. I leaned up and closed the window, which was letting the rain soak the floor. I slowly stood up and pulled a flashlight from my bag.
The room was dirty from age, but overall, in decent shape. The rumbling from outside shook the building, but I was enclosed within four walls for the first time in months. There was a living and dining room, a kitchen, three bedrooms, and a bathroom. I crept my way through each room, checking to make sure I was the only person there. I reached the last bedroom at the end of the hall. For some strange reason, I had a sense of fear. I almost chose not to check; I wish I hadn’t. I gently opened the door and showed my light towards a bed. There, wrapped up in sheets, were two corpses with bullet wounds in their heads. Written on the wall in paint, or at least I hoped it was painted, were the words “I’m sorry. May God help us all.” I quickly shut the door and fell to my knees.
I had seen many terrible things since the beginning. I had grown calloused to most of it, but only because I had to. I had also seen many people die, but this hit me hard. Some people couldn’t handle the way this world turned out. I had lost count of what year it was. It had been three winters since I stood on that porch on New Year’s Eve, but it seemed like longer. I couldn’t believe I had made it this far. I hadn’t planned on it. I had been merely surviving the best I could. I could have quickly done what they did. I could have taken myself out of this hell, but I chose to stay. Perhaps I was afraid of the nothingness that I figured was waiting for me beyond this existence. Yeah, I was afraid of that.
I slowly stood up and braced myself against the cold wall. I suddenly became fully aware of the pain in my stomach. I lifted my damp sweater and saw the damage. My skin had been ripped open deeply. It hadn’t pierced any organs, but it could quickly become infected. It needed to be cleaned poorly. I had a small first aid kit in my backpack, but I wanted to save that for as long as possible. Instead, I decided to search the bathroom cabinet. I found alcohol, gauze, bandages, and a needle and thread. I knew I needed stitches. I slowly removed my wet clothing to reveal a body I didn’t recognize.
I had always been curvy, but the constant moving and the lack of food had taken a toll on me. I was slender for the first time in my life. It wasn’t an attractive feeling. It was sad and pathetic. I caught sight of myself in the mirror; I stared at my body and my sunken face for a moment. I wasn’t the woman I used to be. I didn’t even know who that person was anymore. I looked down at the jagged cut on my pale skin and winced. I shoved a handful of my shirt in my mouth. The damp cotton tasted of dirt and grime, but I knew this was going to hurt. I poured the alcohol down my stomach and bellowed. I carefully dabbed at the wound with gauze. I slowly pressed the cut together and slipped the needle through my skin repeatedly. I cursed loudly through my clenched teeth and covered the gash with a clean dressing. I was exhausted and freezing. I could hear the storm raging outside. The wind howled, and lightning flashed across a darkening sky. I needed to get warm. Should I even attempt a fire? I didn’t want to risk being seen by survivors. The thought of that made my veins run cold. However, I was shivering, wet, and so extremely tired.
I looked around the house a little more. Surprisingly, this neighborhood seemed to have survived without much of an impact. I glanced around the front and saw a ghostly image of suburban homes with overgrown yards, yet not a soul in sight. I searched through the quaint kitchen cabinets and found some outdated food. I didn’t care. Canned food lasts forever, and I desperately needed some nourishment, even if the food was a bit old. Against my better judgment, I decided to use the rest of my energy to start a fire. I found my way into the garage and saw a box full of old but very dry wood. I placed the pieces of lumber into the fireplace and searched for paper. Folded neatly on the coffee table was old, dusty newsprint. The headline read, “The End Is Near.” I shook my head. I was starting to believe I was living in some messed-up purgatory. Not that I wanted to, but I hadn’t seen anyone for weeks, and I had wondered more than once if my end had already happened, and I hadn’t been invited to the pearly gates. Regardless, I knew I’d never been one of God’s favorites.
After sitting for a moment listening to the fire crack and pop, I decided a bed would be nice to sleep on. First, I placed a large pan on the porch to collect the rainwater. Then, I pulled the mattress from one of the bedrooms and put it in front of the fireplace. I poured some canned stew into a metal pot I had found in the kitchen and heated the mess. I hadn’t had a decent meal in a while. The food tasted like metal and processed meat, but it was amazing considering expired. I smiled faintly. I almost forgot what that felt like.
The bed smelled of mothballs and dust, but it was comfortable. It felt like a 5-star hotel compared to the cars I had grown accustomed to sleeping in. My stomach was full, although tender to the touch. The storm had calmed to just heavy rain. I got lucky. I was warm and finally dry. As I rested, my mind began to wander back to when life wasn’t just about surviving. I ran my hand down the side of the mattress slowly. I closed my eyes and could almost feel the warmth of my partner, Skylar, beside me. Flashes of our life together flooded my thoughts. I remembered her smell the most, like a sweet vanilla flower on a hot August day. Her voice was soft like harp strings. Her touch always lingered, and her laughter was contagious. I remembered the way she would hold my hand when she was scared. The look in her deep amber eyes haunted me as the memory of seeing her for the last time crept into my mind. Tears slipped down my cheeks, and my bottom lip quivered. I suddenly realized that I felt safe enough to cry.
