

Apocalyptia

by Alyssa Hubbard

Copyright © 2013 Alyssa Hubbard

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781310157585

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this, once again, to my brother and sister. Without them, all I could ask of this world, is,

"Does it really matter?"
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I, once again, am honored to have a cover by Jessica Richardson of Cover Bistro, and also to have this book edited by the fabulous Kelly Lynn Thomas. Thank you both for all your help and hard work. I couldn't have achieved any of this without you two.
CHAPTER 1

Crystal never saw it coming. Sure, every religious venue and church in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, had been talking about it, but she wasn't devout. She didn't go to church every Sunday or read the Bible every day before she went to bed, but she did believe there was more than just her world. Regardless, when the churches began their uproars about the coming of the savior and the rapture, Crystal would be a liar if she said that she hadn't turned a deaf ear to their voices. It was just all too much to believe. Besides, how could a human being know something like that? Maybe she was right, but maybe she was wrong, too.

It wasn't until August that the news on the rising tension over what the state of the world actually was began to pick up. Scientists with names Crystal had never heard before were coming on television and discussing the odd frequency of meteors breaking through the layers of Earth's atmosphere and the anomalies occurring with the star Betelgeuse. It was a super-giant star, a part of the Orion constellation, and one that scientists stated, "would have enough power to obliterate Earth's atmosphere, allowing for space debris to pass through with little obstacle." Of course, such a statement caused Crystal some pause, but the scientists would always follow up with statistics and studies, which were supposed to comfort and tell everyone that there was little chance of an apocalypse ever happening in a single lifetime. Crystal only understood the bare minimum of what was actually said, but, then again, she was just a history major. It also didn't help that every professional they put on to discuss it spoke in a monotone that had Crystal tuning out half of what was said. They didn't seem to be worried, so neither was she.

And on a regular August morning, the last thing on Crystal's mind was Betelgeuse and the boring scientists. She had a test in History 203, and as she jumped in the shower her mind was running through dates and names that had something to do with the civil rights movement, but it was all swimming together. The bleariness wasn't clearing as fast as she liked. She groaned with the pressure and cursed the fact that she had scheduled an 8 a.m. class when she lived thirty minutes away from the University of Alabama. Crystal wasn't a morning person.

Still, she pushed on, or trudged on, depending on which task she was pressed with to make herself look somewhat presentable for regular society. Crystal had lived life as a tomboy, and it wasn't any different in college. The night before, she had good intentions. She laid out the straightener and blow dryer before bed, but in the morning she had to choose between more sleep or straight hair. Sleep usually won out. Then she'd jump out of the shower, stare at the disgustingly pink straightener and blow dryer set her mother had gotten her on her fourteenth birthday, sneer, pull her hair into a wet knot, and back to the bedroom she'd go. Good intentions could only go so far.

Her dressing habits weren't any better. A T-shirt, a hoodie, a presumably clean pair of jeans, and her Converse. She couldn't care less about anything she wore, but her Converse were something else. They were black high tops, and something about them just clicked with her. If she had a style, it would be lazy, but the Converse felt like they made her seem more laid-back than lazy. It was an embarrassing thought, and she often felt it silly, but she couldn't help smiling when they slipped onto her feet. They felt familiar and just like they had two years ago when her mom had bought them for her. It was one gift her mom never questioned getting for her upon request. Crystal thought it was because it was the only article of clothing she had shown any remote interest in, and her mom had been dying for her to take an interest in being a girly-girl. Her interest in the shoes was the extent of her girliness, though.

Once they were on her feet, she was set and ready to go. Crystal walked through her trailer, passing through the hallway and the living room, then pausing in the kitchen long enough to grab her key off the counter and to shoulder her bag balanced on the bar stool. Her home was sparse and run-of-the-mill, but it was hers. With one last look to make sure everything was in order, she opened the screen door, opened the main door, and stepped out onto the porch. She turned back long enough to lock the door, but the second the lock turned, she bounded down the steps of her little half-porch, all the while clicking her Volkswagen Beetle's unlock button. Along with her shoes, it was one of the few feminine staples in her life. She drove a bright green Volkswagen Bug. It was twelve years old, the air conditioning worked only half the time, and she was almost too tall for it, but it was too cute for her not to have in her life.

Crystal bounced up to the car, opened the door, and flung her bag into the passenger seat before sliding in and putting the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life. She silently prayed as she flipped a switch on the dash, then sighed in relief when air began to flow out and circulate through the car. It felt like a good day, and as she pulled out of the driveway the worries of the world and the test seemed to fade away into the background, replaced by the whirring of the cool air in her car and the quiet melody of whatever song was playing on the radio. She never saw it coming.

The drive was dull, though Crystal's mood was significantly better than it had been when she woke up. The monotony of life always stood out the best on the drive up to school. It was thirty minutes of silence, except for the air and the occasional honk from a passer-by Crystal barely recognized. She hardly ever left the radio on for longer than a few minutes. One of her pet-peeves was "talking" radio shows. Radios were for music, and she didn't care enough about celebrities and their bad habits to listen to radio shows. It was just one more reason for her to not be a morning person: morning radio "talked" too much.

Thankfully, with very little morning traffic, Crystal's drive didn't drag along, but she did find herself gazing up at the sky. It was somewhat overcast because of the early morning humidity, but there was a strange heat sweltering outside and making everything look like an oasis. Images that should be stable and concrete seemed to physically waver in the morning light. Crystal lived in Alabama, and it could get up to 110 degrees easily, but not even a summer morning could create so much heat as to make everything visibly move. The voices of those scientists suddenly seemed much more prominent than they had before in Crystal's mind, and it was so distracting that she had to stomp on her brakes to catch the turn in to the Little Caesar's parking lot, which earned her a few more not-so-friendly honks from the drivers behind her.

She tried to brush them off as best she could, but a blush still managed to rise up and heat her face. She wasn't one to make mistakes so easily, and she mentally shook herself for allowing herself to be so easily distracted. With a huff and a renewed sense of concentration, she pulled into the parking lot and chose the spot farthest from the pizza place. It didn't really matter because her car would end up smelling like pizza anyway, though Crystal still didn't understand how that was even possible. Regardless, she couldn't afford the $600 parking decal, and the next best thing was to park twenty-five minutes off campus and walk. When she had first come up with the idea, she had told herself, It won't be a big deal. I need to walk more. It'll keep me healthy. But as time went on and she got further and further into the Fall semester, she became willing to sell her left kidney for a parking space, and the thought of having to get out into the uncomfortable heat had Crystal questioning whether or not it would be worth a $500 parking ticket just so she didn't have to walk all the way.

In the end she decided to push forward with the walk, mainly because she didn't think her kidney would be worth even $200 and she couldn't afford a parking ticket on her record, anyway. She could barely afford her car insurance as it was. With an unenthusiastic sigh, she reached over to the passenger side and pulled her bag into her lap before yanking the key out of the ignition and kicking open the driver-side door. It was all very robotic and well-rehearsed, and it only got worse when she stepped out of her cool car and into the morning heat. It hit her the second she made it all the way out of the car, and she found herself gasping for breath as her lungs tried to adjust to the completely different air temperatures. It was jarring, but when she threw her bag over her shoulders, she was all business.

She pulled out her phone to check the time: 7:32. She had about three minutes to spare before she'd have to book it to class. Just enough time to walk instead of jog in the heat, and she made sure to take her time, too. Sweat had already begun to pour down her forehead, and she hadn't even gotten completely out of the parking lot. Once again her thoughts went back to the scientists on the TV, but something else began to intrude her thoughts. It was a silence, and on a Monday in a college town, silence shouldn't have even existed. Even the sound of birds and squirrels fell away into the deafening silence. She paused and turned to face the road, surprised to find cars stopped in the middle, but there was no hollering or screaming. Not even horns were blaring. Instead, people were getting out of their cars, all in a quiet hum that fell away to the silence.

Crystal couldn't tear her eyes away from the strange sight. Everyone was out in the road, cars abandoned even if they were still running and with doors left wide-open and inviting. No person looked exactly like the other, but they all pointed towards the sky in one way or another. Some with outreaching arms, others with only their eyes and their faces, but everyone looked to the sky. Everyone except Crystal, but then something clicked in her. Despite the rising heat and the sweat that dripped into her eyes, her legs quivered with the need to run and to get away. But her eyes met someone else's — a man standing maybe three feet away from her on the road. He turned his face away from the sky long enough to meet her eyes, and his mouth opened as if to call out to her, but the instant his voice began, another sound, one even more deafening than the silence, erupted.

It was a shrill scream, not unlike the screams of people from horror films, but different. It was almost alien in the way it continued to get louder and louder. Crystal covered her ears and ducked as if to dodge something. Along with the noise, the heat had risen to an almost unbearable point, and in her attempts at protecting herself, she had lost sight of the man on the road. Crystal looked back in his direction, only to find a meteorite in his place, engulfed in flames with a hand reaching out from beneath it. It gave Crystal pause, and she suddenly found herself wondering what he had looked like before he was crushed.

She recalled blue eyes, but she couldn't be sure. It was too hard to think with the screaming of the sky, along with the screaming of the people on the streets as she watched them run, taking shelter in homes that probably weren't theirs and fighting to get into each other's cars. It was mass chaos, and Crystal still didn't fully understand why, except that a flaming meteorite had fallen from the sky. If she were going to run, she had to know what she was running from. Every step she took weighed her down, and it was all from fear. How could she run from something she couldn't see coming at her? Yet her legs quivered with the need to move. With a rigid lift of her chin, she shot her gaze to the sky, and she realized the sun had been completely blotted out, replaced with thousands upon thousands of tinier suns, all heading directly for Earth. The moment her brain realized it, her legs lifted without a care, and with her head ducked back down, she took off toward the warehouse hidden behind the Alabama Jersey shop directly beside Little Caesar's.

It didn't take much thought to figure out why she was heading there. A warehouse seemed much safer than a regular home would be, but the moment she passed the jersey shop and the warehouse door was in sight, her great idea seemed more questionable than anything else. There was a figure leaning against the door, and as she got closer to the figure, she realized it was a man. He didn't move, yet he was stuck in a state of motion — frozen in a scream while his hand wrapped around a key in the door. Crystal wasn't sure what he had died from right off, but she assumed a heart attack of some sort. The man was older — around her grandfather's age.

Any other time, the death would've given Crystal some pause, but it wasn't the time or the place for mourning or pondering death. An imaginary clock was ticking in the back of her head, and death was becoming an all-too-real possibility for her. With as much courage as she could muster, while fighting back the bile rising in her throat, she kicked at the man until he fell over with a hard thud. His mouth still hung open, but his arm bent at a weird angle, broken, but still outreaching. It almost looked like he was trying to scold Crystal even in death, but Crystal couldn't take any more time. The screaming was ratcheting higher and higher, and any second the meteorites would hit and destroy everything without a care.

Hands shaking, she gripped the key still in the door with one hand, but couldn't get her grip steady enough to turn it. With a panicked screech, she muttered, "Come on, come on, come on," her fearful chant. She finally turned it when she used her other hand to steady the first. Rushing inside, she didn't take the time to remove the key, but used up precious seconds closing the door behind her and leaning up against it, gasping for breath. Even if it didn't matter, not being able to see the meteorites anymore was beyond comforting. Though she still shook, her body steadied itself much easier in the warehouse, but the heat was beyond stifling in the metal building. It also didn't help that she had on a hoodie, which she immediately stripped off without much thought. Much cooler and with a much more level-head, she looked around the warehouse, not surprised to find it sparsely filled. There were about four racks of sportswear, mainly because the college was in the throes of football season, and most of the product was already out in the stores. She guessed the man outside had been the owner and was on his way to count the final load before sending it off.

Regardless, she headed toward the racks, hoping to find some piece of furniture or something she could hide under in case the warehouse wasn't strong enough to hold out against the meteorites. Thankfully there was a desk, seemingly made out of some kind of metal, but Crystal couldn't tell what kind. It would have to do. She was about to prepare for the worst and crawl beneath the desk when her eyes caught the papers stacked neatly on the desk. Her hands grazed the papers — cold despite the heat, as if they hadn't been touched in some time. It was a spreadsheet stack, detailing the quantity of each item still left in the warehouse. Something about those papers brought the bile in her throat back up, but she didn't get a chance to relieve her stomach before a screech of something crushing metal rang out above her head, the lights flickering along with it. Thankfully, the lights came back on with no trouble, but the roof was already buckling in on itself, and Crystal assumed it was due to the meteorite that had left a dent the size of a Smart Car in the metal.

With no more time, Crystal dropped to the floor and pushed her way under the desk, folding up enough to fit perfectly inside. Her body strained to fit in the position required, but once the meteorites started to hit in their strange symphony against the roof, Crystal could have folded herself into a pretzel just out of fear. The roof matched the screaming with its own cries of pain, and it wasn't long before one side of the roof fell along with the meteorites. Crystal was thankful to find it wasn't on her side, and the desk was strong enough to stand the shock of the roof falling to lean against it, but it didn't stop Crystal from screaming in utter fear and surprise.

But not long after the roof fell, the meteorites' screams petered out until the only screams were those of Crystal, and those didn't stop until her voice grew hoarse, and her voice kept breaking with each intake of breath. Then, with sore muscles, she crawled out from under the desk into complete darkness, except for a thin trail of light filtering in from the far side of the warehouse. Wiping away the sweat and tears that had poured during the rain of meteorites, Crystal cleared her throat and started on her trek toward the light, all the while praying she didn't trip over or hit any of the clothing racks. Once she got to the light, her hope diminished to a rising of claustrophobia. The light was coming from a small gap between the wall and the roof, warped from the meteorites indenting and pulling at the metal. She could barely fit her hand through, much less climb out, and the only exit she knew of was on the other side of the warehouse. The tears were rising again, and she was doing her best to try and think of some way to get out, but the only thing she could think of was the stupid clothing racks.

She tried to follow that line of thought, hoping for some inspiration, and found herself wondering if they were the cheap plastic or the nice metal kind. She hadn't thought to look when she came in, and instead began to pray she could find or knock some over before disappearing back into the darkness. Thankfully, she toed the rack before she could run into it, and was pleased to find that her hands touched cool metal when she began to pull it back towards the little stream of light. Once she had at least a dim stream of light coming in onto the rack, she tugged on the ends of the main bar, dislodging it, which caused the jerseys to fall on the ground in a heap. Crystal was about to abandon the jerseys to work solely with her bar when she thought better of it, and bent down to scoop one up.

She had to squint to properly see, but managed to wrap the jersey around the end of the bar to create a handle. Then, she shoved the other end of the bar into the gap, gritting her teeth at the sharp sound of metal on metal. Unfortunately, she couldn't find the strength or the leverage to pull the bar any farther than the gap would allow, no matter how many times she yanked. Crystal tried to hold back her scream of frustration, but it ended up falling out as a grunt. She was losing patience fast, and her anxiety was heightening with every second she remained in the seemingly shrinking warehouse. Gripping the jersey, she lifted herself off the ground and walked up the wall until she was in a crouched position. Her arms shook with her added weight, but Crystal didn't take any time to notice. Instead, she focused on pushing off the wall and pulling on the bar, which managed to pull the metal back enough to allow light to illuminate even more of the room. Her hope renewed, Crystal continued to pull and pull, despite the harsh screams of the metal and her own sweat beginning to drip into her eyes. Finally, the bar came loose and her legs straightened out completely, the gap open as wide as she could possibly get it. Her head fell back and thumped against the tile as she hit the floor, despite her backpack taking the brunt of the shock. After all that work, she ended up back in darkness, but instead of the darkness of the warehouse, she lost herself to the darkness of unconsciousness.

When Crystal woke up, she found herself staring into a bright light, but it wasn't the afterlife. She didn't know how long she had been out, but by the sounds her stomach made upon her awakening, it had to be long enough for hunger to settle in. Crystal mentally cursed herself for not eating before she left for school, but her thoughts began to swim together as she tried to sit up. The light tilted and moved around in her vision. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, willing the throbbing to stop and for things to settle, and with time they did. But standing up was an entirely different animal.

The moment she did, the bile that had been fighting with her finally won out, and she doubled over to let it. Once her retching had subsided and the awful taste had cleared enough that she could concentrate on something else, the memory of the gap in the wall brought her right back into business mode. She rushed over and peered out to the other side, which was full of light. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, which made the heat just as unbearable as before, but she took the sight of the sun clear and present as a good sign. Regardless, when she climbed through the gap and found her balance on the uneven incline of the roof, avoiding the meteorites, both cooled and still flaming, was a challenge that made her weakness even more apparent. She needed food, and quick. In the meantime, she shook with every step and tried her best not to trip and fall, but her legs were like noodles. Thankfully, she made it to the door without too much trouble, and she didn't hesitate to open it.

But when she saw the outside world, she almost preferred the darkness of the warehouse — almost. She didn't feel claustrophobic anymore, but the fear it left behind was all-consuming. Meteorites had completely destroyed the Little Caesar's next door, and the building behind it was still in flames, though it was more a burning pile of ash than anything. She looked to the man whom she had pushed over to get into the warehouse and was surprised to find him still intact and still silently screaming. If she wasn't still sick, she might have moved him or buried him, but her stomach was already beginning to lurch at the thought. Instead she headed back to the road, avoiding the fires, the meteorites, and the blood splatter. How could there be so much blood and no bodies? Once she got back to the road, she even looked for the out-reaching arm of the man she saw before it all had gone down, but it was either destroyed or under another meteorite.

The only hopeful image in the scene of destruction was her little green Volkswagen, remotely the same except for a large dent in roof. Because of the round hood, the meteorite that had hit it rolled off and sat coldly behind it. Looking around, her car was probably the one in the best shape except for a few sitting abandoned on the road. She might have gone to look into some of the cars, but joy over her car still being in working order preceded any need for scouring, and with another migraine coming on she really didn't feel the need for standing out in the heat any longer than was necessary. She needed something to eat, and that thought brought about an image of her mother's house, which was conveniently located in Tuscaloosa. It would take about ten minutes to get there, as long as the roads were fairly clear, and judging by the lack of life and police, Crystal assumed they would be. Yet, that lacking also brought a pit of dread in her empty stomach, and as she opened the car door, only to have it fall and scrape the ground, it only increased her fear.

Even the small fact that her air still worked did nothing to comfort her as she pulled out over the median and onto the road.

Navigating the roads was a lot more complicated than she would've liked to admit, mainly due to meteorites and not dead people, which Crystal was thankful for. But there were bodies, and plenty of them. Despite having already emptied most of her stomach's contents, she still found herself gagging every time she passed an even partially burned body. The ones that didn't look burned or harmed, she just told herself they were asleep, but even that had a haunting spin to it that made her uncomfortable. It was even worse when she had to swallow her disgust and drive over some of them. She wasn't going to get out of the car, and it was easier to close her eyes and step on the gas than to have to move them out of the way. She would mourn them later.

But as she drove farther on, past piles of ash that used to be buildings and even a few people, heads hanging toward the ground as they walked, Crystal's throat repeatedly clenched and unclenched with held-back sobs. Somehow, she saw her sister and her mother in those people, and even in the dead. It made her press the gas a little harder, despite her best efforts to calm her quivering legs.

When she did make it to her mother's neighborhood, she was relieved to find no flames engulfing any houses or dead bodies piled up along the street, but trees. Her mother's neighborhood had been known for its trees, but now huge magnolias that had lived through tornadoes and storms were destroyed and broken in half by meteorites that still rested near the stumps. Crystal could still smell the sweet blossoms and remember how the leaves would fall on her as she read beneath their branches. She often recalled a leaf she had kept and used as bookmark, and as she parked her car she longed for such a simple comfort. She climbed out of the car, taking care not to scrape the door on the ground any more than she already had, and slammed it shut. A tree had fallen directly in the road, and there was no maneuvering around it without risking busting a tire or harming her Bug more than she already had. Even out of the car there was no way around the tree. Crystal was no athlete, but she was going to have to scale the tree to get into the neighborhood. Gripping the bark, she climbed, inch by inch, each time allowing the bark to dig into her flesh and catch her clothes. Still, she climbed and reveled in the natural and familiar smell she had come to recognize as her "I'm home," smell. If she could, she'd bottle it up and take it with her, just in case she had to leave.

But that thought in itself made her heart ache, and instead she banished it, hoping her skin or her clothes would catch the scent and she'd be able to carry it that way. If not, she'd ingrain it in her mind forever. It took her much longer than she originally had guessed to scale the trunk of the tree, mainly because she spent so much time drifting and remembering times that would no longer be relevant. Regardless, she pushed through the nostalgia and made her way into her mother's neighborhood.

Most houses creaked with the weight of their fallen structures as Crystal bounded down the street, trying to find a house that looked as if it had at least some life in it. Where had all the people gone? There were cars both along the curb and in the driveways, but none of them looked to have even been touched since she last visited, and how long ago had that been? She couldn't even remember, and the regret stung even as her mother's house came into view, nearly untouched. Though the house had been untouched and its frame glistened with new paint, probably the 50th coat if Crystal had to guess, the door was strangely ajar. As many times as Crystal's mother had complained about shutting the door all the way, even if the world ended, Crystal's mother wasn't one to break her habits. That little pit of dread, which had continued to weigh her down, seemed to jump up into her throat, and Crystal found herself bounding down the street and into the house with the lightness of a feather.

The moment her shoes squeaked on the hardwood, she was calling for her mother and her sister, Angel. Their names tumbled out of her mouth as she rushed through the house, taking note of strange things missing. Couch cushions, whole cabinets of food, her mom's bags, the mattress and sheets, all gone, but one room had been yet to be checked. Her family hadn't responded to any of her calls, and the final room was her sister's. She didn't want them to be in the room, and as she wrapped her hand around the shockingly chilled knob, she mentally willed the room to be in the same state as the rest of the house — relatively empty.

And when she opened the door, tremors of held-back sobs raced up her torso, down her arms and legs, up into her throat, and out of her mouth as a cry. On her light green plush rug, her mother and sister lay, a bullet hole through her mother's head, and another through Angel's chest. Her mother's arms were wrapped around her sister. Crystal stepped into the room, toeing around the small pool of blood that had stained the rug brown and spread out to the hardwood floor. She pressed both hands to her mouth, cupping back the sobs and letting the tears spill over and trail down her fingers. The only thing running through her mind was how peaceful they looked, holding each other as if asleep.
CHAPTER 2

She gave them the best burial she could manage on her own, in the backyard. Crystal figured they would have wanted to be buried together, and in all honesty she couldn't bear to separate them.

Their grave was shallow, but it was all Crystal could do without passing out on an empty stomach. She had finished their burial sometime in the afternoon. The sun had dipped to just above the horizon, but she remained standing over the little dirt pile until night fell. Her tears had long since been spent, but silent sobs still wracked her frame. After a while, the sobs faded away and she was left with a feeling of emptiness. Her hunger had been numbed, but her stomach continued its cries for sustenance. She didn't want to eat, but if she was going to make it back to her home alive, she would have to do something. With one last look to the mound, which held her family, memories, and life, she turned back to the houses and headed inside.

The back door led straight into the kitchen, also covered with layers upon layers of paint. Her mom had been all about home renovation, and every time Crystal came to visit, her mother would have some project going on that she needed help with. Crystal used to grunt and roll her eyes at her mom's requests, but she would kill to be painting the kitchen walls with her again. Though after burying two bodies in one day, she didn't think she'd be up for any more killing. Instead, she focused on her gnawing hunger, and tried her best to hold back the headache that was starting pound in her temples.

Just like the first time she ran through, the kitchen was relatively empty and all of the cabinets were wide open, except for a few empty bags of chips, which were both still in the cabinets and lying on the ground. Whoever had come in, Crystal assumed, had been raised in a barn. Thankfully though, as she scanned the bottom cabinets - her mom had put in floor to ceiling cabinets as soon as they moved in - there were a few choice items left behind. A pack of saltines and a plastic container with her sister's favorite sugar cookies.

Crystal bent down and scooped her spoils off their shelves before straightening up and dumping them back onto the counter. There were about forty-five crackers in a sleeve, and she gazed over at the fridge, deciding whether or not it would be worth looking to see if anything was left taking. She wasn't sure how long she had been passed out in the warehouse, and if her house was any indication, chances were anything left would be rotten or empty. Either way, she didn't like the thought of eating just saltines with no water, but there was no way she'd be eating the cookies yet. She could still see her sister, sitting at their living room coffee table, feet barely touching the ground, even sitting at the edge of the couch.

"Sis, can I have a cookie, now?" Angel's little pixie voice rang in her ears just as clearly as if she were still there. Crystal shook herself, and her resolve to not eat the cookies was complete. Instead, she shifted her bag off of her back and onto the counter, took all of her books — at least $700 worth — out and replaced them with the cookies and all except for ten crackers, which she munched on as she threw her bag back on and walked out the door. She made sure to lock and shut the door on her way out. She figured her mom would appreciate it.

The salt was bitter and the cracker was a tasteless mush that she didn't even chew, but even so, her body thanked her for it, and every step seemed a lot easier, even as the thought of her empty house trailed behind her. The climbing wasn't any easier, and the scent she had once loved became sour and made her eyes water. Regardless, she made it over and headed back to her Bug, opened the door, threw her bag in the passenger seat, and drove off, leaving behind the image of her sister and mother clutched together.

She lived in the small town of Vance, and usually took back roads to get to it. Less traffic, fewer cops, and less noise. It was the exact reason she took it back home, but her thinking couldn't have been more wrong. Crystal hadn't had access to the news prior to the meteorites, and she suddenly wished she could have the morning "talking" radio, but those who had must have been told to avoid major highways and roads. Cars were lined up bumper to bumper on the roads, and those that weren't were either crushed in or lying all across the road. Crystal could've easily maneuvered around them, but she also had to avoid people, who walked in separate family units along the sides of the road. It was the most life she had seen since the meteorite strike.

Though "life" probably wasn't the proper word to use. The people trudged along together, unaware of the other people in their own groups, much less the other groups. No one spoke, and the only sounds that could be heard were the dragging of their feet and the sound of Crystal's engine, which was completely out of place. Some carried packs, some nothing, but a majority carried other people. Crystal couldn't tell which were alive and which were dead. They all kept their eyes on the ground and slightly in front of them, avoiding looking at anything for too long, including her vehicle, which most ignored altogether.

All of the maneuvering around cars, meteorites, and people made the usual 20 or 30 minute trip an all-night excursion, and the saltines wore off quicker than Crystal would've liked. Thankfully, the clock in her car still worked, and read seven in the morning when she finally reached Vance - marked by a small white church at the very corner of the road. She passed it nearly every day, and her heart leapt at the sight of it, still standing and nearly untouched. It didn't seem like anyone was staying there, but Crystal didn't believe it'd be a long time before people were, especially judging by the volume of people making their way down. It usually held at a maximum twenty people, and only had three parking spaces.

Crystal didn't waste much more time studying the building, but took it as a sign that maybe her trailer had been untouched and she would still have a place to sleep tonight. After that, she had no clue what she'd do. Fifteen more minutes and she was pulling up into her driveway, after studying all of the farmland and farmhouses she passed, pleased to find them all untouched, like her own home. The joy that bubbled up into her chest only lasted a few seconds before dying back and being replaced by an inner dread. Everything was as it had been before she left, except the door looked somewhat warped, as if it had been kicked in, or at the very least attempted to be broken in to. The sight brought her back to her mother's house, and no amount of shaking would banish that comparison from her mind.

She got out of her car, not even taking the time to take her key out of the ignition, just in case she had to run, but she did take her bag out and draped it over her shoulders. Its weight was comforting and much lighter than it had been before she left, but her feet still thudded loudly up the steps. It took all of her patience to slow her beating heart and her quickening breath, but it was no use. The moment she stepped onto her porch and wrapped her hand around the chilly knob, all the anxiety came right back. She would've had a panic attack, had it not been for the simple fact that she had no clue what state the inside of her house was in.

With one final intake of breath, which she held in her lungs, she opened the door. Her held breath whooshed out in hiccup of surprise. There wasn't anyone in her home as far as the kitchen and living room were concerned, but someone had been in there at some point. Garbage littered the carpet and the countertops, and her couch cushions were gone, replaced with a seemingly endless pile of chip bags. She couldn't recall ever buying so many snacks. Kicking her way through the garbage until she had a semi-clean path, save for crumbs and unrecognizable stains, she made her way down to her bedroom. Something about the hallway was much more haunting than she had recalled. Shadows that she had never noticed before seemed to creep around corners, sneaking out of her bathroom and licking at the entrance to her bedroom. It seemed dangerous, deadly. Crystal wasn't sure if it was the lack of electricity or her own anxiety acting up.

Crystal swallowed down the nerves that constricted her throat and pressed her hand against her bedroom door. She was getting tired of surprises. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the wood, the cool permeating her skin and stopping the beads of sweat from slipping down into her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, but she took it in in gulps. It was calming, but the mystery behind the door sent her body rigid again. All she could do was take one final gulp, then push open the door.

Her room wasn't in much better shape. The mattress was gone, and more garbage trailed into the room to the point where she questioned if there was, in fact, a carpet beneath it all, but her eyes could only dance around the room for so long before they fell on a large mass in the middle of the room. It wasn't garbage. It was human, and a chill climbed up her skin from a fact she knew to be true — there was a dead man on her floor. Crystal heaved in another lungful of air and swiped both hands over her face multiple times before finally cupping them both over her mouth, then releasing the breath as an anxiety-filled sigh.

"This has to be a dream."

Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. It was too familiar, too normal, too casual for the new, alien world she was faced with, and the way it echoed around the room only managed to remind her how small and alone she was. After shaking herself, physically trying to rid herself of her fears, Crystal made her way around to the other side of the room, trying to get a look at who had died on her floor. The man wasn't more than thirty years old, but he didn't look old enough to be twenty-one yet, either. Crystal chalked it up to the combination of scruffy facial hair and relaxed features. It made her heart ache and dip a bit in her chest to see such a serene and relaxed look on a man's face. A face she neither recognized nor could put a name to. Crystal sent out a silent apology before sitting beside him and reaching over to his jacket, tugging it up a bit more to at least cover his mouth, which made her miss the slight twitch as a male voice tumbled out.

"I thought you were a dream." His eyes opened, and Crystal froze, but he continued on. "But there really isn't time for sweet dreams anymore."

She supposed she could've responded. She could've smiled and sent back a poetic response, but times had changed, and she responded instead with a battering of her fists against the side and top of his head, momentarily surprising him and giving her a chance to scurry away. But she didn't get too far off before a rough and calloused hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked her back. Crystal, with a high-pitched war cry, turned around, ready to strike again, but froze mid-punch, her eyes locking onto the shotgun that the man had hidden beneath his jacket. He wasn't making it a point to show it off, but he wasn't taking any time to hide it, either. Her eyes shifted up to his, only to find a blank slate. He was neither angry nor pleased, but strangely calm, and it gave Crystal goose bumps.

"Don't hit me again. Please don't. Didn't mean to scare you."

He made a face and Crystal assumed he wanted her to confirm that there would be no more attacks. She couldn't promise him a thing, and she wouldn't say a word to him, but she did put her fist down to her side. The man waited a bit longer, studying her silently, before finally releasing her ankle and rubbing his face with his now-free hand.

"Thank you. Now, where you come from?"

He had a deep Southern accent, one that would've made her heart leap at one point in time, but she found it annoying coming from someone who seemed so comfortable in her bedroom. She made her frustration known by remaining silent, sitting up, and crossing her arms across her chest. Not her most regal move, but she didn't think manners mattered much.

The man caught on pretty quickly, judging by the way he shook his head and sat up to a slumped position. He let out a loud, obnoxious sigh before looking her way.

"Name's Paul. Yours?"

Crystal pursed her lips, not sure if she was willing to divulge any information to him. He didn't falter though. He waited patiently, silent and still. His eye contact never broke, and Crystal found herself squirming under the pressure. Finally, with her own sigh of frustration, Crystal relented. If he was willing to give up some information, she would be, too. Besides, it was only fair.

"Crystal." And she left it at that, pursing her lips together again.

Paul's face registered acknowledgment to that, but a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Crystal wasn't sure whether she liked his smile or not, but she didn't have time to decide. It was time to get to business.

"Why are you in my house?"

Crystal's question had Paul's eyebrows knitting together and his eyes breaking their eye contact long enough to gaze around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time.

"This your house? Explains why you're here." His eyes, paired alongside that tugging smirk, lighted on her for an instant, before his eyes drifted away and to the garbage on the floor. "Sure didn't know how to keep house."

For a few seconds, Crystal sat in silence, not fully understanding his accusation, but when it finally did settle in, a heated blush rose to her cheeks. She sent a heavy scowl his way before responding.

"I didn't do this." And she stabbed a finger in his direction before continuing. "You did."

Her childish voice made her wince, but she tried to shake it off with a disapproving shake of her head before dropping her hand back into her lap. Paul studied her, his face blank for a few seconds, causing Crystal a bit of anxiety before he broke out into a full laugh, gripping his sides and heaving in gulps of air as he choked with his own laughter.

"I like you, Crys." His laughter trailed off, but he still had to wipe his eyes before continuing on, which only managed to rack Crystal's anger up a bit more. She also sneered at the use of a nickname. He didn't pay any attention and continued with a full-on smile, "Well, you don't have the best sense of humor, but we'll work on that. Anyway, where you been, Crys? I've been lounging here for at least four or five days."

He shrugged, pulling his gun into his lap and fumbling around the first layer of garbage for a while before finding a rag, then taking the time polish a the barrel of his gun before gazing up at Crystal, still waiting on her response. Crystal moved uncomfortably around, trying to find a more relaxed position, but she only managed to frustrate herself. How was it possible that Paul could look more relaxed in her home than she was? She let out a puff of air, giving up.

"I was at school, the University of Alabama. I was stuck there for a while. It's near-impossible to maneuver the roads, even with a small Volkswagen Bug."

That final bit of information paused Paul in his task of cleaning his gun, and his eyes squinted in thought and confusion.

"You have a car? Here?"

His surprise had Crystal wary. She squinted, mumbling in a hesitant whisper, while hitching a thumb over her shoulder, "Yeah. Outside. Why?"

Paul didn't waste any time rising up. Crystal tried to question him, but he was on a mission and tuned out everything she said. It had her huffing, but she was more concerned about why he took such interest in her car. Without any warning, he shoved her bed frame out of the way, the metal clattering against the wall and making Crystal wince. She usually had her frame covering the far window, which looked out to the road and the driveway, but the light of the waning morning filtered into the room, stunning Crystal's eyes. She blinked through the tears, and tried to see Paul as he gazed out the window.

"Have the keys?"

Crystal wiped at her eyes, trying to call up the memory of where she last had her keys, then shook her head as if he were looking her way before responding out loud.

"No. I left them in the car. Why?"

He turned around to look at her, his face full of a seriousness that she couldn't quite place.

"You said it was a green Bug?"

She nodded, not taking the time to respond out loud.

He turned back toward the window, peering out toward the highway.

"Must be the same Bug that's driving away."

It didn't take any time at all for her to react, with both a squeal and stumbling break toward the window. Calling on a strength she didn't know she had, she pushed Paul out of the window, taking a moment to note the full strength of muscle he had beneath the jacket and gray tee he wore. He didn't stumble back as far as she wanted, but it was enough for her to squeeze in between him and the window, and she barely caught the tail of her green Bug whipping around and off the end of her road to the highway. Her mind swam with incoherent thoughts, and she found herself drifting away from the window back toward the center of the room where Paul had been sleeping. If she could, she would've dropped there and just lain down. The car had been the final straw, but she wasn't going to rest or relax with Paul around. She didn't trust him enough. Instead she settled for awkwardly squirming in silence as she stood there, back toward Paul.

"Hey, no need in getting upset. You still got your feet, and some nice shoes to boot. You can travel on foot."

He sounded genuine, concerned, but Crystal wasn't in the mood. All of the anxiety that had been building was spilling over in the form of tears, and she couldn't bring herself to turn to face Paul. She was embarrassed, but why? She wasn't sure. It wasn't like she actually knew who Paul was, but after everything that had happened, how was it possible one person could lose so much in just two days? The longer she stood, tears pouring even harder, the more her body reacted. With every new outpour, her shoulders shook and tiny whimpers clawed up her throat.

"Crys. Crystal? Hey, don't cry."

She could hear his feet scuffing along the carpet of the floor, but she refused to turn around, even when his hand cradled one of her shoulders.

"You have to look at the bright side. Come on now. At least you're alive."

At his final point, she turned to face him head-on, though he stood at least a full head taller than her, but his hand slid right back to her shoulder, the other hand doing the same to the other. He was smiling, and his smile's optimism was sickening. If only he had seen the house she had grown up in, maybe he would feel a bit differently. Regardless, he continued to smile, creating a quiet chant out of his comforting words, though he might as well have been silent. Eventually his chant stopped, and her tears did, too. Still, her sadness was palpable in the room, and she could see Paul physically unnerved by it. His thumbs rubbed her shoulders through the thin material of her shirt, over and over again, and he kept nibbling at the left corner of his mouth. It made him look much younger.

"I got an idea. Where's your family? I can take you there on my way to Virginia. We'll have to walk, but I can at least give you a body to talk to."

His offer was kind, and if the situation had been different, Crystal wouldn't have thought twice about taking him up on it. She didn't know what else was out in the world, she didn't know Paul, and she had no family to go to. She was alone, except for the man standing in front of her, who continued to rub her shoulders even when she had stopped crying long ago.

Crystal shook her head.

"No."

Paul frowned, his forehead wrinkling along with it, and Crystal noted how easily he went from looking her age to a 30-year-old man. She would have to ask him about his age later, as she had too much to concentrate on.

"Why not?" He furrowed his brow, obviously confused by Crystal's outright refusal.

Crystal pondered her answer, not sure how she would. Should she be honest, or vague? She didn't really have a decision in the matter; instead, her body had a different reaction. She shook, physically starting from her legs up to her arms. She looked directly in Paul's eyes, unable to cry, but feeling as if the tears were pouring out all the same.

"I don't have any family to go to."

Paul's eyes went wide, the blues standing out against their white backgrounds. Hadn't that been the same color of the man's eyes who had died the day the meteorites hit? Crystal couldn't be sure. Paul, usually relaxed and laid-back — which Crystal had come to know from just their short time together — was at a loss. He was rigid, shoulders hiked up, and his thumbs no longer moved against her shirt. They instead pressed firmly in place.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

Crystal shook her head, trying her best to calm down and respond, but only managing a shaking intake of breath. Paul shook his head, using his hands to rub up and down the tops of her arms.

"Don't say anything." Then he stopped, focusing solely on her face. "You already know where I'm heading. If you want to come, the offer stands. If not, I'll let you alone here."

Crystal didn't meet his eyes, instead allowing herself to drift as she thought out her answer. All the garbage was painful to her eyes, the colors obnoxious in contrast to what she knew was a beige carpet beneath. It made her scowl, but she didn't dwell too long on it. Instead, her gaze moved past Paul back to the bed frame shoved in the corner of the room. There wasn't a mattress or any sheets, but they had left the box spring. She looked to Paul again, his face registering non-commitment, but his eyes sparkled with what Crystal could identify as hope. She wondered how long he had been alone before she came along. He had said he had been in her house for at least five days, but how long had he been alone before then? There were so many things she didn't know, but with the loss of everything around her, did she really have anything to lose? With that question, her answer became clear.

"Yeah. I'll go."

Crystal rushed as much as she could to pack up for the trip, which wasn't as easy as she had guessed because of the volume of trash versus quality supplies. Their total haul was a box of cheese crackers, a sandwich bag full of Cocoa Puffs, two bottles of Sprite, and a few apples. It was poor, but it was enough to go on for a few days. It was guns that Crys found to be the most admirable haul. She had two pistols of her own. Her uncle had got her one for when she started college, despite her many attempts at trying to explain that she wouldn't be able to carry it with her. He wouldn't hear of it and got it for her anyway.

The other she had acquired from a gun expo in Texas not too long ago. She wasn't the most redneck of folks, but her family was Southern by nature, and even she had found herself coveting different types of guns, though she wasn't one to hunt. Paul, on the other hand, was probably a hunter by trade, but that was another question she would have to ask another day. Business was the name of the game. While she slipped their haul into her bag and her pistols into the back of her jeans, Paul was explaining what he had seen since leaving his own home. Apparently groups of people had banded together, stealing, killing, and kidnapping people. He referred to them as "looters." The term made Crystal smile. It sounded like something from an old Western. Did Paul watch Westerns?