I wept myself to sleep but dreamlessly rested the entire night. The bright morning sunbeams kissed my eyes as I awoke. I felt sore, but overall, I felt alive. I suppose that’s what mattered, although I wasn’t sure why. I instinctively listened for any artificial noises. After silence answered me back, I assumed no one had seen my fire smoke, or if they had, they decided I wasn’t worth the effort. I rose from the mattress and peeked out the living room window. The storm had brought random rubble into the yard, but my pan of water lay untouched; for that, I was thankful. I wandered around the house, looking at the treasures left behind by the homeowners. Pictures hung eerily on the walls. The faces of an older man and woman from the last room down the hall smiled back at me. I wasn’t sure what to do. After some serious thought, I decided to leave the couple in their tomb. I just didn’t have it in me to bury them. I prayed they understood, and I prayed for their souls to find peace. Not that there was anyone who heard me.
The house felt homey, even with the presence of the past lingering in that back room. I found a morbid comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone. As much as I enjoyed the warmth of the house, I knew I couldn’t delay for much longer. I might be able to manage a few days without notice. I knew I could stay long enough to safely maneuver my environment without causing further harm to my wound, but nesting would be reckless. This new world wasn’t kind to those that chose to stand still. Living meant moving, even if it wasn’t the ideal experience. I would scavenge what I could find and move on.
As I rummaged around looking for valuable items, I recalled a memory of the first time I looted. The walk to the nearest store was nothing short of a blur. I wondered about the ruins, searching for anything I could eat or drink. I somehow managed to find a bag of beef jerky and vitamin water. After Skylar had been taken to the “survivor camps” by rogue EAT soldiers. They had promised safety, but we had heard rumors it was a death sentence. We watched through the windows as the men dragged people out of their homes, screaming and putting them on painted black buses. We had seen viral videos of this happening before the internet blackout. We just never thought it would happen to us. Suddenly, we heard pounding on our door. We knew our apartment was next. It was a split-second decision that altered both of our lives forever.
“Get in the closet, Myrah.” Skylar stared at me, dead serious.
“What? No! Skylar, I won’t hide if you don’t.” I insisted.
“Myrah, they’ll search the place. If they find at least someone, they’ll leave. I promise I’ll come back for you. It’ll be easier if only one of us needs to escape. Now, get in the closet and don’t make a sound.”
“I love you,” I whispered with tears streaming down my cheeks. The banging got louder, and heavy footsteps shook the staircase.
Skylar stared at me for a long moment as if she were taking a mental photograph. “I love you.” Her voice shook. She grabbed my face, kissed my lips hard, and shoved me aggressively into the small chamber. I hid in the closet, covering my mouth, sobbing. It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to make an alternative decision. I heard her tell them she was alone, and she was right; they didn’t even bother to check for anyone else.
They dragged her away, and I was left alone with my emptiness. I had run out of everything, and I was beginning to starve. I was in an unhealthy frame of mind and beyond frightened, but she had insisted I stay hidden until she returned. I still don’t know how long I was tucked away for; I just know eventually the world got quiet. I had begged God every night for her return, but it was a promise I knew she would never be able to keep.
By the time I came out of hiding, the roads were silent, and there wasn’t much left of our town. The soldiers who worked for EAT removed residents from their homes, and from what I was told, very few escaped. It was the darkest part of the early days and the most challenging part of my life. Our building had stayed intact, but the entire first floor had been damaged beyond repair. I didn’t understand why I had been spared, but I gathered what was left of myself and jotted down a note for Skylar, fully knowing it would never be read by the one person I left it for. I wrote it anyway.
“My love,
I am so sorry; I can’t stay here any longer. I know I promised to wait until you got back, but I can’t. I’m out of food, and I don’t know how long it has been since they took you. There is nothing left. They took everyone and destroyed our town. I will always look for you wherever I go, I swear it. If you are reading this, I love you with every bit of my soul. I will never forget you or our love.
Forever Yours,
M.”
My thoughts were interrupted by an odd sound I couldn’t place coming from the front yard. My insides jumped, but I didn’t make a noise. I slowly made my way to the front and carefully peered through the peephole in the hard-wooden door. My breath caught in my throat when I saw a tall, lanky man lurking near the porch steps. He looked greasy and unkept with long salt and pepper hair. He wore a dark blue jumpsuit that was filthy and torn. I felt utterly sick. People weren’t safe. I didn’t have a weapon besides my hammer, and that small tool was just that, a tool. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance in a physical altercation with this man. I had to leave as fast as possible. I knew I shouldn’t have started the fire. I suppose I can add that to my list of regrets.
I glanced towards the lock, double-checking to make sure it was secure. I then slowly and silently snuck towards my pack near the handmade bed. I snatched it and began to inch my way toward the back door when a sudden thought crossed my mind. The couple in the bedroom shot themselves. The house lay untouched. During the entire time I had been wandering the streets; I hadn’t encountered a gun. I had to make a split-second decision; do I risk being found, or do I leave and risk never finding one again? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I needed that weapon. I quickly shot down the hallway towards the tomb. The man started banging on the front door violently and yelling incoherently; I was sure he had spotted me. I had to make this quick, or my life would be cut short.
I reached the bedroom and flung the door open. I quickly shut it behind me and luckily realized a lock on the doorknob. The air was stale and rotten. I heard a loud crash and discovered the man had broken in. I jumped towards the corpses and searched the bed frantically. After tearing through the sheets, I finally saw a light metal shine. There grasped in the woman’s hand lay a small pistol. I reached for it and held it firmly. My body shook as I heard mumbling and heavy footsteps getting closer to the room. I shoved the pistol in my jeans and lunged towards the window; gripping the seal, I tugged hard but felt my wound tear open. I hutched over, holding myself tightly. I breathed heavily, digging deep within to find the willpower and strength to open the exit way. The man had reached the tomb, he attempted the handle, but it was locked. He then began pounding hard on the thin wood.
“Open up, little girl! I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break this damn door down!” The man’s tone was husky and stern.
My thoughts raced, and I felt myself zone into autopilot. My heart throbbed in my ears, and my adrenaline soared through my blood. I gripped the frame and again tugged with all my might.
As soon as the seal broke, so did the door. I quickly turned towards him. There he stood. He was a large man, probably 6 foot something. He seemed more like a monster than a person. As he opened his mouth to speak, I saw his deep yellow teeth through his gnarled beard.
“Got ya!” His chuckle was deep and alarming.
His body heaved with excitement as he beat his chest with his fists. Finding me was a form of victory in his mind. His smile lit up, but his icy blue eyes seemed paralyzed and dead. Our gaze met, and at that moment, I realized it was either him or me. I chose myself. I grabbed the pistol from my jeans, aimed it at his head, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Two: What Have I Become?

Click. Click, click, click. The man burst into laughter. The type of laughter that makes one's stomachache. He leaned forward and smacked his knees. I had pulled the trigger, but nothing happened—only the faint sound of metal on metal. Furious, I screamed.
"What do you want from me? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" My voice shrieked with a high-pitched tone.
His laughter continued. I felt humiliated and filled with rage. I let out a loud, frustrated growl. Suddenly, he stopped and stared at me.
"What do you think I want?" He stared at me with an evil type of hunger. I knew what he meant.
"I'd rather die." As if he were a wild animal, I stared him in the eye, showed no fear, and spat at him.
This new world brought out the worst in humanity. Unfortunately, most people who survived only lived because of what they did to others to stay alive. Stealing, murdering, and taking advantage of the weak and vulnerable seemed to be the only means of not dying. I suppose we were all victims of circumstance, but I refused to be victimized by any person. The man quickly lunged at me. As he came closer, I felt something strange come over me. A particular type of strength I didn't know I had. As if on cue, I withdrew my hammer from my waistband. I swiftly landed the hook end of my tool into his temple. His body fell limp and began to twitch onto the corpses. After watching his convulsions, he and the room became eerily silent after a few moments.
I stood in one place for longer than I could keep track of. I felt numb and in shock. I had to make sure he was dead. I leaned forward with shaking hands and feet for a pulse. There was nothing. Blood had begun to soak the sheets of an already stained bedding. My nose was filled with an unpleasant iron smell. I reached for the handle of my hammer, quickly and forcefully; I removed it from the man's head. As I turned my face away from the sound, I knew I needed to get out of this death house.
I slowly walked over the wreckage of the door and into the bathroom. I checked my stomach; the wound had bled but was still stitched together. Without flinching, I poured alcohol over the cut and covered it with a fresh bandage. I grabbed the remaining bandages and shoved them in my bag. I emotionlessly walked to the kitchen and put a few cans of food into my pack. I then made my way outside. The cool breeze blew through my long dark hair. I felt it whip at my face with random grace. I carefully poured the rainwater into my plastic bottle. I jogged towards the tire swing, which had also collected moisture. I washed the blood off my hands and my hammer but knew I'd never been able to wash away the memory. I stopped suddenly, leaned over, and vomited. The taste of bile lingered on my tongue and in the back of my throat. I wiped my mouth, stood up, and exited the yard through the same hole in the fence in which I had entered. I left, not knowing who or what I had become.
The highway I had left remained unchanged by the storm. A part of me wished I had stayed in the van instead of seeking shelter in the death house. I probably would have been fine, a bit uncomfortable but fine. The man would still be alive. I wouldn't be injured. I suppose my intuition wasn't as good as I thought. At least I got this gun out of it. It was a small pistol; I couldn't tell you what kind. I barely even knew how to aim it. The safety was off, and I realized I hadn't even checked to see if it was loaded. I pressed the button that ejected the magazine and realized there were no bullets. That's why it didn't go off. I shrugged and figured I'd have to find some elsewhere. There was no way I was going back for bullets. I had to be more careful. I had made so many mistakes. I was just so tired of living this way, but I really didn't have a choice. This was the way it was now. I either survive, or I give up. Those were my two choices. At that moment, I yearned for Skylar. I really needed a hug.