She looked to Paul, standing in the doorway, door wide open. She had assumed he was watching the sun fall, but his eyes were latched on her. His gun dangled lazily at his side, his grip on the butt relaxed. Crystal had a momentary flash of Paul as one of those men — a looter. The image didn't sit well in her stomach, and neither did his stare. She wondered if looters had killed her family, and she wondered how many people Paul killed with that gun.

"What are you looking at?"

Paul shook his head and responded, "Nothing. Come on. Sun's going down."
CHAPTER 3

Walking hadn't been Crystal's first choice in transportation, and every time they passed any car, Crystal attempted a plea bargain with Paul, hoping he would eventually give in and try to get into a car. Unfortunately, he always had the same response.

"Crys, not everyone leaves their keys in their car. It's not worth the time, and it's not worth the effort."

It was a burn, and it hit home every time. In the end, she was the one to give up, and instead would pout and gaze longingly at every car, making sure Paul saw, but he would only shake his head and laugh. It wasn't the response she was hoping for, but it made everything a bit lighter. Paul gave off a feeling of normalcy and familiarity, something that Crystal felt lacking in her own self. She wasn't so much bitter as she was envious, but she also found herself drifting to thoughts about what he was like prior to the meteorites and the looters.

"Paul, why are you so determined to get to Virginia?"Paul stumbled a bit, and Crystal immediately began regretting even bringing it up, but Paul took it in the next stride.

"I have family there. I'm from Virginia."

At the mention of his family, her thoughts began to drift to her own. It must have shown on her face because Paul gave her a sympathetic side long glance before continuing on. She was thankful he didn't press her.

"Enough about me. Where you from, Crys? What were you studying in college?"

Crys cleared her throat of any choked back emotion before responding. "I'm from the Tuscaloosa-Vance areas. I've lived in Alabama my entire life, and as far as studying," she gazed off toward the sky, "I'm not sure. I was going for a history degree to begin with, hoping to push that toward a law degree, but I might have changed my mind. I guess I'll never know."

The finality of it all had her feeling empty, but Paul's laugh pulled her back enough to keep the emotions from overtaking her again.

"I wonder if there will be history books written about this."

Crystal looked his way again, surprised to find him staring at the ground as they continued to walk, a frown and thought lines marring his young features. Her answer to that question would be loaded. Would there be history books? Would there still be books? She didn't have an answer, and she wanted to change the subject as quickly as she possibly could as the sadness was clawing its way back.

"Paul, how old are you?"

He looked her way, sincerely surprised, "Twenty. Why?"

It was Crystal's turn to be shocked, "Really? It's hard to tell. Sometimes you look so much older than I am, then other times you look my age."

Paul sent her a warm smile. "And what is your age?"

Crystal blushed, crossing her arms and looking forward again. "Don't you know it's improper to ask a lady her age? But," and she smiled before continuing, "I'm eighteen."

"Hey, let's take a break and get some food in us. We'll talk more later."

Crystal stopped and dropped her bag on the ground beside her, then watched as Paul did the same before he dropped down and sat cross-legged. She followed his motions, then pulled her bag into her lap and rifled through the contents, somewhat annoyed by the way her guns pressed against the small of her back with every shift in her movements. She would never get used to such a feeling.

They both pulled out their Sprites, conservatively sipping them while going through and deciding what they could eat and what would be best saved for later. Much to Crystal's chagrin, Paul suggested they eat the crackers first. She didn't complain, and instead stuffed a few of them into her mouth before settling into a comfortable silence, except for the occasional crunch of a stale cracker. After swallowing a mouthful, Crystal decided crackers would always taste like mushy cardboard. She didn't eat any more. Paul had most of the sleeve, taking his time and plucking them out one at a time. Crystal thought for a while he was actually savoring them, something she herself couldn't bring herself to do. But after ten crackers in, he gave a frustrated sigh, closed the package, and passed them back to Crystal.

She shoved them back into her bag, then she and Paul both resettled their packs, stood up, brushed off the dirt and grass, slung their packs back on, and continued to walk.

"Feeling better?"

Paul's voice was much lighter than it had been, and that small change had Crystal feeling a little lighter herself, walking much quicker than she had before. How long had it been since he last ate something? Crystal tried not to focus too hard on that question, instead going back to their lighthearted discussion.

"Yes. Now, what college were you going to before all this happened?"

Paul shook his head. "I didn't go to college."

Crystal nodded. Not all of her classmates had gone to college, many of them opting for early career programs and full-time employment.

She asked, "What high school did you graduate from?"

Paul shook his head again. "I didn't graduate high school."

Crystal fumbled a bit on that response, surprised that Paul would drop out. He didn't seem like a college guy, but he didn't seem uneducated, either. Her only guess was that it was a last-minute decision.

"What high school did you go to, then?"

Paul shook his head one more time, this one hesitant and slow. "I didn't go to high school."

She was about to ask why when they came upon a small suburb, something Crystal hadn't seen since leaving her mother's home. Crystal let out a heave of a sigh, releasing much of the anxiety she held tight in her chest, but it left her feeling hollow. Still, Paul pushed on, heading straight for the buildings while Crystal fumbled close behind, not sure why he was determined to make over there.

"Paul. What are we doing?"

He peered at her over his shoulder, not slowing a single step in his stride. "Where there are houses, there are supplies. Got to think ahead, Crys."

Crystal was reminded of the looters in an instant, and an image of Paul poised over a family not unlike her own with gun aimed and ready to fire flashed before her vision. She tried to shake past the image, but the closer they got to the homes, the more prominently it showed in Paul's behavior.

He refused to let her check the houses, wanting to be the first one in and to check around for stability issues in the structures. She didn't like him going in by himself, but she was relieved to be able to stand outside and listen. His footsteps would sound against the different floors, sometimes speedier than the last set, and the buildings would either creak or lurch in response. But in the few moments before he would finally emerge and give the final verdict on the building's soundness, she would wonder if people were inside, hiding. Would Paul find them? If he did, what would he do to them? Thankfully, she never got an answer. After ten identical houses, all of which Paul deemed as unfit for them to stay in, one, which had no exterior damage, was Paul's next hunt.

Something about the home with its inviting and warm untouched exterior had Crystal's panic ratcheting up. It was even worse once Paul made his way to the front door, turned the knob with one hand while the other cradled his shotgun, and slipped inside. The familiar padding of his feet was far from a comfort, and her fears surfaced the moment she heard them stop. The silence was drawn out for what felt like hours, and Crystal was left outside to squirm, unsure of what was going on and fearing the sound of gunfire. Eventually, Paul did round the corner of the doorframe, grinning from ear to ear.

"Come on in, Crys. We got ourselves a honey hole."

Though Crys smiled back and headed up the steps with a light step, she couldn't seem to swallow down the small knot that had begun to form in her throat.

But the moment she stepped into the house, most of her worries melted away to an unconscious part of her mind, somewhere to be dealt with later. The home was warmly decorated — chocolate brown furniture, red-shaded floor lamps, and pictures of a wholesome-looking family, all of them dressed in white. It was perfect, far too perfect to still be a part of the world outside. Crystal was reminded of Alice stepping through the looking glass, but mentally shook herself and remembered that it was just a fairy tale.

Regardless, Paul spared no time in relaxing and making himself at home. He dropped down on one of the white couches, kicking out his feet and propping his boots up onto the coffee table. All he needed was the TV remote and a beer. The image had Crystal smiling, but the contrast between Paul's dark clothes and the smudges of grime had her wincing as it rubbed off on the couch with every movement. Things looked perfect, but it was only a matter of time until they weren't. With her mood somewhat solemn, she went into a business mode and looked around the house. The kitchen connected to the right side of the living room, and a hallway with three doors went off from the right side of the front of the door, adjacent to the kitchen. After the saltines, food was the only thing on Crystal's mind, and she didn't spare a moment longer in the doorway and instead rushed into the kitchen.

The kitchen was just as perfect as the living room had been — deep brown woods for the cabinets and floor, stainless steel appliances, and granite countertops — but Crystal didn't take the time to enjoy it all. She knew disappointment would follow. The only thing she appreciated was the lack of garbage spread about. She had taken that as a sign of looters, which meant there would probably be better treats to be found in the cabinets. Opening cabinet after cabinet, her heart leapt in her chest, and she took mental note of every item she found worth taking. Many different boxes of dry cereal, different brands of crackers, canned meats and vegetables, cheeses, bottles of water still in the packaging, flavor packets for the water, and boxes of granola bars. Paul had been right — it was beyond a honey hole, and Crystal was already plucking things off the shelves and tearing them open before she called out to him.

"Paul, have you seen everything that's in these cabinets?"

She waited patiently, hands poised and ready to delve into her hoard, but there was no response. She dropped her hands back onto the counters, eyes drifting to the doorway, which led out to the living room. Everything was silent. She absent-mindedly reached back to feel the cool metal of one of her guns against her fingertips.

She called out again. "Paul," she paused before continuing, "are you okay?"

Still no answer.

Abandoning her hoard, reluctantly of course, she crept back around the counters and pressed herself against the side of the doorway. After some arguing back and forth silently with herself, she reached back and pulled out one of her pistols. She pressed her finger against the trigger, palming the butt in between both of her hands. Crystal took in a deep breath, then jumped into the doorway, gun poised and pointed, but there was no one in the room. No one who needed to be shot, anyway. Paul stood at the mantle of the fireplace, rigid and studying something on the mantle with such intensity he blocked out everything else, including Crystal's voice.

She slipped her gun back into the back of her jeans, the metal clinking against the other gun, before she began to walk over to Paul. Crystal was tentative — scared, even — to say anything to him, but she didn't want to shock him with her presence.

"Paul? Paul, are you okay?"

Once she was close enough, she pressed a hand against the elbow of his jacket, causing him to jerk in surprise before relaxing and looking her directly in the face. In that moment he looked like a 50-year-old man. She didn't know what made him look so much older than he truly was, but it was doing its work. His whole form sagged, and the dark circles under his eyes created a sunken look on his face. He was hollow. Crystal didn't ask anything; instead, looking over at the mantle, she was surprised to find the only thing to look at was a family photo. A mother, a father, and two boys, all dressed in snow jackets and toboggans. Wherever they had been when the picture was taken, they were happy and close. It sunk Crystal's shoulders, and she found herself sagging along with Paul. Did she look older to him, too?

She didn't ask. Instead she gripped his elbow and led him away from the mantle, not sure where she was taking him. She wanted somewhere they could both break away from the dull ache the warm family room had begun to emanate. They trudged down the hall, passing both of the doors leading off into what Crystal assumed was the guest room and the bathroom. The last door in the hallway was the master bedroom, sparsely decorated compared to the living room and kitchen, but the king-sized bed was what Crystal had come for. Though Paul could've led himself, she continued to pull him to one side of the bed, taking his gun from his hand without any resistance. Then, she stood back and looked away while he took off his bag, jacket, and pants, before crawling into the bed and under the covers.

Crystal watched him scoot all the way across to the other side of the bed before relaxing with his back to her. She entertained the idea of crawling in with him, but she was adamant that he still wasn't to be trusted. She leaned over the bed to put his gun near him, then straightened up and began to tip toe to the door.

"Hey, where are you going?"

She turned back to find him sitting up and looking at her, confused.

"I was going to see if there was another room."

Paul shook his head, patting the other side of the bed. "It's safer if we sleep in the same room. I can protect you," he pulled his gun closer to his side, "and you can protect me."

Crystal knew he was right, but she wanted to argue with him. It was more of a comfort thing than a logical one, and she wasn't willing to let go of her comfort just yet, but then she looked into his eyes. He looked tired, and she was sure she did, too, but there was sadness, too. She still didn't know anything about him, but she would tonight. Crystal walked back to her side of the bed, dropped her bag, put her pistols on the side table, and climbed in. For a while, she sat up, silently studying the room, while Paul scooted down and laid his head on the pillow, facing her. His eyes were closed, but by the way he smiled, he was awake.

"Paul, why do you want to go to Virginia so bad?"

The smile faded fast, and he opened his eyes, but didn't look at her. Instead, he gazed past her to the blank wall.

"I have family there. My mother and brother."

Crystal wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore. Something about the way he said it made her heart sink, and she feared what he would say next, but she had already asked, and she had plenty more to go.

"Why were you in Alabama, then?"

With that question, he met her eyes.

"I dropped out of school at sixteen. Came down here to work. Mom already had two jobs, and my brother was just starting middle school. I wasn't going to let him drop out."

He had worked for four years, and Crystal finally understood why he could look so young one moment, then old the next. He truly was tired, and she couldn't bring herself to question him anymore. Instead, she scooted down until the covers were up to her chin, turned on her side to face him, and closed her eyes. She would let him rest, and while he rested, she thought of the picture on the mantle before drifting off to sleep.

When she woke up, she found Paul sitting up and staring intently at the door to the bedroom. She was glad to see the sadness gone from his eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced with Paul's hand. He covered her mouth, and gave her a focused sidelong glance before nodding toward the door.

Crystal looked toward the door and realization hit her when she began to hear footsteps in the house. She looked toward Paul wide-eyed, and mouthed to him looters. He nodded in confirmation and pressed a finger to his lips.

Paul climbed out of bed and Crystal followed, scooping her guns off of the side table. They put on their clothes and bags. She knew Paul would do his best to get them both out of there without harm if he could, and she didn't need to hear him say it to know that.

He made his way over to the door and pressed his ear to, and Crystal was close behind. He didn't have to listen for long because soon there were at least twelve different voices whispering at once. Crystal suddenly began to feel panicked, and it must have shown because his hands were on her shoulders in a second. He shook his head, and she didn't need words to know he was telling her not to panic. She nodded in response.

He nodded and pointed down at the floor, where the light filtered in from a small gap. She dropped down on the floor and gazed out with one eye. The bedroom they were in was directly across from the kitchen, which both cut between the living room and the entrance. There were four men in the living room, talking in what looked like a very intense conversation. But what caught her attention were their guns. Two gun bags per each man, and one looked like he even had a holster for a pistol of some kind.

It took everything Crystal had to not start freaking out again. She assumed the other men were in the kitchen, and she mentally began cussing herself for leaving the supplies they had found there. She got back up and Paul looked at her expectantly.

She tried her best to speak in a whisper. "Four in the living room. Rest are in the kitchen."

Paul nodded and whispered back. "We'll risk a run for it. Don't look back. Quiet until we reach the door, then burn rubber."

Crystal decided if she had to she'd run until she burnt the rubber off her Converse, as long as it meant survival. And without a word it was time to go. Paul led and began opening the door a small crack, just enough to let her through. He looked at her determined, but even Crystal could still see the fear dancing behind his eyes. She made her way out the door, creeping by and praying the men in the living room wouldn't look up from their conversation.

She eventually made it to the door and looked back to where Paul began his trek out. He saw her look and shook his head, pointing forward.

Don't look back, right.

She looked toward the door and reached for the handle. Her hand touched on it, and at the same time, it turned. She froze.

Someone was about to come in. She turned to look at Paul, just as the door opened. Paul lifted his shotgun and...

POW!

Warm blood splattered on Crystal's face and hands. She looked back at the ground in front of her, and there lay the man who was about to come in, eyes wide in surprise. She then looked at her hands and saw the blood. His blood, on her hands.

"Crystal. Run! What the hell are you doing?"

And with that call, she took off. More gunshots erupted back at the house and it took all the strength she had to not look back. She heard a set of footsteps behind her and Paul's voice commanding her to just keep going and to not stop. She wouldn't. As long as he kept telling her to, she would never stop running. More gunshots rang out, and then she heard Paul's voice break.

His warnings and commands stopped, as did his footsteps. Despite everything he had told her before their escape, she stopped and looked back to find Paul lying on the ground, clutching his left leg. Blood stained his pants and the ground under him. Crystal cried out to him and went directly to his side.

"Come on, we have to go. You can make it."

Paul's eyes were shut, and Crystal wasn't sure if he had always been that pale. He ground his teeth and hissed for her to go before they found her.

But before she could even demand that he shut up and let her help him, a swift hit to the back of her head had her in his lap. Stars danced across her vision, and she wasn't sure but she thought she heard Paul yelling at someone. She wanted to cover his mouth, but her arms were just too heavy to lift.

A pair of rough hands found her and dragged her up. Voices were commanding her, but there was no way she could understand them much less do what she was being told. Instead she felt the best course of action was to sleep.

And sleep she did.
CHAPTER 4

This time when she awoke, she found herself lying on Paul. When she felt her hands bound behind her back and the gliding of a car beneath her, the fear set in again.

Paul seemed to notice her stirring, and when their eyes met, she began to gear up for the loudest scream she could manage, but one shake of his head and she was left silent. Now wasn't the time. Instead she had to settle for a tense silence, and as much as she hated to, she waited.

Crystal gazed out the window and found herself entranced by what she saw. Mary's gas station ... the old high school hangout ... her friend's house, and the grocery store she passed every day on her way to ...

"Are we in Brookwood?" She didn't mean to ask it out loud, but either way she was met with a surprisingly calm answer from the driver.

"Yeah. We're held up in the old high school, you know the school —"

"Brookwood High, yeah, I know it well." She usually wasn't one to cut people off, but she didn't want to hear much from the guy who had aided in her kidnapping. The driver must have known conversation wasn't exactly possible and instead went back to his task of transporting them to the high school.

Paul eyed her with a look she couldn't place, but she was too busy studying his condition to worry about his thoughts. His skin was pale, and not what most would call a regular fair-skinned complexion. He had been tan, no doubt from his years of hard work and outdoor activities, and now he looked as if he had been a hermit all his life. His eyes were glassy and even through the jacket he wore she could feel his fever, and his shallow breaths weren't comforting to hear, either.

Panic rose in her chest and she suddenly felt reliant on the stranger chauffeuring them.

"Hey. My friend is hurt."

The guy let out a grunt, which sounded almost like a laugh to Crystal.

"I'm not surprised."

Crystal sent a glare in the man's direction but couldn't keep it long. Being bound didn't make the task easy, but she could wriggle enough to at least a sitting position to get her weight off of Paul. Surely lying on him hadn't helped his condition.

She mentally cursed the driver and sent a few mental daggers his way, mainly pissed at how careless he and his friends had been to just toss them in on top of each other like that. She then went to her task of surveying. It didn't take long to find the huge bloodstain on the side of his left leg, and Crystal had been lying directly on it.

She met his eyes and began to profess her apologies, but he only shook his head.

She was beyond worried and was only growing angrier by how useless she felt. She could do absolutely nothing to stop what was happening, and if it hadn't been for her, Paul probably could have been the one to escape first. He would have kept on running, wouldn't he?

She would never be sure, and her thoughts on the matter were quickly silenced by the familiar view of Brookwood High School. The driver pulled in to what was once known as the senior parking lot, and Crystal took time to survey the destruction.

Not too much had really happened to the school. The freshmen parking area — also known as the gravel pit, for obvious reasons — was just littered with large meteorites rather than the usual gravel, and the building itself had mainly aesthetic damage from what she could see. With all of its rooms and large meeting areas, it was perfect for a large group to hide out and camp in. The only major change was the old Brookwood High sign, which had been crushed beyond all recognition by a meteorite.

Crystal couldn't help the fit of nostalgia that hit her all at once. She had met all of her best friends here. Didn't some of them still live in Brookwood? She couldn't be sure, and she doubted she would ever find out.

The driver got out of the car and came around while Crystal eyed him carefully. He wasn't very tall at all — much shorter than she or Paul — and he had a beer belly, which was probably why he was only the designated chauffeur. Bald and middle-aged, poor guy didn't have much going for him.

He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. His eyes lighted on her and Paul, and his face contorted into a look she couldn't read in time before it was gone. Sympathy, maybe?

His face became serious and he spoke softly, with forced calm. "Now, I'm going to have to take you out of here." His hands gripped her arms. "Don't struggle."

And that was her cue. The moment he pulled her closer to the edge of the car, she started to flail. There wasn't much she could do with her hands being bound, but she was going to kick until she was forced down. But just as she had really started landing a few blows on the man, his fellow looters were rushing out.

They opened Paul's side and all Crystal could hear was his pained grunt as he rolled right out of the door. That momentarily stopped her struggle as she tried to swerve around to see him. Had he really been that weak? She wouldn't know because more hands had her and were ripping her out of the car.