The days flew by uneventfully. I roamed the streets aimlessly, with no real purpose. I searched cars along the highways; I slept in the identical vehicles I searched. I ate cold canned food until I had none left, then it was back to scraps. I drank from pockets of rainwater in the soil. My cut was healing, although still a little sore. My dreams were horrible, and I couldn't decide which was worse, sleeping or being awake. The weather was beginning to get cold, and I assumed it was getting close to October. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn different shades of orange and yellow.
Although, I couldn't tell for sure. I felt so alone and lost. My mind would always wander back to Skylar. I always found myself wondering if she had made it or if she hadn't. Not knowing what happened was the worst part. I just hoped she hadn't died alone; she never wanted that. I had no idea where she was if she were alive; I didn't even know where I was, not that it mattered. Most of the road signs were destroyed or full of bullet holes. I felt sorry for myself and angry at everything else. A bit pitiful from an outsider's perspective, I suppose. I lived in the past because my future seemed so bleak. I had nothing but my memories to keep me company.
I slowly walked down the empty road. I hadn't seen a car for miles. I was hungry, cold, and bitter. My emotions were all over the place. I guess someone might call it situational depression. I stopped walking and stared down the vacant street; I looked down and kicked a rock a few feet away. I didn't want to continue, but I really didn't have any other options. I sat down for a few minutes on the cold, brittle pavement. I drew a broken heart and wrote "Myrah was here" in the dirt, fully knowing the message would blow away with the slightest bit of wind. I folded my arms, laid them up on my bended knees, and put my head down. Suddenly I heard a loud motor sound. A working vehicle? That wasn't as common these days as they used to be. It also meant danger. I had to hide, but where? There weren't any trees nearby, and the landscape was flat. My eyes darted desperately around but stopped when I spotted a single bush. I ran towards it and curled my body into the brush. I shook with fear as a large truck gained momentum in my direction.
I wasn't sure how many fights I had left in me. The last altercation I had ended in death, and I still hadn't gotten over it, even though it was technically self-defense. I closed my eyes and held my breath. The truck sped by me without any hesitation. I hadn't been seen. I let out a loud sigh and laughed in relief. I had always been a bit of an introvert but learning how to avoid all human contact was a skill I had to learn along the way. As I waited long enough to feel comfortable leaving my nook, I realized that I sure went out of my way to stay alive for someone who didn't want to continue living. I decided to be thankful for breathing instead of continuing my sad self-talk; I had to find a reason to keep going. I thought of Skylar. As I watched the truck fade out of sight, I slowly climbed out of the bush. I needed to keep walking. I had to find a place to rest before it got dark.
After limping along for about an hour, I saw a barn on the side of the highway. It was rural and out of the way, but it would do until I regained some strength. It looked desolate. It sure didn't have the homey vibe that the death house had; it was almost creepy. I slowly pulled out my hammer, ready to protect myself at all costs. I searched the perimeter and found nothing. Behind the barn was a large tree with a small cross under it; near it, a large red door was open ajar. I slipped through it, careful of anything sharp. I pulled a flashlight from my bag and shined the light around the building. The barn was abandoned and dusty. There was a small loft above the mess of old hay and stables; I figured I could sleep there. I wasn't exactly thrilled to sleep with spiders, but it's not like I could just curl up on the side of the road. I held the light with my mouth as I pulled myself onto the old wooden ladder.
I was careful with each step I took. The wood creaked under my weight, and I felt my legs start to wobble, acutely aware of my fear of heights. I finally reached the top and crawled on my knees until I was able to gain proper footing. I shined my light around. The loft was small, but an old couch was sitting in the corner. It looked dirty and ragged, but I knew I could sleep on it once I removed the cobwebs from the cushions. I had a small blanket shoved in my pack that I had found in a taxi a few days before finding the barn. It was warm and small enough to fit in a semi-full bag. I was glad I decided to bring it along.
I pulled the cushions off one by one and whacked the dust off with my hand. I coughed a little as the dirt lingered in the air. After reassembling, I sat down and noticed the couch was surprisingly comfortable. I pulled out the blanket, some water, a bag of nuts, and some dried bananas. I leaned back and chewed slowly, letting the stale texture of the food moisten on my tongue. I had turned off the flashlight and began to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim light. I noticed a few saddles, and a large desk pushed to the side of the wall. Curiosity often got the best of me; I got up and walked over to examine the desk. There were some stray papers flung about, nothing to really take notice of. I pulled open the top drawer to find nothing of interest. I leaned down and opened the first side drawer closest to the top. There were some cobwebs that I casually batted away; I noticed a small box with some faded writing on it and picked it up. It was heavier than I had expected. It also jiggled with a faint sound of metal. I blew the dust off the box; it read 9 mm. I quickly opened the container to find it was full. I shrieked with excitement, hoping it was the same type of ammo my pistol took.
I quickly shuffled over to my bag and pulled out my small silver gun. I pulled out the magazine and fiddled with the ammunition. After a moment of maneuvering the small bullets, I figured out which way to place them in the metal cartridges. They fit perfectly. I loaded the weapon and put it on the safety. I carefully put the pistol back in my bag with the box full of ammunition next to it. At that moment, I realized I had made the right decision that day. I went back for the gun. It had ended in death, but sometimes there was order in chaos. Having this weapon would ensure my safety. I had no plans on ever using it, but if anything, it could be used as a prop to keep undesirables away from me. I decided to rummage through that old desk to see if there were any more treasures that awaited me. I moved a few papers off the top of the desk and found a journal. I flipped through it to find there were only a few entries. I read it out loud to myself.
"January 24th, 2022
Ben and I don't really know what to do anymore. We're out of food; it's freezing, but we found this old barn to sleep in, and I found this diary and a pen. I'm hoping that writing this out will make me feel better. The baby is hungry and won't stop crying. We're afraid that she's getting sick. We aren't sure if she's going to make it through this. I think she has a fever; I'm nervous she's contracted the virus, and there's nothing we can do. Ben has been getting more and more aggressive lately. He keeps hitting himself and screaming at nothing. I think he might be losing his mind. I'm scared for him, the baby, and myself.
-Lauren"

I took a deep breath, not really knowing if I wanted to continue reading. My heart ached for this woman. I decided to keep going.

"January 26th, 2022
The baby is very sick. She's burning up, and I have no medicine to give her. She just keeps crying and coughing. Ben said he was going to go try and find some antibiotics; he left yesterday and hasn't come back. I'm worried he left without us. Ben was told by a man he met that there is a safe place called The Garden that takes in survivors. He said it's only a few hours north of here. He said there's enough food for everyone, there's shelter, there are no EAT soldiers. It sounds like heaven. I think I might just take my chances with the baby if he doesn't return by tomorrow. I don't really have a choice; The Garden is our only chance at life.
-Lauren"
"The Garden?" I whispered to myself. I hadn't heard of any safe places since Skylar had been taken away. Even when I had encountered the group of people after I left my old apartment, they hadn't told me of anywhere that was safe. This was the first I had heard of such a place. Was it even real? Was it just a distant hope that Ben had told Lauren to keep her complacent? I wasn't sure. I took a deep breath and kept reading.

"January 30th, 2022
My baby died right before sunrise today. She died in my arms. I buried her under the tree behind the barn. I wrapped her in her favorite blanket and asked God to take her soul to a place of peace where she could wait for me until it was my time to join her. I'm going to try and make it to The Garden. It's my only hope. Ben didn't come back. I know why. He couldn't handle watching our only child die, but he left me to handle it alone. I hate him. I thought he would come back because he left his bullets behind. If anyone ever finds this, there's 9mm ammo in the drawer hidden under the paper. Maybe it can help someone else; I have no use for them. God Bless.
-Lauren"

That was it. There were no more entries. I sat down and reread the three passages a few times over. "Thanks, Lauren, these will help," I said softly out loud. I remembered the little cross under the tree I had seen. I had no idea there was a small baby beneath the soil. I sat down and held the journal close to me, and cried. So many people had suffered in this new world, including me. I hoped that Lauren had made it to The Garden. I contemplated attempting to make the journey, but I didn't have anything to go on and no real directions. The sun began to go down, and I needed to rest. I placed the journal in my bag, curled up in my blanket, and fell asleep on the dusty, old couch.
I awoke a few times during the night. The sounds of the old creeks in the barn kept me up. As I drifted in and out of slumber, I dreamed of Skylar. I was back in my apartment; everything was normal. We were looking at old pictures and drinking coffee together when suddenly, armed men barged into the room. They grabbed her and spilled her coffee all over our photo albums. I screamed at them to get out, and she kept reaching for me, but our hands never touched. I jerked myself awake with a gasp and looked around. The loft was dim with the morning sun shining through the cracks in the wood. Steam escaped my mouth as I caught my breath. It was chilly, and I found myself shivering. I hadn't had coffee in a long time; my mouth watered for it. I sat up and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, and sat there for a while deciding what I should do next.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do when the weather got too cold to roam. The last few winters, I had hunkered down in abandoned RVs and hoarded food throughout the year like a squirrel. I hadn't been so lucky this time. Food was becoming harder and harder to find, and I was lucky if I found enough to keep myself from starving. I started to daydream of The Garden. It was such a nice thought; it sounded like heaven and probably too good to be true. I also wondered to myself if maybe Skylar had survived and somehow made her way there, hoping I had done the same. Fantasies were sometimes better than reality.