She began her kicking again, but instead of fighting her back, this time they just dropped her. She hit the concrete hard right on her elbow, and she was pretty sure she would be bleeding the next time she sat up. She tried her best to roll over and was surprised to find as many eyes as she did directed at her. There were at least five men, not including Beer Belly that drove them there.

One man in particular scared Crystal the most. He stared at her face intently, like he was trying to read her mind.

She didn't like that look, and she definitely didn't like the man. He crouched down in front of her, his eyes falling to her feet. A smile made its way to his lips and Crystal noted how much he looked like Paul. But his smile wasn't like Paul's. It was greedy. Crystal hated the man's smile.

His hand found the heel of her shoe and he lifted it up, his eyes scanning the almost perfect Converse. Crystal went rigid, but she didn't move beyond that. The man's eyes then reached her face again.

"These are some nice shoes. Good for trading." His voice was rough. It could be cruel when it wanted to be, and Crystal could tell that he used it.

But she didn't say anything. Instead she settled with lifting her foot from his grip and curling both of them under her. She tried to make it smooth and graceful, but those binds on her arms made it more awkward than anything.

The man's smile widened.

He nodded in her direction, and then glanced at one of his men.

"Take them. We could use some more bartering items."

And there it was. That voice morphed into what she knew was pure cruelty. And almost immediately hands were on her, pinning her down. The man she hated stood up and moved out of the way, making room for another man who began to yank on her shoes.

Though they were much larger than her, she knew that she wasn't going to allow anything to happen without a fight. So, with a swift yank of her foot, a satisfying crunch came from the sole of her shoe connecting with the man's nose. He let out a wail and dropped her feet. With more leverage and the group of men now focused on their injured friend, she began her attempts at escape again, pushing every ounce of energy she had with each yank.

Though she had managed to gain some leverage, her eyes met the man who seemed to control the group and she froze. He was smiling. He said something, but Crystal couldn't hear it above the uproar she had caused. It didn't really matter. She had just enough time to scream before a fist filled her vision and made the world go black.

When she woke up, it was to pain and more darkness. She was really getting tired of waking up in strange places. She attempted to move, but found herself bound by her wrists with what she assumed was a zip tie. Her arms throbbed, and she noted the uncomfortable squeeze of the tie, which she attributed to the leader of the group, swearing when she got the chance to take revenge.

Then she remembered Paul. Panicking, she lifted her head from the ground and rolled across the floor as best she could and tried to get a better look around the room. Her head sagged back to the ground in relief when she found him slumped against the wall; he was pale and she wasn't sure if he was awake or not, but she could make out the gradual lift and fall of his form. It didn't settle all of her fear, but it was enough to ease most of the panic.

Regardless, Crystal knew they had to get out of there and quick, the first step being to sit up. Rolling onto her stomach, she dug her toes into the floor. It was freezing. The cold cut through her socks with ease, but she powered through. Crystal lifted her body off the ground, finding relief in being off the floor, but putting even more pressure on her head. Her body had begun to shake, and she dropped her knees into the ground.

It was cold wherever they had been stored. She could only assume it was a basement, and that only added to the chill beginning to rise into her knees and legs. Building momentum, she counted off and pressed her face into the ground as hard as she could for a single instant and rocked herself backward. Pressure left her face and was pushed onto her knees before rolling back and dropping her back against the wall. Her head made a slight "thump," but the pain in her head was nothing compared to the pain in her feet and toes.

With the support of the wall, she walked her feet out from under her and sat down on the ground. The cold seeped through her pants and into her bottom, but her attention was now on her feet. They had socks, once white, but now covered in a moist layer of dirt. Her Converse were gone. Crystal's mind began to drift off as she pictured the days before the end of the life she had once known. She remembered getting those shoes as a gift from her mother on her sixteenth birthday. She remembered going and buying her sister a matching pair for when she turned sixteen. That's when she cracked.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against her knees, and let the tears spill forward. Once they started, they wouldn't stop. Even as the tears dried up, her body still shuttered with sobs.

"Are you really crying, right now?"

She recognized Paul's voice, but she refused to respond, the sobs taking up her voice.

"Are you really crying over shoes?"

His voice was growing in volume, and his accent was growing along with it as his words came much slower. The change brought her head up from her knees, and her eyes met his for an instant. He was tired and sick — she could see that just from a quick glance — but what she feared most was the quivering of his lips, the heaving of his chest with each breath, and the sweat that formed over his brow. It was too cold to sweat, but he was. She was no doctor, but she knew he needed help. Crystal was going to say as much, but she didn't get a chance to speak.

"You don't deserve to cry, especially over shoes. Your family is gone, and I know it must be painful, but I have family, too." He paused for an instant, his words coming much slower now. "I don't know where they are. I don't know if they are alive or dead. You have something that I don't — information."

His head drooped down until his chin rested against his chest. Paul was silent for a long time, his breathing filling the room as it came in and out as panicked gasps. But even as his body physically willed him to rest, it didn't stop him from cutting his eyes over to Crystal one more time.

"You care about your shoes just because it proved you were worth a damn cent before all this happened."

And with that final declaration, Paul closed his eyes and fell into a doze. Crystal sat in silence and just stared. Was that really why she cared so much about the shoes? She was reminded again of where the shoes came from and where she wore them. It wasn't the shoes. It was the memories. She wanted the memories those shoes had carried, not the shoes themselves.

"Yeah, it's shallow, but they are mine." She shook her head and leaned it back against the wall, pushing the tears back as best she could.

"... Sorry."

Crystal lifted her head back up and peered over at Paul, who continued to breathe heavily, but his eyes were set hard on the ground in front of him.

Crystal asked, "What?"

Paul released a large breath of air, but it sounded more like a wheeze, and he cinched his eyes shut.

"We have to get out of here. Soon."

She knew then what was truly at stake. Not only was her own life in peril, but Paul might not make it much longer in the cold of the basement. Crystal nodded and peered around the room, trying to find anything that might spark a new idea of escape. Her eyes drifted until she caught sight of a table not far from the staircase they had been brought down.

Crystal had to maneuver and push herself up a little higher against the wall, but she found what she was looking for. There wasn't much on the table, but there was enough. A deck of cards and empty alcohol bottles. Someone had been coming down there, probably even while she and Paul had been out. There was no doubt they would be coming back, though for what, Crystal wasn't sure. Still, there was a chance.

"Okay. Paul, this is what we need to do."
CHAPTER 5

Eventually, a man came down the steps, but Crystal could only hear him as she drooped against the wall. It took everything she had to remain still, but her fear only ratcheted even higher as she heard the man step closer to her. She heard him grumble something, but there was no way to tell what he had said, and he didn't seem to care whether she responded or not. The moment he was done speaking, the end of boot was digging into her side. Crystal cringed for an instant and she silently prayed he didn't notice as she allowed herself to fall over on one side. The cold was a shock, but it wasn't long before it numbed. Any other time she would be worried, but in that moment she was just glad her body wouldn't be able to react.

The man eventually tired of whatever he had been looking for her to do, and the familiar clomp of his boots resumed. She let out a silent breath of air as she willed and prayed that Paul would be able to remain still.

"Damn. That's a lot of blood."

Crystal cringed at the man's voice, and her eyes flew open for only an instant as an immediate reaction. In that instant she could see the man hunched over Paul, but she didn't have a chance to see Paul. Cracking her eyes, she squinted in their direction and could barely make out the dark red stain on Paul's blue jeans, which had trailed down to the cuff and was dripping on the floor into a small pool. Her stomach lurched, and she had to consciously will the bile back as it rose up her throat. She had hoped he would stay still, but now she wished he would move — just enough for her to see he was okay. Crystal would have compared his pallor to that of a white sheet, but squinting made it impossible to tell for sure.

The man seemed to make the same assessment, though he was far from worried.

"Hey. Hey, bud. You alive?"

Once again, the man tapped Paul with the end of his boot, and Paul fell just as Crystal had, though much easier than she would have liked to have seen. He was either a very good actor, or worse, he truly had died. The man assumed the worst with a zeal that made Crystal shake.

"Hot damn. Dead as a door nail." With this discovery, the man peered over his shoulder at the staircase, then turned back to Paul's body, rubbing his hands together as if he had found an immense treasure. "And this one is all for me."

With eager hands, the man bent over and gripped the front of Paul's jacket, pulling him farther from the wall and laying him out.

"Damn. Heavy kid. Let's hope he was worth it."

The man tugged at Paul's jacket, reaching in and searching for something, anything. But before he could get his hands on anything, Crystal could just barely see the flicker of his eyelids. The man seemed to notice and paused in his search, bending over a little more to come face to face with Paul. He let out a suspecting grunt, but by the time he realized Paul was alive, it was too late. Paul's eyes flew open and with a cry, he flung forward, knocking foreheads with the man. Crystal cringed at the sound, but had already begun squirming toward the pair of men.

The man cursed. Though his words came out in an unintelligible manner, Crystal was sure he wasn't happy. Thankfully the hit was enough to cause the man to stagger, groan, and hit the floor. He was out, but for how long, Crystal didn't want to know. Unfortunately, the hit hadn't just affected the man, but Paul was also writhing on the floor. Crystal squirmed as close as she could to him, enough to see his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth moving, but no words were coming out.

"Paul? Paul. Come on, don't do this now."

She started nudging him with her head, but was getting no response. She instead settled for squirming over to the man who had already long since passed out. If she could've, she would have just stayed with Paul until he was better, but they didn't have time for that. Plus, she really didn't want to get yelled at again when he did decide to wake up.

The floor had chilled her to the core. She was beyond numb, but the pressure on her chest and stomach was still powerful as she kicked and rolled over to the man. He had thankfully fallen on his back, but it did nothing to settle Crystal's nerves. If he didn't have something sharp on him, all of the work would have been for naught, and she didn't want to know what would happen to them when the man woke up.

Once she reached him, she went to work searching him, which was not an easy task with her hands tied behind her. Crystal had to rely on her teeth, something that would have otherwise disgusted her if it weren't for the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Moving the man's jacket aside, she caught sight of a tool belt hooked to his pants and the dull glint of a blade. With newfound enthusiasm, she ducked her head and gripped the end of the blade in her teeth. If she pulled too hard in one direction or the other, it would injure her and quite possibly slice her cheeks open, and it was bad enough that Paul was injured; she couldn't have the same happen to her.

So, with her nose full of the man's sweaty odor, she tugged on the blade. It slid a little with each tug, but it was taking much longer than she would've liked. It also didn't help that with every tug, she had to put more of the blade in her mouth to get a better grip, which only put her that much closer into the man's odor. She had begun to feel sick when she heard a groan. Frozen in place, she could feel the cold sweat that had begun to form on her brow slide down and burn her eyes, but she refused to blink. If the man was waking up, it was all over.

"... Crystal? What are you doing? Get a move on."

It was Paul. She wanted to turn around and see him for herself, but she had a job to do, and with the fear of the man waking up still fresh in her mind, her attempts became earnest. Clenching her jaw, she yanked on the blade once more, and the amount of force yanked the knife out, while at the same time slicing her tongue enough to bleed. It tasted metallic and cold, but she was grateful it hadn't sliced open her cheeks. With urgency, she scrambled back away from the man's body and tried to get closer to Paul. It took a lot of maneuvering, but she was able to spin herself around enough to at least see him. He looked awful, but she couldn't dwell on that for long. Her focus was on escape, and she would make sure they both got out alive.

She tried to get his attention but refused to let go of the knife; instead, writhing around on the floor until his glazed eyes drifted over to her was good enough, though the exertion and the cold were starting to get to her. His eyes hovered over her face for what seemed like eternity, but his face remained completely neutral. Crystal had to angle the knife in her mouth so she could at least mumble to him, though her fear of cutting open her cheek was now a major possibility as the blade pressed the soft interior of her right cheek.

"Paul. Knife."

His eyes lit back on her eyes and something like a light switch seemed to reanimate him, giving him some his life back. He nodded and rolled over, wiggling his hands around and wheezing the entire time, which only made Crystal cringe. He was tied together with zip ties — great. Then chances were, she was tied with them, too. Crystal wiggled her way over to him, just close enough to press the hilt of the blade into his hand. He gripped it, she could see, but even that felt weak, but she chalked up most of it to her own fears.

Unfortunately, once she had spun around and got close enough for Paul to start sawing at her own bindings, her fears weren't as much on Paul as they were on her own well-being. It wasn't enough that Paul couldn't see where he was cutting, but because of how weak he was, his hands shook from the mere weight of the knife. All she could do was position her hands so that she could feel the blade pressing against the binds and not her hands. Then, she waited.

Paul started out slow. The digging and grinding sound was most definitely plastic, which only ratcheted up Crystal's anxiety as she forced herself to remain still. Once Paul had gotten a notch, his attempts grew much more intense, along with his breathing, which Crystal made sure to note. The comforting sound of snapping plastic brought Crystal out of her mental fog, but it was only a temporary relief. She regarded her wrists immediately when she sat up, sighing with content in finding them almost unharmed, except for light red rings from the ties. But when she turned, Paul was completely still.

The sweat on her brow seemed to flood down her face, and the cold was doing nothing to prevent the heat of fear from blooming in her chest and cheeks. She gripped his arm and shook, pleased to find he wheezed, which meant he was alive, but when she let go of his arm, her hands came away with a coat of sweat. He was having cold sweats, and his leg had long since stopped bleeding. She wasn't sure what was a good sign and what wasn't, but she tried not to focus too hard on the details. Instead, she took the knife from his limp grip and began carving at his bindings. It didn't take nearly as long as hers did, for obvious reasons, but when the familiar snap of the plastic brought her out of her focus, it didn't take her long to realize just how much she had missed.

A loud grunt and a large pair of hands later, and Crystal was in the air and without breath. Gasping and kicking, her neck shut off from air, Crystal had failed to notice the man waking up and stalking over to her. She tried to mentally berate herself, but without air, even that required too much effort. Crystal tried to shift her gaze down to Paul, but the world was becoming too blurry. Even directions were hard to differentiate. Up or down — Crystal couldn't tell, but the longer she dangled there, the easier it was to just stop kicking. Her legs dangled and her arms fell to her side, and everything became a lot easier. She had been so tired. It was time to rest.

But as she closed her eyes to sink into the painless world of unconsciousness, a gurgle, a swift tightening of the grip around her neck, and the just as swift release. She hit the floor. The cold made her jolt, but with the ability to breathe returning to her, she gasped and scraped at her throat, each wonderful gasp burning as it brought everything out of the blur. She glanced back to find Paul, panting and gripping the knife, now bloody, while the man sprawled out on the ground, completely still with a pool of fresh blood spreading across the floor. Throat slashed and eyes wide with shock. That image of Paul lurking into a family home, gun raised, came back to her for one instant, but the Paul in front of her was not even close to the Paul that lurked around the subconscious of her mind.

Even standing seemed to exhaust him, and with each intake of breath his form rattled, and it was the same when he breathed out. His eyes rolled around in his head, but he tried to keep them locked on one place; it didn't help that sweat was pouring down his face and dripping into his eyes. She was surprised he was even standing, much less that he had managed to kill a man. Paul never failed to surprise, which only made Crystal even more nervous, but Paul didn't notice her apprehension. His thoughts were on survival, which was where Crystal's needed to be.

He nodded toward the body, though the nod could have been mistaken for a bow, but Crystal wasn't going to point that out.

"See if he has guns."

Crystal didn't respond, but instead went right to work. She couldn't think about the man being dead. Instead, she thought about her family. She remembered that she had buried a dead body before, but this one was different. This one she had been a part of. Paul had been the one to kill him. That was something she couldn't forget. Regardless, she rummaged around in his coat and checked his belt for any more weapons. There was a pistol and a shotgun. There wasn't much ammo, but Crystal figured it was enough to get by. While she searched, Paul had headed over to the table, dragging his injured leg behind him. He plopped into the chair and sucked in as much air as he could. Crystal knew what it was like not to have air, now all too well, but she couldn't imagine what Paul was feeling.

She couldn't imagine burying him like everyone else, but she also couldn't imagine how many people he had buried — and whether or not he was the reason they had to be put six feet under. Crystal physically shook and tried to gather as much of the equipment as she could before stumbling over to the table. She laid down what she had while Paul observed each piece with a trained eye. He lifted the pistol, hand shaking until he popped in the magazine.

"You've shot one of these, right?"

Crystal nodded. It wasn't one of her guns, but she could handle one if need be. Especially a handgun. Paul seemed to find that enough of an answer and handed her the gun, but even as her hand went around it and she tugged, he held fast. She met his eyes and found them trained directly on her. Whether he was studying her face or just trying to focus, she wasn't sure, but the silence was causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise.

"You have about 10 shots left. Count every shot, and make sure each of them count." Then he released the gun.

She didn't respond because she didn't have to. The finality in his words and in his tone spoke volumes. This was a live-or-die situation. If they ran out of shots, then they would probably be as good as dead, but at the same time, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She made sure to promise herself that as she slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans.

The shotgun, on the other hand, was eerily similar to Paul's gun, but he handled it awkwardly, as if he wasn't used to handling a piece of weaponry. He grunted and popped open the chamber, only to find a single shell left, which he discovered with a groan. Paul's eyes drifted back to the table. There were a total of six shells left on the table. He only had seven shots. He ran a hand over his face before popping another shell in the chamber, then scooped and pocketed the rest. Every two shots he would have to reload, so Crystal would have to be the one to cover him, which she would've had to do anyway. Plus, there was no way he'd be able to walk by himself. She would have to cover and carry him. It would be a show for the ages, and Crystal would make sure they got through it in one piece.

Paul looked at her. "You ready?"

Crystal nodded and held out her hand. He took it without hesitation and pulled himself up to lean on her. His arm went around her neck, and she drooped forward. It was all or nothing. Time to lift the curtain and put on the show.
CHAPTER 6

They were going to go in, guns blazing. That was their plan. They didn't have one, so they would count their shots and pray for the best. It had taken ages just to get to the top of the stairs, Paul stumbling, panting, and gripping Crystal with half of his weight now completely dead-weight. He was at least 200 pounds. Crystal? She was barely 150 pounds. It wasn't impossible, but it didn't do anything to settle Crystal's nerves. All the way up the steps, Paul just kept on repeating,

"You gotta count your shots ... and each one has to count."

Even as he was gasping for breath to get up the steps, he would keep saying it. Crystal knew then that he was just as scared as she was. Crystal often forgot that they weren't that different in age, and if things had been different, they might not have ever met and would have lived completely separate lives. But she couldn't think of that. They were close to the same age, they were on the same path, and all they had left to hope for was survival.

Once they had made it up to the door, Crystal wasn't sure if they were going to make it. The stairs had taken a toll on Paul, and he was having trouble holding the shotgun up and off the floor. She hadn't shot one in years, but she couldn't imagine Paul using it in his weak state. She started to reach for it, but, with a shot of enthusiasm, he yanked the gun out of her reach, insisting that he was "fine," and could "handle it." Crystal disagreed and she made sure to let him know as much.

"This masculine bull crap needs to stop, right now. Take the pistol and start acting like you want to live."

Paul seemed to freeze in that moment, staring at Crystal with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Then he broke out into a fit of laughter, his form shaking and making it much harder for Crystal to balance. Panic also started to rise in Crystal's chest as she imagined what was behind the door, possibly listening.

"Stop, stop, stop. You're gonna make yourself sick, and we don't want anyone checking on us before we get a chance to take advantage of the element of surprise."

Her comment only seemed to make him laugh even harder, but a fit of coughs shut his giggle fest down that much quicker, which had Crystal trying to quiet him even more. But in between heaves of air, Paul explained himself.

"Crystal, they already know something is up."

She stared at him incredulously, not exactly sure how he would know that or what he was trying to tell her. Her face must have read complete disbelief because he didn't find anything too funny anymore. His laughter faded away, and his smile became a hard line.

"How long has," he flung his head back to reference the man dead on the floor, "that guy been down here? An hour? Two? Whatever he was sent down here for, surely he'd be back already."

Crystal hadn't even thought about the man since they had made the climb, and that in itself took at least half an hour to do. Once it was in her mind, it stuck there and was making her sick the longer they stood at the door talking about it. She was reminded then of the man who had commanded his group to take her shoes and knock her into unconsciousness. She wouldn't be surprised if he had commanded them to watch the door in case they tried to escape. He was probably on the other side, ready to put a bullet between her eyes the first chance he got, and it was apparent that Paul agreed. Crystal wanted to punch herself for not thinking of it first.