Suddenly, I heard loud footsteps coming from outside of the barn. I grabbed my gun and hid behind the side of the couch. After a moment of shuffling, I saw a man stumble through the door and fall on the ground near the entrance. He had on a torn red hoodie and ripped-up, dirty jeans. He looked skinny and young, probably in his early 20's. I didn't dare make a noise. He was breathing heavily and making pitiful moaning sounds. He sounded hurt. I was nervous about being noticed; I thought maybe he was being used as a prop to draw me out. After a few minutes of listening to his cries, my empathy took over.
"Hey, buddy! Are you going to make it?" I called to him.
"Huh? Who said that? Where are you?" The young man stuttered, sounding scared and confused.
"I'm up here. It's alright; I'm not going to hurt you; do you need help? Are you hurt?" I asked him softly, in a nurturing tone.
"I was stabbed. Please help me." He asked genuinely and looked up towards me while holding onto his stomach.
"Who stabbed you? Are they still after you?" I asked calmly.
"N-no, I don't think so. I think I lost him. He was a crazy man; he took all my stuff. Please, Miss, please help me." He begged.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
"Yeah, a little." He answered.
"Come up the ladder. There." I said, pointing towards the wooden steps.
He slowly made his way to the ladder and looked up at me. He had tanned skin, dark shaggy hair with only a small amount of facial hair. His dark eyes had tears in them; he looked scared.
"I'm not sure I can climb up there by myself." He spoke faintly, almost childlike.
"Okay, hang on." I took a deep breath and began climbing down.
I reached the ground and looked up at him, he smiled down at me, and I told him to put his arm around my shoulder. We both slowly made our way up the ladder. It made creaking sounds under us, but it didn't break. I rolled him up onto the loft with a bit of a thud. He groaned in pain, and I reassured him that it was going to be okay. I then helped him get to the couch, and he laid down. Sweat poured from his brow, his body was radiating heat, and he lifted his clothing to expose a stab wound. I winched. There was dried blood, and it looked infected. It wasn't too deep, but it was something to be concerned about.
"How long ago did this happen?" I asked him.
"A few days ago. I couldn't find anywhere safe to stay, and then I saw this barn, and something told me to come here. An inner voice, I don't know. I'm probably hallucinating." He laughed softly.
"I get it. I have a first aid kit and some old antibiotics that might work. I don't know. Are you okay with me touching it? It's probably going to hurt like hell." I asked him.
"Do what you have to do." He leaned back on the blanket and closed his eyes.
I pulled the kit out of my bag along with antibiotics and ibuprofen. I had found the supplies a while ago and was saving them for a rainy day. I gave him two to take, and he swigged them down with a little water from my bottle. I told him to put his shirt in his teeth so he wouldn't bite his tongue when I poured alcohol onto his wound. He cried as I whipped away the blood and pus. I covered the gaping wound with a bandage to allow it to drain. I gave him more water, nuts, and banana chips. Soon, he had fallen asleep. I sat on the wooden floor next to him, listening to him breathing. It had been too long since I had been this close to anyone and even longer since I had a friend.
Chapter Three: Everyone Has a Past
I waited around for the young man to awaken. I kept myself busy by doodling on the stray paper that was thrown about the loft. I kept listening to his breathing. I was nervous he wasn’t going to wake up since he had been sleeping most of the day. Finally, he groaned and whimpered softly.
“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?” I asked him gently.
“I’m Omar.” He whispered.
“Hi Omar, I’m Myrah.” I smiled down at him and checked his forehead with the back of my hand. He felt cool.
“Thank you, Myrah. I’m feeling a lot better.” He stretched his arms out and scratched at his messy hair.
“You aren’t 100% yet, but you’ll probably make it. Just keep taking these.” I gave him a small sack of pills.
“I wish I had something to give you for these. The man who hurt me took everything. I-I don’t have anything.” He rambled on.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I usually don’t socialize with anyone, but I would want someone to help me if I needed it.” I mentioned honestly.
We talked for a while, getting to know each other on a casual level. He told me his parents were taken to the survivor camps as well, and he hid with his sister, who eventually died of some illness. He had been pretty much alone ever since. I told him about Skylar and what happened to us and how we have ripped a part. He seemed compassionate about the situation, and we found comfort in each other while sharing our stories. I decided to trust him, and I told him the reason I stayed away from people. I told him about the group of survivors I had met up with within the early days.
“After Skylar was taken, I wondered around in shock for a while. I don’t really know how long. I saw a lot of death on the streets. I hid and saw EAT soldiers shoot survivors. I don’t really know how I lived through it; it’s kind of a blur. I found a woman trapped under some rubble that had fallen on her. I helped her, and she took me to meet up with her group that called themselves The Allies. It was okay for a few months. We helped each other, we grew vegetables and hunted wildlife at a campsite, and we all did well together. However, we eventually ran out of supplies and started looting. At first, it was only markets and abandoned houses, but soon the leader started sending out scouts to search for food. I was among a few men and one woman. We stumbled upon an elderly couple with a loaded car full of food and water. The head of our scout group decided that our needs were more important than theirs. He said they were old and were going to die anyway. He forced us by gunpoint to steal from them and then turned the gun on the couple. I cried the whole time but did nothing to stop him. Later that night, after we returned, I snuck out of camp and didn’t look back. That’s when I realized people aren’t kind by nature. So, I stay alone.”