"Crys, you have to shoot. You have to shoot the second you see someone. Cause if you don't, they'll shoot you without even a thought."

Crystal met Paul's eyes. She knew he was serious, but now that she had to face reality, she was beginning to fear. She had always been afraid, but her fear now was so close and so dangerous. She would kill or be killed. That reality was frightening, and one she had only ever read about in books and saw on TV shows. She would have to put aside her care for human life and just shoot, because her life had to come first. That was what survival was about — who makes it out alive.

Though she was starting to accept that way of thinking as fact, it did nothing to settle her stomach and stop the bile which clawed up her already sore throat. Shaking past most of the initial fear, she took in a deep breath, resettled Paul against her, and demanded the shotgun.

"If we're going to survive, you have to give me the shotgun."

Paul was still reluctant to even bring the gun close to her, but he eventually relented. It was apparent that she wasn't going to continue unless he followed all of her rules. He grabbed the rest of his shells and passed them along to trade for the pistol. He held it up to flash in the dull lighting at the top of the staircase. He wasn't used to light guns, but it was easier for him to carry, which Crystal was sure would make all of the difference. Regardless, it was time.

Crystal held the shotgun in one hand and pressed the butt of it into her abdomen. She hoped her body could handle the bulk of the kick, but only time would tell. She brushed her finger against the trigger, held Paul's shoulder and nodded toward the door. Paul nodded back, pointing his pistol toward the door with the hand dangling around Crystal's neck and reached for the knob with his other hand. He twisted and pushed open the door.

Crystal shot once and muttered, "One."

All she saw were the whites of his eyes. He had a total of three seconds before she pulled the trigger. He turned, eyes wide, and she shot. He fell to the ground in an instant, and Crystal refused to see him as person. He was a shot, and his shot counted. He was one of seven. Six left. The rest of the people turned — all men. Crystal aimed and fired, muttering a number each time she saw one fall.

"Two ... three ... four."

Paul nudged her and over the gun fire said, "Crys ... cool it."

She blinked a few times, surprised to hear those words coming out of his mouth. He had told her the entire time to go out, guns blazing. Now he wanted her to stop? While she contemplated over their new situation, one of the panicked men reached for his belt and whipped out a handgun, not unlike the one Paul held. Crystal went to aim for him, when a shot rang out not far from her ear. She flung her face in the other direction, not before the man screamed out and dropped his gun. Paul hadn't killed the man, but had disarmed him.

The man clutched at his shoulder, gun clattering to the ground. Blood was flowing through his blue sweater-like shirt in a dark brown splotch. Crystal was trying to make a shot, but was having trouble. Paul hadn't killed him, and the man was screaming. The shot hadn't counted and Crystal could no longer lie to herself and deny that they were actual people. They were killing people. Paul pulled the trigger again, and the man's screaming stopped. He gurgled and fell back. Paul took in a sharp intake of breath.

"Don't use all your shots. You've got the stronger weapon."

Crystal didn't say anything, instead keeping her eyes locked on the body of the man Paul had shot down. Paul's shot one and two — the guy with the blue sweater and blue eyes. Were they blue? She couldn't remember. She wasn't even sure she had looked. She didn't have time to think it over before Paul was ushering her to move on. There were footsteps, lots of them, and from what she could tell, they were coming down from upstairs. She moved forward, though her steps felt much heavier than she remembered them being. If they hurried, they'd be able to meet the rest of the group at the staircase, which was where the exit was.

She hoped they didn't know that she knew that, but she remembered the man who ran the group and knew he would make sure to cover all of his options. Whether he knew her or not, he would make sure they wouldn't escape based on underestimation. Crystal at least knew that much. Regardless, she hurried Paul along, hoping the gradual increase of his dead weight was all in her head, but she couldn't help wondering if he was going to pass out again. It was also getting hard to walk with her socks having no traction on the slick floor. She would glance at Paul every once in a while, but his eyes were trained directly forward and his nostrils were flared with concentration. She tried to distract herself by imagining the school as it was.

Her friends, her green Bug in the parking lot, her Converse still on her feet, but somehow the man in the blue sweater always made his way into her little dream world. It didn't matter, really — she didn't have enough time to imagine. The staircases were in view, and the light from the outside world was filtering in. It had to be mid-afternoon, but how long had they really been there? Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to mull over that either, as at least fifteen men flew down the steps and filled the gap between the exit doors and the stairwell, but not without leaving a pathway for their leader to step through them.

He smirked at them, his hands resting comfortably in the front pockets of his jeans. He acted like he was bullying them for their lunch money, which scared Crystal to no end. He didn't even carry a weapon, which Paul openly sneered at, but the man didn't seem to notice.

"Nice try, guys. You almost made it. I hope you had a good time at least?"

Crystal assumed the question was rhetorical, but the farther the silence stretched out, the more she realized he was actually waiting for an answer. But by the time she had come up with a suitable retort, he was already off on another tangent.

"There's no need to be so distant." He held out a hand to one of the men on his right and they passed him a pistol without a word. "I don't mean to be cocky, but I don't think y'all are in any position to not answer my questions."

Crystal was about to speak and settle the tension, but Paul beat her to the punch.

"Guys like you aren't in any position to tell me what to do."

Her eyes flew over to look at him, but his eyes were focused directly on the leader. It was an intense staring match between two alpha males, but Crystal was already worried that Paul had made a mistake. It only got worse when the man raised his gun and pointed it directly at Paul.

"It's funny you should say that when you're the one having to lean on the girl for support."

Paul obviously didn't appreciate the comment, but Crystal was worried about how he would react, especially as he tried to lean off of her. She tried to squeeze his waist closer to her, but there was no stopping him. He was weak, but he was stubborn. He pushed forward and staggered toward the leader, his men stirring and raising their guns. Crystal stiffened, not sure why they would see him as a threat, but she was worried even more when Paul lifted the pistol and aimed it at the leader.

The leader smirked, lowering his pistol a few feet, but keeping his finger flush against the trigger.

"I like you. We're not that different."

Paul seemed like he was going to counter, but before he could even take a breath in, the leader pulled the trigger.

Crystal rushed forward, screaming as Paul's other leg crumbled under him and he fell to the ground. She wasn't able to make it in time to reach his head as it bounced against the linoleum, but she was able to lift his head into her lap before it dropped again. Paul's breath quickened to the point that Crystal wasn't sure he was actually getting any air. His leg gushed blood, and with both legs now having bullet holes in them, Crystal could no longer believe that they would both make it. But looking up and seeing the people huddled together, laughing and chattering, she wasn't sure about her own fate.

Paul's eyes rolled in his head, not really locking on anything. His head moved along with them, as if he were trying to get them both on the same path, but it was impossible. If he wasn't going to pass out from blood loss, he would from another shock of trauma to his head, but even after all of that, his hand still clenched the pistol. And his finger still held close to the trigger. She looked at her own gun, but could only glance at it and then back at the leader. He was too busy laughing with one of his men. She wasn't going to take the chance on the shotgun. It was too noticeable, and she couldn't remember if she had reloaded it or not. The shells seemed to tug her closer to the floor with their weight in her pocket. She wouldn't dare reach for her pockets. Instead, her best bet was going to be the pistol, but there would be no way to pry off Paul's hand in his state. He was in shock and frozen. She would have to use it as best she could.

Staring at the leader, she eased forward and trailed her hand down Paul's arm.

All the while, she muttered, "Make every shot count, make every shot count ..." her words trailed off until it was just her moving her lips.

She hadn't counted every man in the room, but she would try to make each of those shots count. Once she felt the cool metal under her grasp, and Paul's tense hand wrapped in hers, she lifted it up, and aimed it at the leader. He turned his face toward her, lips still tied up in that annoying smirk. She muttered those words one more time, then pressed Paul's finger down, and fired.

The man's smirk turned into a frown, but not before his head flew backwards with an audible schloop of blood flying from the back of his head, which was followed up with his body dropping backwards onto the surprised group behind him. Those who were hit with blood and brain matter screamed. Those who were knocked over by his body screamed for an instant before getting the wind knocked out of them by the people behind them. It wasn't unlike dominoes, and Crystal had to hold back a perverse laugh at the thought. But before the rest of the men could figure out what had happened, she started to fire. She had seven shots, and seven bodies fell.

The men who had been pinned under their leader's body were still fumbling around, lost, and for an instant, Crystal thought she recognized the chubby driver within the writhing pile, but she couldn't be sure. Either way, the remaining men who stood had their eyes on her, and they were reaching for their belts. She had mere seconds before their guns were trained on her. She dropped Paul's hand, which no longer clenched the weapon and simply fell, limp, with the gun clattering on the linoleum beside it. Crystal threw herself over onto the shotgun, no longer worried about cushioning Paul's head, the sound of bullets bouncing off of the linoleum, making her movements much more rigid. She lifted the gun and popped open the chamber, dismayed to find it empty.

She dug in her pockets, jumping with every shot as she scooted back to try and avoid them, though her socks didn't help in that regard. Her luck wouldn't last long, as she loaded the gun and popped the chamber closed, a bullet swiped the top of her shoulder. There was a pronounced rip, and the burning sensation caused Crystal to hiss. Her eyes lifted from her gun as she met the eyes of the man who had shot her. He was smirking — a smirk that wasn't so different from the smirk of his leader. She lifted the shotgun, pressed it into her abdomen, and shot. The bullet hit him in the chest, and the force sent him stumbling backward and knocking the men's shots off from their mark. The bullets ricocheted off of the lockers, making metallic dings as they bounced around. The men dove every which way, trying to avoid their own missed shots.

Crystal, seizing the chance, rose up and rushed back over to Paul. She struggled to lift him, his body completely limp, but it was absolute adrenaline that helped her to balance him against her enough to have him stand, but it was impossible to drag him past that.

"Damn it!"

She tried, God knows she tried, to drag him, but there was no hope. With no traction, his weight only caused her to slide around. For an instant, she questioned leaving him and running for it. She wasn't even sure he was alive, but just as she had begun to make a decision, the man Crystal recognized as their driver found his way over to the other side of Paul. He leaned some of Paul onto him and Crystal found that she could actually take a few steps, but she still wasn't comfortable with the driver helping her. Regardless, the man was far from willing to talk as he already started walking forward, dragging Paul and forcing Crystal to rush forward along with them. They bypassed the group and headed straight toward the set of glass double doors, which only made Crystal stumble along that much faster.

Bullets flew all around them as they ran, some hitting the linoleum, some flying by and hitting the glass, but that only made it that much easier for them to escape. Crystal, fumbling ahead of the driver, jumped through the glass, while the driver shoved Paul through ahead of him and stumbled his way through the threshold. With everyone through, the trio took off again, the men yelling and still shooting behind them, but not following. Their yells drifted farther and farther away as the group continued to run, heading toward the gravel pit where most of the cars were parked.

Crystal, now set on quick escape, was now set back on her old car, "Hey. You deal with cars, right?"

The man peered over at her for a moment, but kept his eyes down on the ground, his breath heaving with every step. "Yeah. Why?"

Crystal scanned the parking lot as they ran up the first aisle of cars, most of them crushed in with the large meteorites still lodged into their metal frames.

"Green Volkswagen Bug. Seen it?"

The man had already begun tripping over his own feet, and his breathing was just plain obnoxious, but they only slowed when the man began to splutter.

"Stop, stop ..." he let go of Paul, and the dead weight hit Crystal all at once, causing her to tumble and Paul to scrape across the ground.

Though he wasn't fully conscious, the scrapes were enough to elicit a groan from Paul, and Crystal did all she could to keep him lifted and not on the gravel-covered concrete parking lot. If she could jump the chubby driver, she probably would, but there was no way she was going to put Paul down on the concrete, which started to swelter from the dipping sun. Instead, she focused her frustrations into her voice.

"What the hell is your problem?"

The man looked at her, mouth twisted in a scowl. He seemed surprised that she was asking him such a thing, which only managed to anger Crystal even further. The man settled his breathing and straightened his back, which popped a few times. He sighed and focused his gaze back on Crystal, who had now begun to try and drag Paul away, but was finding it much harder to manage on the painful gravel and heated parking lot. She really needed her shoes.

"Where are you going? Aren't you interested in your stuff? Your car?"

Crystal paused. The man's voice was a wheeze, and he sounded desperate. Crystal should have just kept going. She didn't need the chubby driver's help, and she wasn't sure when the looters would start the manhunt on them again. They were in chaos, but they had numbers that Crystal didn't. She knew it wouldn't be long. Plus, the slight chance that the man could find her some shoes made her feet throb. She faced him again.

"Who are you?"

The man smirked, his puffy red cheeks reminded Crystal of Santa Claus, and his round beer-belly only punctuated the image. The chubby man looked like he already had them under his grasp. Like pawns in a chess game. It reminded Crystal of the leader before she had shot him, and that only proved to make her more nervous. Oh God, she had actually shot people.

"The name's Jason. Jason —"

"No last names. Don't care, and don't have the time. Why do you want to help us?"

Crystal's bluntness seemed to perturb Jason, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he went on.

"I want the same thing you both want." He shrugged his shoulders. "I want to get out of here. I was a doctor before the world went to hell and back. That's the only reason they," and he motioned toward the school, "kept me alive and brought me down here. I'm originally from Virginia, which is where a lot of the guys in there are from."

"Virginia? You're from Virginia?"

Crystal's tone was much more intrigued than she had wanted it to be, and Jason noticed. He arched his bushy left eyebrow and said again.

"Yes. I'm from Virginia. Why do you sound so surprised?"

Crystal wasn't sure why she was surprised, either. It was strange that both Paul and Jason were from the same place. Had he known Paul's family? Did he know what happened up there? She didn't have time to ask any questions, and she really didn't even trust him enough to divulge anything, especially anything pertaining to Paul. That was something she felt Paul, and only Paul, had the right to do. What they really needed was supplies and a car. Crystal could already feel the time ticking away as the sun dipped lower and lower under the horizon.

"We can worry about that later. Can you help us or not?" She tried to stay as calm as possible, but her voice sounded more panicked than anything.

Jason had to think about it. He silently surveyed the situation, and Crystal could feel her body going more and more rigid by the second. Her patience was wearing thin and she was just about to snap when Jason clapped his hands together in a shock of enthusiasm.

"Alright! Into the woods we go!" He sounded chipper. Much too happy for Crystal's liking.

Crystal also wasn't pleased to hear about going into the woods. Memories of her friends going out and smoking in those woods, then getting poison ivy wasn't something Crystal was too pleased to think about if she had to trek through the woods. She also didn't have any shoes, which wouldn't make her a very happy camper, either. Jason wasn't giving her much of a say either as he began to waddle his way toward the woods. But Crystal's mind was still on her car, or any car, really. There was no way she was going into the woods if she had a chance to ride in a car instead.

"Hey! What about my car?"

Jason turned toward her, face bright with the most humor-filled smile Crystal had seen in a long time. "Your green Bug? Do you think any cars here are in working order? People pay a lot for car parts. Stripped her down, traded her piece by piece. Don't worry though. You're about to see what we traded for. At least you will if you hurry up. It's almost dark, and I don't wanna walk through the forest in the dark."

That had not been the answer Crystal expected, and it brought her some pause. No car, no family, no guarantees. Now what? She had no answer. All she had was the weight of Paul on her shoulders and a chubby man she hardly knew to lead her through a forest. To where? She didn't know, but did she have any other choice?

Jason met her eyes and smiled. He already knew what her choice would be.

"Jason. Don't just stand there. Come help me carry him!"
CHAPTER 7

Sticks and rocks were Crystal's greatest enemy. She hated them more than the limbs that cut and slapped her face. She hated them more than the looters that had harmed Paul, and she hated them more than the fact that she could no longer see where she was going, except for the random patches of moonlight that illuminated the leaf-covered paths they were taking. They were random, and they were usually filled with pointed sticks and jagged rocks, which dug into the soles of Crystal's feet every step she took. The weight of Paul didn't help, and Jason was more or less dragging his weight of Paul because he had to lead.

Crystal was tired. She was tired of walking, tired of carrying burdens — both Paul's and the burden of survival. She wanted to survive, that was no question, but it was so hard when she was so tired. But it wasn't much longer after that Jason let out a squeal of surprise. Crystal had come to identify Jason with a pig. He squealed far too much for her liking, and he seemed dirty. Crystal still wasn't sure how much she could actually trust him, if she could trust him at all. Regardless, she was just glad to finally have something break the silence.

"We've found it! I knew we'd find that little wood shed eventually!"

Little? From the way Jason had described it, Crystal had assumed the stash was huge, or at least trailer-sized. To hear the word little was more than disappointing. It also didn't help that in his excitement, Jason had completely let go of Paul and Crystal could scarcely hear the crunch of his chubby feet hitting the lighted leaf patches. She had never expected he could move so quickly, and his form, once just a pudgy outline, had disappeared into the darkness. She couldn't take the time to move after him, either, as Paul's full weight dragged her down to the ground.

She fell onto the ground with a much louder crunch, and she began to roll. Blinded, there was no way to tell which way she rolled or how far, but the sticks and rocks stabbing her sides were beyond painful. Eventually, Crystal slowed and stopped. Getting on all fours, Crystal hissed as she lifted her hand up. She couldn't see it, but she could feel the impression the rocks and sticks had left into the flesh of her palm. Her knees ached along with her hands, and she couldn't be sure, but she thought she had twisted her arm that had once held Paul. Paul. Panicked, she began to feel around the earth. She hadn't fallen very far, but how far had she rolled?

Paul hadn't made a noise since they had started into the woods, and she hadn't held onto him at all on the roll down from the hill. She had no way to find him with him being unconscious, and she wasn't sure where Jason had even gone or how far. She had been alone before, but that world had been different. Now she was alone in an alien world. A world that had ended and that had hurt Crystal in more ways than she could have ever imagined. Now she was alone, and she had no way of knowing how she would survive. Tears were just starting to form in the corners of her eyes when a groan broke the silence.

Crystal froze and focused on that groan, but she was only met with silence. She prayed it would happen again. The silence was deafening, and she couldn't stand a second more of it after hearing the human groan, and she wasn't disappointed. Especially when she heard actual words along with the groan.

"Crys ..." The voice was strained, but she recognized her nickname and that voice.

She estimated a general location and crawled towards it. There was no guarantee that she was heading toward the right spot, but she just kept coaxing. She repeated Paul's name over and over again, asking him to keep speaking and to keep talking. She was on her way to find him if he just kept on. He carried on for as long as he could. He groaned one more time, then the forest fell silent again, but he had gone on long enough. Crystal was just about to give up when her hand met the leathery arm of his jacket.

"Paul? Paul, are you alright?"

She could hear the sounds of leaves rustling and the leather of his jacket rubbing together.

"Crys, where are we?"

His voice was quiet. So quiet that even in the silence Crystal had to strain to hear what he said.

"We're in the forest outside of Brookwood. Jason, the driver from that bunch of looters ... he led us here. But now he's run off and I don't know where we are." Her words tumbled out just as quickly as the tears that had begun to spill forth.

She was scared, but she wasn't alone. That small fact was enough for her to cling to, and she hung on with all that she had. Paul didn't respond, but Crystal could still hear his breathing. She could hear every wheeze and the crinkle of his jacket with every shuttering rise and fall of his chest. She could hear the soft thud of her tears as they continued to spill forth and hit his jacket. It was comforting to have someone else in the darkness.

Crystal trailed her hands up his jacket, following the lines and threads with the tips of her fingers until she found his feverish flesh. It was a shock to feel such heat radiating off of him, especially in the cold of the night. She continued to trail her fingers up his neck and onto his face. Her fingers traced the rise and fall of his chin, the peak and slope of his nose, and up to his forehead, which poured out a constant layer of sweat. He was sick, and Crystal was surprised to find that she actually wanted Jason back. He had told her he was a doctor. He could help Paul, and she wouldn't have to be alone in her thoughts and fears.

"Girl? Yoo-hoo! Where did you go?"

His voice was loud and far too excited. It was one of the things Crystal had come to hate about Jason in their short time of knowing each other. He wasn't an optimist, he was a complete fool. Regardless, she was happy to find that he hadn't abandoned them, but she still didn't find that she trusted him. He could have left. He didn't, but he could have. Just because he didn't didn't mean that he wasn't planning on it. He might have just thought better of it.

Still, she called out to him. "We're over here! Paul is really bad!"

The chubby man waddled his way toward them, his steps heavy and with the grace of an ox. How had she not heard him running off? Either way, he made his way down to them, all the while inquiring how she could have possibly lost him and why she had let Paul lie on the cold forest ground. Crystal refrained from snapping at him, and instead went for an angry command.

"Just help me get him up and let's find that storage place of yours."

Jason fell silent and obliged. Unable to see, except for a few dark smudges indicating that something might be in front of her, Crystal gripped the jacket arm closest to her, counted down, and pulled Paul up. He let out a whisper, which Crystal was unable to catch, but if she had to guess, it sounded like, "Mason." She wanted to ponder on that name and wonder about what Paul might have been thinking when he said it, but there was no time. Jason started his usual tug and led them toward what Crystal could only assume was the storage shed for the looters.

"You guys are in luck. It doesn't look like they've come out to this one yet." Jason's voice had reached an annoying, chipper fairy pitch, but Crystal was able to ignore it enough to actually understand and listen to what was said.

"To this one? There are more?"

Jason was tugging a bit harder and his steps were getting lighter and quicker, which Crystal could only assume was because of his excitement over getting closer to his coveted storage shed. But it still haunted her that she hadn't heard him. With his size, surely she would have heard something. Regardless, when the orange-lighted windows came into view, Crystal could hardly stand to trudge along. She was tired of being in the woods, and her forgotten stomach grumbled with its own appreciation. But first thing was Paul. She had to make sure Paul was okay.

Jason yanked open the door and the orange light spilled out onto the ground. It was beautiful but painful as Crystal's eyes tried to adjust to the changing brightness. Partially blinded, Jason led her and Paul both into the shed, then into chairs, though Paul in his condition just flopped into Crystal's lap. She blinked through the blindness, not trusting Jason to be in control for even a second longer than necessary. Once the light had settled and her vision cleared, Crystal was struck with the full force of utter surprise.

Walls and walls of supplies. It was the Cave of Wonders, looter-style. The storage area itself just looked like the run-of-the-mill double-wide trailer, but the carpet had been stripped, along with the cupboards and appliances. What had been put in their places were floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled to the brim with food, medicine, medical supplies, and water bottles. It was all organized by wall. The wall Crystal faced, the left wall, was covered with bandages, scissors, tape, medical tape, and gauze-like items. The far wall had alcohol — both medical and otherwise — medicine, laxatives, and other miscellaneous medicines. The right wall was still a mystery to Crystal, and she was excited to see it.

She turned around, careful to balance Paul on her lap, and was met with an eyeful of cheeses, cereals, jerky, soda, and water bottles. It was like Wal-Mart on a wall, and it only made Crystal that much hungrier, but a groan from Paul brought her right back to him. She turned and looked down at him, his bangs sticking to his forehead and his eyes cracked, but not really open. Brushing his hair from his skin, she cooed and tried to comfort him with her words, but she could tell it was useless. He was sick, and he might even be dying. His face shimmered with a layer of sweat and his body was like a large heating pad in her lap, but he shivered as if he were still in the chill night air.

"Paul? Can you hear me?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was enough.

Paul opened his eyes a bit more, their blue now a much darker and dimmer color, and locked them on her face. She wasn't sure if he was actually able to see her or not, but his mouth continued to move, though no words were coming out. They formed each syllable slowly, precisely, as if he was trying to relay an important message. Crystal tried to understand, but all she could see was the name: Mason.

"Mason? Is that what you're saying?" Paul didn't respond. He only closed his eyes and let his mouth fall into a hard line. Crystal wasn't sure how to take it.

"Mason? Is that his name?"

Crystal jumped. She had completely forgotten about Jason, and when her eyes met his face, she wished he had left them in the woods. He stuck a pudgy finger in Paul's direction, with a beaming smile and a set of bright eyes. What did he have to be so happy about? It was nauseating.

"No. His name isn't Mason. It's Paul." Her voice sounded rough and angry, even to her own ears.

Jason heard it too, and his beaming smile fell and molded into a pout. It was an improvement, but still annoying.

"I'm sorry. I told you my name, but neither of you told me yours." He sounded genuinely sorry, but Crystal didn't care.

She was tired of Jason. She wanted Paul better, but she knew Jason wouldn't help until she told him what he wanted to hear. They'd be just wasting time.

"My name is Crystal. Now," she motioned toward Paul's legs, which were lying limp and in awkward angles, "help him."

Jason instinctively dropped to the ground and studied Paul's legs, poking and prodding, which jolted Paul into an abrupt sitting position. Crystal did all she could to keep him back, but he was a lot bigger than she. Jason scuttled back, careful to avoid Paul's swipes as he tried to fend off the painful poking. Paul's eyes flitted toward Jason, as if he were just seeing him for the first time, and he wasn't happy about it.

"Who are you?" It was more of a growled command than a question, but Jason didn't mind a bit.

He smiled as cheerfully as he always did, bright and paired with his outstretched hand. Crystal couldn't help comparing him to a used-car salesman. Sure, he looked good on paper, but in the end, there was always an ulterior motive. She hoped Paul sensed it, too, and she was pleased when his only response to the extended hand was a glare. Even Jason found Paul's response amusing, much to Crystal's chagrin. Jason simply chuckled and lowered his hand to his lap.

"The name's Jason. Nice to meet you, Paul."

Jason's voice was overtly friendly. Paul didn't respond, but instead looked to Crystal for an explanation. She really didn't know how to explain it. He had been out of it for most of the way, and she wasn't sure how he would handle her decisions. Instead, she settled for what was going on with Jason.

"Jason is a doctor," she spoke gently, not exactly sure where he was mentally. "He's going to fix your legs."

Paul didn't show her a single emotion in his face. He instead shifted his gaze down to his legs, which still hung limp despite his rigid torso. He attempted to move one, the leg swaying stiffly and not very far despite the amount of effort he put into it. The other moved a bit better, but both were visibly swollen and seemed to be straining against the denim of the jeans. Once he was done testing out their mobility, his breathing had become labored and he was starting to lean back against Crystal again. Satisfied by what he had found, Paul nodded toward Jason.

"Go on."

He lay back into Crystal's lap and closed his eyes. Though he looked much more peaceful, it was obvious he was nervous. His hands were clenched so tight that the knuckles had gone completely white, and his eyelids constantly twitched back and forth, as if he were still trying to find his way back into unconsciousness. Crystal looked to Jason, and Jason beamed at her, which failed to comfort her nerves. He rose from the floor and headed towards the shelves, collecting alcohol, scissors, sewing needles, gauze, and a slew of other medical equipment that Crystal was horrified to find him pulling off the shelf. But there were no medications to put Paul asleep. He'd be awake the entire time, which made Crystal hold Paul much tighter to her body.

Jason came back and settled on the floor where he had been before Paul jumped up, scissors in hand. He put the scissors at the end of Paul's pants leg, slowly snipping upwards until he reached the bullet hole in his right leg. Then, he paused and glanced up at Crystal, scissors poised not far from the wound, which had both Crystal and Paul rigid.

"If I do this, when he gets better," and he said it all with that syrupy smile on his face, making Crystal's stomach roll, "I'm coming with you guys, right?"

Crystal hadn't thought about it. In all honesty, she was hoping to ditch him as soon as possible, but they weren't in the best of situations. Jason was much more convincing with a pair of scissors in his hand. So, Crystal hesitantly agreed, despite the bile rising in her throat. Jason nodded, though it was less excited and more sure of himself, as if he had known her answer. Either way, he pulled away the scissors, and that was enough to bring Crystal's stress meter down a bit.

Then he took some alcohol and one of those tools Crystal didn't have a name for. It looked like something to take out an apple core without cutting open the apple. Jason doused it in the alcohol, and, without warning, poured a bit into his wound. Paul jerked a bit, and Crystal barely caught him biting into his lip, but just as quickly as it had occurred, Paul went still again. Crystal looked to Jason and he nodded in satisfaction. It made her sick, but she had no time to say anything. Jason counted down from three, then plunged the instrument into Paul's wound.

Paul howled in pain, and it took all of Crystal's weight to keep him from jumping out of her lap. Jason had to lodge Paul's kicking leg between his knees to keep him from squirming too much as he continued to dig into the wound. There was no way this was how surgery went, was it? Crystal didn't know, but it felt like hours before Jason finally managed to yank out the bullet, blood spurting and all. Paul's squirming subsided, and Crystal was thankful for the momentary peace. She had almost given out, and she hoped she wouldn't have to do anymore.

Jason grabbed the gauze and pressed into the wound, though the white pad turned red almost immediately. He held the bullet up, still clamped in the center of the instrument. It glistened in the orange light with a sick, wet glow.

With a sigh, Jason said, "Well, that's the first part. Now, for the worst."

He was closing Paul's wounds, but Paul didn't make a sound. He had passed out from the pain an hour ago. When the sun had finally started to peek in through the windows of the trailer, he shut his eyes and the screaming stopped. Crystal was relieved. She would hear that screaming in her sleep, but Jason didn't mind at all. If anything, he grew a lot more solemn after the screaming stopped. Crystal assumed he must have been an emergency surgeon and that he preferred the noise over the silence, but she also wondered if Jason was just that cruel. There was no telling, and Crystal doubted she would ever know.

She was just thankful Paul's legs had started to stop swelling.

But the moment Jason finished sewing up his other leg, he was running around the trailer, grabbing bags and scooping whole shelves into them. Crystal didn't even have a chance to ask him what was going on before he dropped one of the bags next to her.

"Put that on. You have the food and water. It's heavier, but I need to be closest to the medical supplies."

It was the most serious she had ever heard him be, and he wasn't smiling. Though she hated his nauseating cheerfulness, the serious Jason didn't sit very well with her, either.

"What do you mean? Where are we going?"

She didn't mean to sound panicked, but sewn-back-together Paul lying limp in her lap didn't put her in a very comforting position. It was hard enough to think, much less to understand what Jason was doing, but he had no patience for her. He looked her way and scowled,

"You didn't think we were going to stay here did you? Those looters are on a manhunt, and I'm sure they'll be on their way to this storage within the next," he paused to peer out the window, "few hours? Minutes? Damn, I miss having a clock."

Crystal held in a laugh. Yeah, she missed a lot of things. Then, it hit her.

"Hey. I need shoes."

Jason looked confused for an instant until his eyes drifted down to her feet. He cursed, then turned around, studying the very bottom shelves until his eyes lit upon an unmarked box on the shelf. Jason scuttled over to the box and took it off the shelf, then opened it up and dug inside until he found a pair of shoes, which were gray Converse. Crystal's eyes lit on them, and for an instant she felt overwhelming excitement, but as abruptly as it occurred it disappeared. The feelings confused her, but she was pleased regardless. Jason lifted the tongue of the shoe up and read the tag.

"Can you wear a size 10? Men's?"

Crystal knew good and well she wouldn't be able to wear those, but the Converse were far too tempting to pass up. Plus, she was just thankful to have shoes of some kind. The brand was just an extra. Without another word, Jason tossed her the shoes. She toed them over, being careful not to jostle Paul any more than she had to, and slipped her feet in. They were beyond big, but there was something comfortable and familiar about them. Now, all she needed was a shower, and maybe she'd be willing to smile again, but she wouldn't be getting one any time soon.

The moment her shoes were on her feet, Jason was slinging his own bag on his back and rushed over to lift his side of Paul. Crystal was not only surprised at his speed, but by the fact that he was actually carrying Paul. It was the most she had seen him do since they had initially escaped the looters. Rather than relief, her body went rigid with nerves again, but she got up just the same, Paul hanging limply from her shoulder. She didn't trust Jason, but she'd let him lead her around as long as he proved to provide for her. Crystal might have been selfish, but she was going to survive, one way or another.
CHAPTER 8

After a few of hours of rest, which was mainly spent holding Paul down during his backwood-trailer surgery, the weight of exhaustion was pressing hard on Crystal's shoulders, and it was only further punctuated by Paul's weight. He sagged on her shoulder, and Jason was starting to grow tired, as well, as much of the weight he had enthusiastically carried before was starting to droop. The only things that kept her going were Jason's constant reminders that they were getting closer to a safe place, but she was starting to forget when he had last said that. Hadn't he said it an hour ago? How far had they walked in an hour? Crystal's brain was like mush, and it was completely useless to her in her condition.

So, she recited the dates the presidents died. It was strange, but it helped to clear some of the fog and keep her moving her feet. Left and right, left and right. She was just getting to John Tyler, January 18, 1862, when Paul's voice brought her out. He was squirming in their arms, which made it that much harder for Crystal to keep her grip, but what he said had her thinking of other things.

"There ... over there."

Crystal looked him over. Paul's eyes were squinted, as if he were in a room too bright for his eyes, and his hand was shaking as he pointed out toward the woods. Crystal followed his hand to a meteorite pile, which confused Crystal. She wasn't seeing whatever he was. She tried again, this time squinting her own eyes and tilting her head to maybe get a different angle on it. Nope. Not a thing. Her brain was giving her no answers, much to her disappointment. Instead, she looked to Jason for an answer, but instead she found him in awe.

"Paul, you're a genius. Semiconscious genius, but a genius nonetheless."

Paul didn't respond to the compliment, but Crystal was left in the dark. She looked to the pile again, trying to see what they had seen. The meteorites had knocked down trees, creating an odd mixture of mountain and forest. The trees were knocked directly off their stumps, and some were even still attached, but pointing off in a horizontal direction. It reminded Crystal of a nature compass, but she still didn't see the fantastic part of it all. If anything, it made her even more confused. Regardless of whether she understood it or not, Jason dragged her and Paul along to the strange formation.

It wasn't until they had gotten right up to the pile that Crystal realized what they saw. The stumps, which had once held up trees, held up the meteorites, forming a type of cave or a natural lean-to. It wasn't necessarily roomy, but it made for ample cover from anyone who might still be following them and shelter from any possible weather changes during the night. Though Crystal was glad to have found a temporary place for rest, it gave her chills thinking that she would be in such close quarters with Jason, and without Paul as an intimidating entity, Crystal would have to rely on herself for defense. The idea itself wasn't in any way surprising to Crystal, but it shocked her to realize how much the world had changed. The world had never been a safe place and had always been filled to the brim with unknowns, but most of the dangers had a face she could recognize. The way the world was now, she couldn't trust anything or anyone, including the man she had draped across her shoulders.

Regardless, he was all she had, and she was going to put trust in him for as long as possible. She had to have something to rely on, and he was the only thing keeping her going. Though she couldn't say whether it was actually him that kept her going, or the fact that he had a goal — a family — and she didn't. She guessed she would never truly know, so she would just keep following him until she had nothing left to keep her moving her feet, which was about to occur much sooner than she would have liked.

Jason immediately rolled under the rock, pack and all, surprising Crystal because she wasn't sure he was going to be able to fit. He didn't seem to have any trouble maneuvering around, but it was hard to tell without being able to see him. Jason was pudgy enough, but he could still fit even with a pack on. It was mind-boggling, to say the least, but Paul's weight was all on her, and she was too busy focusing on that to care too much about Jason's mobility under the rock face. Jason called out to her, his voice much farther back than she would have expected, but clear enough for her to understand.

"Lay him down. I'll drag him back here."

Crystal trusted Paul, but she didn't trust Jason in the slightest. Desperation had her doing things she would never have done otherwise, but Paul was starting to hurt her shoulders, and she was ready to lie down. Paul mumbled something to her as she lowered him down, but she didn't quite hear him before Jason grabbed his arm and yanked him under. There was a momentary jolt of panic before she lay down and could peer into the crevice herself. It was strange to see, and as she scuttled under, though she could have crawled in on all fours, it only got stranger. It was like crawling under the moon, if it had burned up in the atmosphere and crashed into Earth.

Terrible, but still pretty cool.

Regardless of how surreal everything was, her thoughts still lingered on the fact that she would have to find some way to defend herself, and on the way back her eyes drifted over to the stump that held up their space-delivered shelter, and amongst the splintered wood, she noticed a fairly long pointed stick. She would have preferred a sharp stone, but it would have to do. As long as it wasn't a gun, she was all for it. Shooting people left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her eyes locked on Jason, but he was thankfully too busy trying to situate his bag and Paul around to take any notice of her. So, while she had a chance, she swiped the stick and slid it into her sleeve. It felt like a piece of her skeleton was on the outside of her body, and that thought was far from comforting, but she was glad to have some kind of defense. It would be an easy grab-and-stab if Jason or anyone tried to get her during the night, but watching him tossing and thrashing around made him seem like a highly unlikely candidate for an attack. Even so, she couldn't forget how light he was on his feet, and she couldn't help wondering what other skills he was hiding. No matter what, she couldn't underestimate him.

Even as she was lying down next to Paul and slipping her pack off to use as a pillow, her mind was still on the unknown. But when Paul's eyes lit on her, though half-lidded and glazed, all of Crystal's attention was on him and his lips. She wouldn't miss his words this time.

"In the morning ... we need to go to Virginia." His words came out as whisper, but Crystal was sure she had heard him right.

Even so, she shook her head. There was no way he would be able to travel, and with no car, there was no way she and Jason could travel and carry him along the way. Plus, she still wasn't sure what Jason wanted to do. If he decided he didn't want to go to Virginia, then she would be left with carrying Paul around, and she wasn't sure that she could do it. But Paul insisted, and he kept repeating Mason over and over, until he eventually mumbled himself to sleep. Crystal watched him the entire time, hushing him and trying to assure that they would try to get to Virginia as quickly as they could, but that he had to heal first. He didn't seem to hear a word she said, but Crystal just assumed that he was too stubborn to listen. With him asleep, Crystal was beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion starting to pull her under, but not before meeting Jason's eyes, which seemed to bore into her.

"Is that why you were surprised to hear I'm from Virginia?"

She really hated having him around, but figured he could give a little insight. If he had come down from Virginia, he would have insight, and she desperately needed that.

"Yes. We're heading up there for family. You came down from there, right?"

Then, Crystal got a reaction she hadn't expected. Jason pursed his lips and looked at her gravely. She had seen him serious before, but his expression was something else entirely. He looked sincerely upset, and Crystal feared his next words more than she had feared since the world had ended.

"Right, but there's nothing left. Virginia doesn't even exist anymore."
CHAPTER 9

Crystal couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it, but the way Jason was looking at her told her differently. The budding of tears told her that what he said was true. Crystal had forgotten that she and Paul weren't the only ones to have lost something. Even if she didn't trust Jason, she could sympathize with him, and wanted to apologize, but Jason held up his hand to her. He didn't want her apologies, and Crystal could understand that feeling, too. She shut her mouth and waited for him to continue.

"If you haven't been to Virginia, you don't know how easy it is to mistake it for another world, or another piece of time completely. Fields, small towns, hardly any big cities ... it would be the last place I would've expected any kind of uprising, even if the world fell into shambles."

He took in a shaking breath, but continued on, wiping his eyes as he went. "But it did. The moment those meteorites hit, the looters seemed to get together and find each other. The scared joined just so they wouldn't be killed because that's what they were doing. They stole from the injured and dead, then killed the rest. The hospital was the last. They went through each and every floor. We tried to protect the patients. We gave them every key to every medical cabinet and safe the hospital had, but they didn't give a damn about any of that. It was a plus, but that's not what they had come for.

"They wanted the thrill their small-town lives hadn't given them. The leader that your friend killed, he worked in the coal mines. He used to get in bar fights just to break the monotony. He was just waiting on a reason to go on a rampage. Well, he got one. He personally went through every wing and killed everyone in sight. Men, women, children, it didn't matter. He had a bullet for each one of them, and it wasn't personal. He was just bored, and he killed everyone."

By the time he had finished, the tears he had been holding just at the rims of his eyes were pouring out, making trails across his temples, and soaking into the dirt as he stared up at the blackened meteorite above their heads. Crystal was stunned beyond silence. She was in an emotional pit. The things that had gone on were far beyond what she would have ever expected. Didn't this only ever happen in movies and books? She didn't want to know the answer. But another question found its way to the front of her mind. It was a question that left a metallic taste in her mouth, but when she got her answer, she would know whether or not she could trust Jason.

She asked, "If he killed everyone, why are you here?"