Omar sat there for a moment in silence. As I sat on the other side of the couch, I kept my head down in shame. I remembered the heavy guilt that followed me because of that event.
“But you’re kind. You helped that woman in the rubble, and you helped me too.” Omar tried to reassure me with a smile.
“I killed a man,” I said without looking up.
“Why?” He asked without judgment.
“He was going to hurt me.” I whipped a tear away.
“I see.” Omar fell silent.
We stayed quiet for a while. I shared what little food and water I had with him, and I looked around the rest of the barn. I kept my gun with me but let him hold my hammer just in case we needed to defend ourselves. The barn wasn’t stocked with much, but I found a wool horse blanket and thought that might help keep us warm at night. I wasn’t interested in sharing any covers with this kid, so I was excited to show him.
“Hey, look what I found!” I threw the wool on the ground in front of him with a big grin. Omar didn’t smile.
“I need to tell you something.” He said quietly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him nervously.
“Do you remember I told you my sister died of one of the viruses?” Omar seemed scared.
“Yeah, I remember,” I recalled.
“She didn’t die of a virus. I-I killed her. Oh my god, I killed her.” Omar broke down, sobbing in his hands. His body quivered, and I instinctively reached out and touched his back but said nothing. He continued after he regained his composure.
“She was so sick. My Martha. She was so sick. She couldn’t breathe; I had no medicine for her. There was nothing I could do for her. The hospitals were overrun by EAT military, and it was pointless to take her there. My parents had already been taken, and I was so scared they would take us both or separate us. We had been together since birth; she was my twin. Martha begged me to help her; I couldn’t bear to watch her suffer anymore. I-I took a pillow as she slept and….” He cried and shivered in his grief.
“Oh, Omar. I’m so sorry.” I said softly and pulled him into an embrace. This sad boy had mercy killed his own twin. I couldn’t imagine.
“I just needed to tell someone,” Omar said quietly, pulling away from me and whipping his face with his sleeve.
“Thank you for telling me.” I patted his shoulder.
The sun started to go down, and I decided to let Omar have the couch while he gave me the cushions to sleep on. I wasn’t sure what to do, I had spent all this time by myself wallowing in my own despair, and now there was this kid who had no one and a past like mine. Apart from me wanted to run in the middle of the night and leave him so I wouldn’t have to watch another person I cared about dying or be removed from my life. He was a nice kid, and I didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him. I didn’t really want to care, but I was starting to.
A few days had passed by in the barn. Omar and I had developed a decent friendship, and we both agreed to stick together. As his wound was healing up nicely, we had gained some trust in each other. But as usual, food had run out, and we couldn’t stay. We had to venture out and find nourishment. We also needed a plan for winter. I casually brought up The Garden. I had learned that Omar was skeptical by nature and quite logical. So, he brushed the idea off right away. He wanted to go supply hunting and bring it back to the barn. But I knew that wasn’t a good idea. We had to roam for as long as we could and stay away from the streets—especially the highway near the barn. I knew for a fact there were others who used this road. I attempted to explain my reasoning to him. After some gentle convincing, Omar agreed with me. He didn’t believe in The Garden, but he agreed we couldn’t stay. So, I packed up my bag, and we left the safety of the barn. On our way out, I told Omar to wait. I stopped at the small wooden cross and paid my respects to the baby girl who rested there.
We needed real food, so Omar suggested we take our chances in the city nearest here. I was nervous, but I agreed. We had a weapon, and there were two of us, so he thought we might have a chance if we hurry and lay low. After a few miles of walking, we caught sight of a gas station. I asked Omar if he had ever handled a gun before; he looked at me, surprised by the question. So, I handed him my hammer. We cautiously made our way to the store. We checked around it first, then listened for movement. We heard nothing. The glass had been broken; obviously, the store had been ransacked previously, but we figured we might as well search through the scraps. We found a few cans of food, some water bottles, clean sweaters that read “Wyoming,” and some winter gloves. I was pleased with the find, but we both knew we needed more if we were going to survive the winter.
We continued our search on the outskirts of the city. We found more than we had hoped for. It wasn’t long before Omar had found a backpack which he filled, and mine was getting there. I had gained some confidence as we searched, we hadn’t run into anybody, and we were finding a good amount of stock. We even found two sleeping bags in the back of a truck which we rolled up and attached to our bags. The winter wasn’t seeming so bleak after all. We were laughing and joking as we walked, and I realized I was enjoying myself for the first time in a long time. We both were.