Jason didn't even look at her when he responded. "I told you ... the scared joined him."

All trust she had in him was gone in that instant. She should have known he would never be loyal to anything unless it helped him in some way, just like when he helped her and Paul out of the high school. With the leader dead, he had no one to really fear anymore. He wanted freedom, and it was with them. Anger coiled in her stomach and made its way up her throat. She wasn't sure if she was going to scream or puke, but she did know that she had a few things to say to him.

"Why would anyone follow him? Why would you follow a man who kills everyone in sight?"

Jason at least cut her a quick glance, but his tone was far from the chipper one she had become accustomed to hearing. "I don't know. Why would anyone fight for a pair of shoes?"

That almost stunned her into silence, but the key word was almost. All the frustration she had had with Jason was coming to the forefront, and there would be no stopping her until she had ripped out every piece of information she needed to sleep at night.

"At least I fight. You could've stopped him before he came down here. You could've stopped him and went back to help the injured. Why? Why didn't you fight?"

Jason looked at her directly as he responded, "He burned it all down. There was nothing left to go back to. Anyone who had been left alive was burned. You didn't hear their screams, didn't smell them. What's the point of fighting when the person you're fighting has nothing to lose? They're going to win no matter what. Virginia is just a pile of ash. Whatever you two were going for isn't there now. Save yourselves the heartache and go somewhere else."

With that, he turned on his side, back to her, and fell silent. Crystal hadn't noticed she herself had been crying until she was able to focus on something else besides his words, but that was a near-impossible task. Instead, she lay her head back down on the pack and counted Paul's breaths, his chest rising and falling. She prayed he had been truly unconscious through everything, but at the same time, she hoped he had heard because she didn't know how she would tell him. She thought about it until she couldn't cry anymore, and that wasn't until she cried herself to sleep.

Crystal appreciated that she was able to slip into a world that she had some control over. The world of her mind was filled with dreams and memories that she tailored and set up on a type of slideshow, which she played on repeat over and over again, but even her dreams weren't safe from the real world. One of her slides had changed, and she was having trouble recalling what it had once been. It was a slide of the leader, a hole in his head, with glazed eyes staring directly up, and it made her sick to her stomach.

The next slide was similar, but with her mother and sister, clutching each other. She didn't allow it a second longer on the screen, but the next image was just as horrifying. Fire. There was fire everywhere. Yet, as the fire raged on, Crystal could just barely make out the small snowflakes pouring from the sky. Or was it ash? She couldn't tell, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she never would because there was something moaning. No. It was someone moaning, and it wasn't in her dreams.

When she opened her eyes, it was to complete darkness, but beside her, she could scarcely feel Paul's form shaking. Eventually, her eyes were able to adjust, and it was much easier to make out Paul's face, though it shimmered with trails of fresh tears. His moans had been momentarily silenced, though Crystal couldn't tell if it was because he could see she was awake or if he had fallen back asleep.

Brushing a hand against the arm of his jacket, Crystal whispered to him, "Are you OK? Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. Crystal had gotten so used to seeing the old, weary man that she forgot how young Paul was. He wasn't much older than she was, and in the way he struggled and squirmed just to wrap his other hand around hers, he seemed so much younger than she was. Paul looked frightened, and his panicked breathing was even worse when he turned to his side, and she could feel it against her forehead.

"Paul, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

She was worried and about to call out for Jason, but Paul's next words gave her pause.

"I don't want to die."

Crystal understood that fear, though Crystal wondered if it was because she was going to die alone or if she was truly scared of dying. The idea of fearing dying alone reminded her of Jason, and she refused to become Jason. Regardless, Paul was clinging to her hand as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded, and she squeezed him right back.

"I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. I don't want my family to die ..."

His words were spilling out like a list, and it took every kind and soft word Crystal could muster to trail him off into silence, but even then, his lips still moved as if he were listing everyone he had ever met. So, Crystal did the only thing she could think of, and turned over to face him directly. Then, she wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, until their bodies were flush against each other. She rested her chin in the crook of his neck, and she could feel him move to press his face into her hair. It was the closest Crystal had ever been to a man, but she couldn't let him just lie there and cry in the night alone. She hated being alone, and she wouldn't dare leave Paul alone.

"I'm not going to die tonight, so you don't die tonight, either. Alright?"

Her voice was soft when she spoke, and she didn't need a response, but Paul nodded all the same. Silence fell again in their little world, and she had all but forgotten about Jason. It was just her and Paul gripping each other in a world neither of them knew anymore. She should have been scared. She should have been paranoid and unable to sleep, but in Paul's arms and listening to his breathing, it wasn't long until her eyelids drooped down and covered her world in darkness much darker than the night outside and swept her away to a dreamless rest.

The next time she opened her eyes, Jason was staring at her and Paul, and he didn't look happy at all. She wondered how much he had heard the night before, but she was just glad Paul had slept until the sun was filtering into their little cave.

"Are you two still going to Virginia?"

Crystal looked at Paul, his face relaxed and calm. She hadn't seen him so calm since she found him in her bedroom floor. That was the Paul she missed, but the stick beneath her sleeve seemed to press into her arm with purpose. Jason's words haunted her, and she was reminded again of how she was going to tell Paul what all had happened in Virginia. Should she tell him? But the proper question really was could she tell him? Either way, Crystal knew Paul would want to see for himself. That much she knew no matter what. She looked to Jason again and nodded.

He let out a sigh. It sounded more annoyed than anything, but he wasn't going to argue, which Crystal took as a good sign. And in an instant, Jason put on that annoying, syrupy grin and shook Paul awake, which Crystal protested with as much ferocity as she could, but Paul woke up with a yawn and a light smile. He had color in his face, which comforted Crystal, and his smile made it that much better. Crystal couldn't be sure, but she thought for a second that she blushed. There was no time to dwell on it. The moment Jason was able to check Paul's stitches and clear him as fit for travel, at least fit enough for Paul's standards, they were crawling out and on their way to Virginia, and Crystal was depositing the stick back where she found it as slick as possible.

What they would find scared Crystal more than anything.
CHAPTER 10

Three days. It took three days. Three days of stealing cars. Three days of dragging dead bodies. Three days until they made it to Bluefield. Crystal was sure she would never get the smell of death out of her nose, but she was also sure she would never get used to it, though it seemed Jason and Paul were comfortable around it. Death wasn't something Crystal could fathom becoming comfortable around, but she could accept it. It happened. So she moved the bodies, and then kept moving. Just because those people couldn't move anymore didn't mean she couldn't.

Paul was beyond anything Crystal had seen. He was smiling a lot more, and every time he recognized a tree or flower, he would point it out with enthusiasm and explain some family memory it held. Seeing him talk about his family reminded her of her own family. She wanted to cry, but she was far from sad. She felt closer to them when Paul talked about his family. But darkness still lingered in the corners of those happy memories. No, it wasn't darkness. It was light — a burning, orange light. It was flames. As they came closer and closer to Virginia, the reality was beginning to sink in. She hadn't warned Paul, and there was no way of telling him after they had come so far.

And she knew they were getting closer by how much quicker Paul had started to walk. So far, Crystal was comforted by the fact that everything looked remotely the same. No cities or towns burned down to piles of ash, no mountains of dead bodies to find, nothing but the usual body count and ash count. Maybe Jason had exaggerated, or maybe he had even lied. Why would he? She wasn't sure, but Crystal wouldn't put it past him. Regardless, with Paul almost sprinting ahead of them, it left Crystal and Jason alone a lot of the time, and Jason had a few things to say with Paul out of earshot.

"Have you told him anything?"

Crystal glanced over at him, but his face gave nothing away. He was his usual perky and cheerful self, though his words and tone carried a much darker tone. Crystal looked forward, too, keeping her eyes locked on Paul's back. She was reminded of the first day they traveled together and how she could recall the steady and muscular movements Paul had. Now, his jacket completely enveloped him. He was so much thinner than she remembered, but then she supposed she was, too. How had Jason stayed so pudgy? She probably would never know.

"No. Hadn't had a chance to."

"You do realize we're about an afternoon's walk from Bluefield, right? He's gonna notice something."

Crystal didn't respond. She didn't have to explain herself to Jason, and he didn't have to explain himself to her. All she wanted was peace and quiet, and more time to think. Jason seemed to understand that as he fell completely silent. But Paul hadn't gotten the memo, and it wasn't a second later that he turned towards them, beaming with a joy Crystal never knew he had. How long had it been since he last saw his family?

"We're almost there! I can't believe it isn't snowing. You guys should see it when it snows. It's beautiful."

Jason mumbled something along the lines of, "Snow melts when there's fire," but with a quick elbow in the gut from Crystal, everything else that was said trailed off into a fit of coughs and heavy wheezing. Paul gave them both a confused look, but his smile didn't falter a bit, and it only made Crystal's heart lurch in her chest. There was no way to tell him. He would have to see for himself. And in just a few hours, he did. Though it wasn't what Jason or Crystal had expected.

Paul lived farther up in the mountains than either one of them had anticipated, and when they finally climbed their way up the mountain — much to Jason's dismay — they were met with a perverse scene. It was a log cabin, completely untouched, with only a few meteorites scattered about. It was the only indication that anything had happened to disrupt the usual flow.

Even Paul was surprised about the discovery as he gasped, "It's here. It's still here."

He turned back to look at Crystal, his grin stretching so far across his face, she was sure it hurt him. Crystal looked to Jason, not sure whether she should smile or just wait. Jason looked at her and only shrugged. Neither knew what would happen until they stepped over the threshold of that cabin door, and Paul was beyond ready to find out what — or who — was inside.

He rushed toward the house, fist raised and ready to beat on the front door, as he hollered, "Mason! Mom! I'm here! It's Paul!"

Putting two fingers in his mouth, he let out a shrill whistle, but there was no answer from anyone. Crystal looked to her arm and found goose bumps starting to rise. Something didn't seem right. Paul tried the door and found it opened without any issue, then he looked back at Crystal again. His smile had fallen from his face, and he stared right at Crystal for much longer than she would have liked. Was he studying her? Trying to read her reaction? She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it right back without a word. That wasn't the response that Paul was looking for.

He flipped back around and rushed into the house, and Crystal took that as her cue. Her body responded immediately, Paul's name falling off her lips even as it was drowned out by his panicked cries of "Mason" and "Mom." She wasn't sure if Jason was following her, but she really didn't care. The only thing on her mind was finding Paul and hiding him from whatever was left to find in the house.

When her feet met hardwood floor, she paused and looked around. His home was sparsely decorated, with a couch and a recliner, which she could picture Paul reclining back in if everything had been as it was before the world ended. He was a recliner guy. No doubt. But what was lacking in furniture was made up by the amount of pictures hanging on the walls. They were in all sizes and in many different frames, but they were all of Paul and his brother. Crystal was sure, whoever his mother was, she loved her boys more than anything in the world. She just hoped she'd get a chance to meet her.

But the one thing she was looking for wasn't there. Where was Paul?

Her eyes drifted over to a set of steps leading down, which she could only assume led to the basement. That was where Paul had gone. She had no doubt about it. It was too quiet, and that made her nervous beyond all words. She rushed down the steps, taking them two at a time, until she reached the door, left slightly ajar. She pressed her hand against it and pushed. Her eyes immediately met Paul's, while in his lap laid his mother's head, and in her lap was Mason. Both had bullets in their heads, but in his mother's hand was a pistol. Whether she had killed them both or it had been an attempt at defense, Crystal would never know, but when she met Paul's eyes again, there was no way she could lie to him.

There was no way she could feign surprise, and she instead muttered a sob-filled, "I'm sorry."

Even as the tears poured down his face, he shook his head and responded, "Leave. Just leave us alone."

And despite all of the things she wanted to say and all of the feelings she wanted to show him, she did just that. She turned and walked right back up the stairs, though her steps were much heavier than before. When she finally made it to the top of the steps, Jason was in the doorway of the house, studying her with a blank face. Why did everyone always wait on her reaction? Could they not just ask? Regardless, she shook her head and let a few tears fall from her eyes.

Jason nodded and bowed his head. He hadn't needed her to tell him what he had already guessed.

Paul did eventually come up the stairs, and in his arms he carried his brother. Crystal and Jason had taken root on the floor of the living room. It hadn't seemed right to sit on the couch. Everything just seemed too tilted and strange for her to interrupt. Instead, the floor was the best option. Jason didn't question her, and he joined her all the same. She never thought that she would come to understand and trust Jason as much as she did. Though she still couldn't say that she liked him, she did feel some loyalty to him. Paul hated them. That was something they both could understand.

He was heading out the front door, and Crystal was just about to let him leave without a word, but before she could make up her mind, she had already scrambled up and off the floor, with her hand reaching out to him. Paul stopped and turned enough to look back at her, but he wasn't entirely facing her. He gazed down at her hand and she did the same before dropping it back to her side. She wasn't sure why she had decided to stop him, but she couldn't just let him bury his family alone. She knew what that was like, and it was painful. No one should have to bury his, or her, own family.

"Paul. I'm sorry."

That was all she was able to get out. She wanted to say more, but Paul had things he wanted to say, and he had even more that he wanted to know.

His voice was stale when he spoke, and it made her skin crawl, but he asked just the same. "Did you know about any of this before we got here?"

She dropped her gaze to Paul's feet, but not before seeing his gaze momentarily shift to Jason, still on the floor behind her. He wasn't stupid. He knew something was up long before he decided to ask. That was why he had waited for her reaction when they got to the cabin, that was why he had told her to leave him alone in the basement, and that was why he stared at her with more anger than she had seen the entire time they had known each other. He knew she had known and that she hadn't told him anything. Crystal had let him go on the entire time excited and hoping that he hadn't lost anything, that maybe he had a chance at saving everyone when he had no chance at all. Sure, she hadn't known the extent of what had been lost, but even a warning would have been better than nothing. It wouldn't have hurt as much.

No. It would have still hurt, but he wouldn't have been hurt by both the loss of his family and Crystal. She could've at least spared him that pain, but she didn't. He didn't need her response to know that. Silence was enough, and he turned to walk outside, but not without one last plea from Crystal.

"Please. Just let me help you."

He turned one more time, facing her completely. His face was drawn up in a visible growl, but his voice remained completely monotone as he said, "You stay away from me and my family."

Crystal was stunned into silence, but she couldn't say she was surprised by his response. She would have rathered him yell and scream at her — anything but a monotone response with an unspoken warning.

Even though Paul refused to let her help, she refused to move. She stood on the front porch and watched as he buried his brother, then his mother. He didn't take the time to take the gun from her hand, but instead buried her with it, all the while aging right before Crystal's eyes. Every time he shoveled another clump of dirt into their graves, there were more wrinkles and the dark circles around his eyes got darker. By the time he had finished, Crystal was sure he was near death, and the stitches in his legs leaked little strings of blood down his dirty legs. She wanted to demand he let Jason look at them, but knew better than to say a word. There was no way he would listen to her after all that had happened. He would rather die.

Regardless, Crystal stayed close and tried to show her support from afar while Paul simply walked back in the house and ignored her, but she followed him inside just the same. Jason was inside, still fiddling around the carpet. Paul sent him a sneer, but didn't acknowledge him past that. Crystal was beginning to wonder if they would be allowed to sleep there tonight, or at least get a bite to eat, but Paul disappeared in the kitchen and came back with a small armful of goodies. He didn't say anything as he dropped them in a pile in front of Jason and then took a seat not too far from him.

Crystal was surprised, but found a bit of hope that maybe he didn't completely hate her. But when she took the seat directly in front of Paul and tried to meet his eyes, he made a point to stare directly at the floor. Whatever was going on in his head didn't include Crystal in the least. But why would it? They hadn't known each other for very long. He didn't owe her anything, but she felt that she owed him something. But that would have to wait until later. Her thoughts were interrupted by Jason as he spoke up.

"So, now that this plan has been thoroughly botched, where do we go from here?"

Paul looked up at Jason and shrugged, but brought his eyes right back to the floor. His plan had always been to come back for his family. Without them, he had nothing else. Crystal knew that feeling well, but now she felt wherever he went, she would go. If they didn't have their families, they would at least have each other.

"I'm going wherever Paul goes."

For a single second, Paul's eyes flickered up to meet hers, but his words were far from comforting. "I'm not staying here. New York is where I'm heading. Whether y'all want to come or not, I don't really give a damn."

Both Jason and Crystal gave each other confused looks, but only Jason took the time to ask him why.

"New York? Pardon me, if I'm wrong, but I don't think you've ever been to New York. What could be up there that is of any interest to you?"

Paul shot him a glare and responded with a much deeper voice than Crystal had ever heard. "There are boats. Tons of them. I'm getting one and leaving this country for good. There has to be better things out there."

Crystal was beyond shocked and her mouth was gaping open in surprise. Embarrassed, she shut her mouth, but only to clear her throat so she could speak.

"What if they're all gone? Then what?"

Paul didn't look at her to respond. He instead kept his gaze trained on Jason.

"I'll build one. Nothing is going to keep me here." With that last sentence, his eyes did meet hers for an instant, but it only left a bitter taste in Crystal's mouth.

Jason shook his head and sighed. "You're both idiots if you think that's going to work. Look," and he leaned forward a bit, "I have contacts in California. They can help us, I'm sure of it. We went to college together, and if I know those guys, they've already got something going over there that's worth checking out."

Paul shook his head this time and wrinkled his nose. "I don't give a damn about your yuppy friends and what they can do for me. I'm just fine by myself."

Jason didn't seem a bit disappointed by his refusal to come, but then his eyes met Crystal's, and he leaned forward as if to whisper her a secret. "Crystal, you're welcome to come with me."

She looked between both men. One was refusing to look her in the eye, and she was sure he didn't care one way or another which she chose, but the other man was staring her head on. She still didn't like Jason, and she didn't think she ever would. He was old, annoying, and he creeped her out — especially as his eyes bored into her, waiting for a response. It was clear to her which path she would take.

"New York it is."

Though she mainly watched Jason's theatrical response of disapproval, she couldn't help noticing Paul sag. He had been rigid waiting for her response, but whether he sagged in relief or disappointment, Crystal couldn't tell. Either way, they were going to be stuck together for a while.

By the time they had finished all of their goodies, night had fallen. Paul had stayed up a little longer to pack things for the trip, and she was glad to see that he had brought her pack in the kitchen with him. She hoped he would forgive her, and if she could help it, she would make him see her side that night. Thankfully, Jason had gone to sleep not long after he had finished eating, but he took up most of the rug, leaving Crystal half-on and half-off of the cold hardwood floor. She didn't mind. Instead, she focused on listening for Paul. She hoped he would decide to sleep on her side, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he took the other side.

She could hear the soft pad of his feet coming back from the kitchen, then the rustle of their packs being laid down somewhere. More padding of feet, then silence. She assumed that meant he was trying to decide, and she tried to mentally will him over to her side. Whether it helped or not, he did eventually make his way over to her side and lay down beside her. She could barely make out the contours of his face, but his eyes shined in the darkness, and they were looking directly at her. Could he see her eyes? And if she cried, would he be able to see her tears?

She didn't get a chance to ask and was surprised that he asked her a question first. "What are you still up for?"

Crystal wasn't sure how to answer. She knew that she had stayed up to talk to him, but she hadn't planned on telling him that. Instead, she decided the best thing to do was to start off where she had planned.

"I knew Virginia had been burned down. Jason is from here, and he told me everything."

Paul remained silent, but she could barely see him nod, which she assumed meant he understood.

Crystal kept going. "I wanted to tell you, but you were so sick, and Jason hadn't specified where everything had happened. When I saw the house was still standing, I had hope. Paul, those looters were from here, too. The leader burned most of the state down. But you were so excited to come back, how could I have told you? Do you at least understand where I am coming from?"

Paul lay there silent for what seemed like ages. Crystal, for a moment, thought he might have fallen asleep, but she could scarcely make out his form shaking in the darkness. She tried to scoot closer and even tried to wrap an arm around him, just as she had the night he had woken up crying, but he scooted farther away from her and out of her reach. He had gone so far that she couldn't even make out his figure in the darkness, and that in itself made her feel completely alone. She dropped her arm and pulled it close to her chest, and she tried her best to stop the tears that threatened to spill over.

"You could've warned me. Regardless of whether or not my home might not have been affected, you should have told me what had happened. At least then I might not have been so blindsided."

Crystal muttered an apology, but through the tears, it was too garbled to be heard. Paul got the message though.