Near the truck where we found the sleeping bags was a small run-down house with shutters halfway hanging off the windows. The porch was broken, and we had to jump a step to reach the top. We assumed whoever owned the truck owned the house. We had found some decent supplies in the truck, so we decided to check through the home. It was small, only a two-bedroom and a bath. It was a mess inside. Old beer cans littered the floors, with thrown clothing draped over the furniture. It smelled of mold and musk. A withered political sign from 2020 hung on the wall with big red and white lettering. Omar broke his silence with his game of questions I had grown used to.
“Hey, Myrah, can I ask you a question?” Omar asked while poking through a washing machine, looking for a winter coat that would fit me.
“Sure. What’s your question?” I answered as I looked through a pantry.
“What did you do before all this? I mean, were you a nurse or something?” He asked.
“Oh, uh, no, I wasn’t. I was an FBI agent, can’t you tell?” I joked.
“No, I’m serious. What did you do?” He laughed.
“What? I could be an agent! See!” I laughed while striking a pose.
“Come on!” Omar teased.
“I was a telemarketer, actually. I annoyed people for a living.” I smirked.
“Well, you do that now for free!” Omar giggled in a boyish manner.
“Hey!” I playfully punched him in the arm, and he squirmed away.
“I had a job, kind of. I volunteered at a homeless shelter. My mom and dad didn’t know. They both worked a lot and were gone most of the time. Martha had dance practice after school, and I didn’t have many friends, so I decided to use my free time to help people.” Omar admitted shyly.
“Wow, that’s something to be really proud of. You probably made a lot of people really happy.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
“Hey, Myrah! I found one! Look, it’s pink!” His eyes showed bright as he tossed it to me.
I found Omar awkwardly innocent yet wise beyond his years. He told me he didn’t know how old he was exactly, but he couldn’t be older than 21. I had to have been about 34. We were an odd pair, but none the less we became great friends. He was smarter than he realized, and he knew how to make knots and traps because of boy scouts. It was something I had never learned, and it was a skill that would come in handy.
After searching the run-down house and finding some clothing and a hunting knife, we decided to go back to the gas station. I had remembered seeing a map that was too big to bring with us. We decided to try and find a hunting cabin to stay in over the winter. It needed to be small and out of the way, but we needed a bit more direction than just wondering until we found something decent. We also needed a vehicle to get there. We got to the station mid-day, and I made my way to where the map was. I ran my finger across a wooded green area that read “Timberline.”
“Here. We can try here. It’s only 20 miles out but probably empty.” I said while ripping the piece of map we needed.
“We need a car or truck or something.” Omer placed his finger on his chin and rubbed his thin facial hair.
“Can you hotwire?” I asked him, half-joking.
“Good question, but it’s impossible to hotwire a newer model, only the older ones that probably are rusted out by now.” I could see the wheels turning in his mind.
“How do you even know that? Well, it looks like we’ll be walking.” I shrugged, not looking forward to a hike.
“No. We won’t be.” Omar stormed out the door.
“Hey! Wait for me!” I bellowed after him.
Omar roamed the streets; he wouldn’t tell me what he was planning, only that he needed a certain model of car. He finally found a small black sports car that only had a few layers of dust. He wiggled the handle, locked. He asked for my hammer, and I handed it to him; I winced as he broke the window. He reached in and unlocked the driver’s side. He pulled the door free and whipped away the glass. He reached in his backpack and pulled out a small toolkit I didn’t know he had found. He removed a few screws and a piece of plastic. He then sat in the seat and pumped the gas a few times. He placed a screwdriver into the keyhole and turned it. Nothing. He pumped a few more times, whispering something to himself. I watched on in silence. He popped the hood and got out, and looked. He touched a few things and got back in the car. I pumped the gas about five times and turned the screwdriver again. The car made a bit of a puttering sound but eventually started. We both screamed with excitement.
He found a gas can and a long tube. He sucked gas from a few cars until the can was full. He then filled up the tank of the car. I was extremely impressed and beyond happy he had the knowledge to get this car working. We threw our stuff in the back quickly. Finding a place was the next hard part. We made our way to Timberline and took directions from old signs. The wind was cool and being in a running car again was such a freeing feeling. I let the wind run through my fingers as we drove full speed after going back and forth over where we were supposed to turn. We finally came upon a small cabin tucked away behind pine trees and rocks. We pulled up, and Omar turned the car off. I pulled out my gun, and we made sure we were alone and in a safe and secure place. We were, finally. The cabin had laid untouched, and we settled in for a long winter.
The thing about friendship is that people come into your life when you need them the most. I believed wholeheartedly that Omar had come when I was at my absolute lowest. I didn’t know what I was going to do or how I was going to survive. I was beyond lonely, extremely isolated, and broken. I simply didn’t want to exist anymore. Even after Skylar left, I had hoped we would find each other again, and that kept me alive. After the death house, I had lost my reason for living. I had nothing left of myself, and Omar helped me remember what it was like to have a connection with someone. He reminded me that life could continue even after heartache. He became the little brother I never had, and I admired what a genuinely good person he was. We spent the beginning of the winter playing board games. We ate canned food, dried fruit, and squirrels. I taught him how to play monopoly, and he taught me how to smile again.