"Don't be sorry, and don't cry. I am the one who should cry. You can come with me if you want, but don't expect anything from me. I won't let you starve, but don't you dare try to feed me. When we get to New York, you can go your way, or you can go mine, but I will not let you help me. I can't trust you to do anything like that. We leave in the morning."

And with that, she could hear him shift, and she was sure his back was turned toward her, and though he had told her not to cry, the tears kept pouring and pouring until she had nothing left. It wasn't until then that she slept.
CHAPTER 11

Crystal hadn't slept well at all, and it didn't seem she would wake well, either. When she opened her eyes, it wasn't because of the orange light that reflected off of the hardwood floor. Instead, it was to the sound of Jason, crying out and slamming down on the floor. Crystal jolted up into a sitting position and had to blink past her bleary morning vision before she was able to see Jason lying sprawled out on the ground, with blood seemingly dripping from his nose, while Paul gripped his leg and yanked him back. Jason was gripping the floor and doing his best to try to claw away, but it was no use. Paul pulled him all the way back and had him gripped around the collar of his shirt, then ripped him up from the floor and stood him back up.

Crystal fumbled towards them, doing her best not to trip over her own feet as she grabbed Paul's arm and did her best to try to pull his hands away from Jason.

All the while she screamed, "What is going on? Paul, why are you doing this?"

Jason wasn't making it any easier as he screamed constantly. "He's gone nuts. Absolutely crazy. I should have shot him in the head when I had a chance."

Crystal could feel the muscles in Paul's arms go rigid. He had lost weight, but he made up for his newly lean form with what bulk of muscle had been retained, and though the jacket completely enveloped his body, the anger that rippled through his muscles pushed against the leather anyway. It was then that the image of Paul standing over an innocent family, gun poised and ready to fire, came to the forefront of her mind, but this time, it was Jason in his line of fire. Even as Paul dropped Jason and disappeared into the kitchen, Crystal kept her hands gripped tightly to his arm, and he dragged her along with him without a word.

As he began to fumble through a few of the drawers, Crystal couldn't help but demand, "What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Answer me."

But he didn't. Instead, he let out a short grunt, lifted a pistol from the cupboard, and checked the chamber. It was loaded. Crystal didn't have to see the chamber to know that much. Paul's smirk told her all she needed to know. He popped the chamber shut and stomped back into the living room with Crystal following close behind, once again trying to grab him and convince him to at least explain, but her words were becoming garbled. Nothing she said was making sense, and her hands shook so much that she couldn't even keep a grip on his jacket, but it could have also been from the sweat that had started to accumulate on her palms.

Jason was at the door, and she willed him to run and even tried to scream for him to, but her voice was broken. It cracked the instant she tried to use it. Besides, no matter how quick he tried or how much adrenaline and sweat poured through him and out of him, Jason's hands were mirroring Crystal's. They shook and slipped when he tried to grip the handle. He only got one more chance to look back, open his mouth for one final plea, and then Paul pulled the trigger.

Almost as quickly as the trigger was pulled, blood spewed and poured from a hole in Jason's neck. Jason's mouth continued to try to form words, but nothing would come forth. He fell limply against the door, right arm still outstretched and grasping the handle to the door, almost as if it were his remaining lifeline. Crystal froze where she stood, mouth still agape and hands sliding limply from any hold they had on Paul's leather jacket.

Paul let out a huff of air, sounding almost like a content sigh.

He limped his way over to Jason's form and just before his mouth finally stopped moving, Paul leaned down toward him, and Crystal could barely hear his words as he growled, "Don't you dare lie, then steal from me."

He reached around for something Crystal had failed to notice before, and came back with one of the bags that he had packed the night before. As he walked back, bile rose to Crystal's throat as she noted a splatter of Jason's blood on the beige bag. Paul dropped it in front of her, but he gave no kind of instruction. Instead, he walked back and threw the other bag across his back, trudged back to the door, and kicked Jason's limp body out of the way, which hit the floor with a thud. The bile was fighting its way up Crystal's throat, and she could already feel her body heave with the start of a release, but Paul wasn't wasting any time.

He opened the door and Crystal watched as his back grew smaller and smaller the farther he walked away from her. With panic beginning to set in, she threw the blood-speckled bag over her shoulder and stumbled forward toward the door, though she couldn't help pausing to survey Jason's body. He looked as if he were still trying to say something, his eyes squinted in concentration. She wondered if he was just acting and would at any time break out into that chipper voice and that nauseating laugh, but she didn't think so.

Regardless, she kept moving and got close enough to Paul that she could see where he was going from behind him, but made a point to stay back and to not walk beside him. Why it seemed important to her, she wasn't sure. The distance and trauma made for little conversation to pass between the two, which Crystal both enjoyed and despised. While she was glad to not have to talk to Paul, she didn't like being left alone with her thoughts. Not only did she have the fake image of Paul that she had conjured up, she also had a much more tangible a memory. A moment she could recall whether she wanted to or not. It was like a movie reel playing over and over in her head, despite her best efforts at thinking of something else.

She longed to hear that syrupy and chipper voice, just to prove that it had all been a nightmare, but there was no denying what had occurred. No matter what kind of feelings she had begun to develop with Paul, he was a wild-card, and from his actions, she was beginning to feel unsafe around him. Sure, neither one of them had liked Jason, even from the beginning, but she knew for a fact that Paul was less than pleased with her. She was even inclined to say he hated her, but the harshness of the word made her heart a bit harder to carry in her chest.

The only time she was given a reprieve from her thoughts was when they stopped to renew their supplies and to eat, which they didn't do very often. Jason had been right. Most of Virginia, as far as Crystal could tell, had been completely burned to the ground, save for a few hidden mom-and-pop stores closer to the mountains, but those had been mostly picked through. Plus, with the image of Jason limp and dead on the ground still fresh in Crystal's mind, food was less than appetizing. She instead settled for drinking as much water as she could during the breaks and tried to completely clear her thoughts. It only worked until they started walking again.

Then it was back to those thoughts and the flames that were now a consistent image in her nightmares. They only became more real as Crystal began to notice bits and pieces of places and towns. There would be a partially burnt storefront, the name far from legible as the flames had licked the sign completely black. Everywhere else had been turned into mountains of ash. Though she refused to walk next to him, she could see his feet stumble a bit every time they passed a particular place on the seemingly-misplaced sidewalk. Miles and miles of sidewalk, but with no destination. It was a haunting thought that Crystal knew she would carry for the rest of her life. She would carry Virginia with her the rest of her life, but she could only imagine what Paul would carry. People, stores, memories. Crystal knew how heavily those weighed on the mind, but she couldn't imagine how heavy it was when everything was destroyed, and with Jason gone, Paul could possibly be the only one who could recall what most of the store names were, the street names, the faces and names of people no one would ever meet again. It brought a few tears to Crystal's eyes, but she wiped them just as quickly as they appeared. She was tired of crying.

Regardless, Paul's steps were becoming more and hurried, but only in spurts. Crystal couldn't help wondering if he was trying to find something, or someone, but when she began to trail her own gaze over the ash piles, she realized he was trying to run away from things, not find things. There were bodies. Burnt bodies, but bodies all the same. Crystal was reminded of some of the bodies she had seen the day the meteorites had fallen from the sky. The two weren't so different, but whether they had died from the meteorites or the fires, neither of them would probably ever know. Crystal was just glad that they did eventually leave the main part of the town and were delving into more wooded areas, but even these had not been spared. There were plenty of burnt trees and bodies, but they were more likely done by the meteorites, which Crystal took comfort in, and she hoped Paul did, too, but it was doubtful.

They walked well into the night, and Crystal longed to be back in their little cave. She hated Jason, but she found her thoughts drifting to him once in a while. It only got worse when her eyes would drift down to Paul's legs. Who would remove the stitches? When would they heal? How would she clean them? All of those questions made her head whirl, but Paul probably wouldn't let her help him anyway. It was his problem, and after everything that occurred, she wasn't sure if she wanted to help him. She really didn't even want him to help her, but it was only in those moments that she got to see the Paul that she had grown to like, and she couldn't quite separate herself from that just yet.

Their walking led them out of the woods and to a highway, littered with abandoned and crushed-in vehicles, and for the first time since leaving the wood cabin Paul turned back and flashed a grin to Crystal. She couldn't help stepping back in surprise, which made Paul's smile fall back to its usual hard line. Crystal's heart leaped in her chest, only to fall harder into place. She would be lying if she said he didn't scare her. He was unpredictable, and she couldn't take any chances, but seeing his face fall hurt more than she could've expected.

Paul turned away without a word and went back to whatever plot he had come up with once they found the highway. He went from one car to another, trying door after door. Most were locked, much to his chagrin, and his growls told Crystal all she needed to know. On about the fifteenth car, Paul's growl was much more pronounced, and he followed it by wrapping his hand in his jacket and punching the glass of the door. It broke, but not enough to fit his own hand in, and he didn't look too keen on continuing. Crystal, without much thought, headed over his way, but paused just as she got close enough to Paul she could touch him. He glanced her way, but only grimaced, which made her heart sink into her chest. How was it possible her heart could get even heavier?

She didn't dwell on it too long. She instead pushed her way in front of him without a word. She was sure he would put up some fight, but he was far too eager to get away from her to try to assert himself. Crystal tried to pay no mind to it and instead focus on the task at hand. The hole was about the size of baseball, and maybe a bit larger, but not by much. Lifting her hand, palm facing up, she studied its size and tried to gauge how well it would fit. Had she had so many veins in her hands before? Were there always so many bones? Each thought crossed her mind as a whisper, but disappeared just as subtly. Before there might have been a question as to whether her hand might actually fit, but there was no doubt anymore.

She folded her fingers together and stuck her fist into the hole, careful to push in all the way to her elbow so as not to cut herself on the shards. As she did so, she occasionally glanced back at Paul, but he was too busy scuffing the toe of his boot against the highway to care. She also thought he might have been avoiding her gaze, but there was no way to be sure. She focused on her task instead. Bending her arm at the elbow, her fingertips barely brushed the end of the locking mechanism. All she had to do was give a few more centimeters, which she did without any extra thought. The glass pressed into her skin, but whether it broke or not, she wasn't sure. The pleasing sound of the door unlocking, completely distracted Crystal from Paul's steps behind her.

Not taking too much care in removing her arm, she flipped around to face Paul, whose face was a completely blank slate, but with an outreaching hand. Freezing in place, he lowered his arm down to his side, but directed his eyes to her arm, which she found to be dripping little trails of blood. It wasn't anything serious. She had experienced worse just in their little time traveling together, and her shoulder seemed to throb at the mere thought of the gun fight. She expected Paul to say something about it, but instead he only nodded in what she assumed was approval and then reached around her to pull open the door to the car she had managed to unlock.

Cradling her arm to her chest, she scuttled to the other side of the car, eyes lowered. If tears did decide to well up, there was no way she was going to let him see. Crystal put a hand on the handle and waited silently for him to unlock the door, but as the seconds ticked by, her curiosity overwhelmed her need for privacy. She raised her head and looked into the window of the car to find Paul leaned over the driver's seat and staring into the backseat. Crystal shifted over to the backseat window and peered inside, silently gasping at the sight of two people gripping each other, dead. There were no outer signs of looter attack or burns, but there was no doubt they had died of something. She could also see a key lodged between both of their hands as they clasped one another's. It was a pitiful sight, one which Crystal was sure Paul held heavy on his mind.

He didn't say a word, unlocking all of the doors and then sliding into the driver seat. Crystal opened the passenger door and slid in, as well, going through the motions of buckling herself in while Paul closed his door. She closed hers, then looked his way. He gripped the steering wheel, eyes staring straight ahead and squinting. Crystal didn't have to be able to read his mind to know that he was somewhere else entirely. Even as they sat unmoving in the car, his thoughts were taking him and carrying him somewhere Crystal could never reach him.

Though he was far away, Paul still managed to say, "Get the key."

She gave him a shocked look, but one distant sidelong glance from him and she remained silent. She would rather deal with the dead couple than with him while he was acting that way. It took a little more leverage than she was comfortable with, but Crystal was able to pry the key out from between the couple's hands. She held the key out and Paul took it without a word. Her eyes remained straight ahead even as the car sputtered to life. It still didn't make any sense to her as to why Paul had left the couple in the car. All they had to do was drag them out. It wouldn't be the first time they had to move dead bodies, though that fact disgusted her more than she had originally assumed.

"Paul, why don't we drop the bodies?"

He didn't look her way, but she didn't look his, either.

"Why would we? They're fine where they are."

With his response hanging heavily in the air, Crystal didn't ask any more questions. Paul was scaring her, and not because he was angry or emotional. He scared her because he was calm. It was far too normal for her to believe, but she didn't point it out. Instead, she decided to take advantage of the familiarity of a car ride. Leaning her head back against the headrest, she closed her eyes and imagined that she had rode up with Paul to visit his mother. She had gushed over them both and hugged Paul like she hadn't seen him in years. She and Paul would hold hands and take trips. He was chauffeuring her to a restaurant that he went to when he was younger. It was a happy world, but a world that did not — and would not — exist.

The next time she opened her eyes, the light of the moon was filtering in the window and reflecting off of the car door. Somehow, she had gone from the headrest to the door. Regardless, when she sat up and stretched, her body popped and cracked in comfort. It had possibly been the most comfortable sleep she had had in a long time. How long had it been since the world ended? She couldn't quite recall, but it didn't matter at that point. All that mattered was that it was all over. Her bleary gaze drifted over to the driver, and she was surprised to find that he had released his death grip on the steering wheel.

He leaned over against the door, left arm propped up and knuckles pressed against his temple. He didn't smile or frown, but his face was settled into a relaxed and blank slate. It was the calmest she had seen him in a long time, and she made sure to etch that image in her brain for later. She wasn't sure when she would see it again. The sight was something she enjoyed all the way until a scrape on a curb pulled her gaze back to the road, where she saw a busted neon sign advertising The C eapst Motel round and an unkempt set of motel rooms. The proclamation wasn't exactly reassuring, but Crystal would take what she could get. Her eyes trailed back to Paul, his form stiff again and his hands gripping the steering wheel even as he stopped the car and put it in park.

"Where are we?"

Paul shook his head. "I don't know."

With no further explanation, he climbed out of the car and headed straight for the little separated building, probably the service and check-in building. In the meantime, Crystal gathered up her bag and threw it over her shoulder. Though she had rested a majority of the ride, she still longed for a bed, and the possibility of a shower had her bouncing up to the rooms even before Paul made it back with a key. When he finally did make it back, Crystal held out her hand for the key. He stood in front of her, eyebrows furrowed in what she thought was either thought or annoyance, but he did eventually drop it in her palm.

Room 103. Perfect.

With no warning to Paul, Crystal spun on her heel and took off down the sidewalk that lined the motel rooms, counting every door until she reached her most coveted room 103. It hadn't occurred to her until she slid the key into the lock that Paul had only gotten one. She wondered if it was because he didn't care if they shared a room, or if all the other keys had already been taken. But Crystal ended up just mentally chastising herself for putting too much thought in it all.

Trying to clear her mind, she turned the key and opened the door. She was genuinely surprised to find no dead bodies inside, but that quickly faded to disgust. It was in moments like that that she realized how truly different the world had become. Regardless, the room was perfect. Well, as perfect as a motel room could be. Mini-fridge, which she was sure didn't work, two full beds, two lamps that didn't work, a desk, a TV, and another door. A door she prayed led to the bathroom.

She all but danced across the room, and with no hesitation, she gripped the handle and opened the door to find a pole with two empty clothes hangers. Her disappointment was beyond all measure.

But Paul's voice pulled her from her pity-party long enough to at least distract her and bring her thoughts somewhere else.

"Even if there had been a bathroom, there are no guarantees the water lines still work."

That fact made her slump a bit, but it did little to curb her desire for the luxury of a shower. Thankfully, Paul wasn't completely cruel.

"But, there is a shower area attached to the back of the building. Unless you can scrounge up some clothes, you'll have to put those dirty ones right back on."

With renewed hope, Crystal didn't give the situation a second thought. She tossed her bag onto the farthest bed from the door, then skipped back out of the room. She thought Paul had said something to her on the way out, but she was too quick to hear it. On the way out to the back of the motel, her only company were the sounds of the crickets and the stars. The natural noise paired with her clear head made for a perfect time to think, and think she did.

About Paul. About the future. Yet, none of it dampened her in that moment. She was too busy listening to things that reminded her of the world before everything had gone to hell. The crickets singing and the stars shining above. Though there was a lot of bad in the world, there was still a lot of good. It was moments like those that kept her hopeful, and the fact that the shower worked only made it that much better.

When she made it back from the community bathroom, Paul was already laid up in his bed with his back toward the door. The further they slipped into the night, the darker the room had become, and Crystal found herself wondering why Paul hadn't turned on the lights. She still wasn't used to the lack of electricity, and she doubted she would ever really be able to adapt to a life with such contrast to the one she had been raised in. Paul adapted fine, but even he grew up in a world much different than hers. All of these thoughts and realizations left a bitter taste in her mouth, which only got worse as a rush of cold, night air froze her soaked hair. Though she had adored the feeling of cleanliness and showers, the aftereffects were far from what she had expected.

Still, she was glad to have at least a layer of grime off her skin, and she was sure it was good for her wound, which had scabbed over sometime during their travel. Paul could probably do some good from a shower, but Crystal wouldn't be the one to tell him that. She just prayed he didn't get an infection and that they figured out what to do about his stitches. With the thought of his stitches, her mind drifted back to Jason. Jason weighed heavily on her mind and her body, and her feet seemed to clomp on the ground until she slipped into the motel bed. But even that heaviness carried over into the bed as she sunk down into its mattress. Had beds always been that soft? Crystal couldn't recall, but either way she was glad to be in it.

Curling up on her side, it didn't take long for her eyes to drift closed, but her cold hair kept her latched to consciousness. Thankfully so, because sometime during the night, Paul groaned awake. She could hear him shift back and forth over the covers, but he made no other sounds. Eventually, the blankets did stop, but were seamlessly replaced by the swift padding of his feet against the carpet. Her eyes fluttered open for a second, but she was only met with darkness, and she didn't dare move in case he didn't want her to know he was awake. She would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. Crystal was absolutely terrified. At one point in time, she would've trusted Paul with her life, but lying in the darkness with him after everything that had happened terrified her. She willed her body to freeze, but even her best efforts couldn't stop her breathing from picking up.

But when she felt the mattress dip on the other side of the bed, her fear and surprise choked back any and all fearful noises. The mattress moved a little bit more and the covers shuffled around, but Paul eventually lay still. He didn't touch her except for their legs, but they both liked to tuck their feet under them, so she wasn't too shocked by that. Silence fell, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Crystal was surprised to find herself sagging into the mattress and fighting sleep.

"Crys, are you awake?"

She froze again, but it gave her a reason not to respond.

Paul didn't wait for any either. He continued on. "I know you fear me. I saw it once, and I've seen it a thousand times since we left the cabin. I can't forgive you ... that's just not like me ... but you don't have to fear me. I just can't handle those frightened little looks you give me every time I breathe in your direction."

His voice was low and gruff, but Crystal could pick up on a slight break at the end of every sentence. It was as if he wanted to cry, but couldn't. She could understand that feeling well, and though his words washed over her a small sense of relief, it did nothing to calm her mind. Before she even had a chance to think it through, she blurted the first question that came to her mind.

"Did you have to kill Jason?"

Her question caused another thick coat of silence to fall over the room, but it was much heavier than the last, and Crystal found herself gasping under the weight. Paul was taking a long time to respond, and she thought he wouldn't respond at all, but he did, and Crystal didn't expect the answer.

"Does it really matter?"

She wasn't sure if he meant that it didn't matter if he killed in general or that it had been Jason, but she knew he didn't expect an answer and she didn't have one to give him. But, either way, his answer brought a sickness over her that she hadn't expected. It was a pain unlike anything she had experienced, and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Even if she hated the tears, they came forth out of Crystal's control, and that was how the night ended — in tears and silence.
CHAPTER 12

Every day after the night in the motel, things went like clockwork. Paul drove the car as far as it would take them until it ran out of gas, then they would sleep in it before switching cars and continuing their drive. Crystal wasn't sure if he actually knew where he was going, but she found herself trusting him more in more. It probably helped that he made it a point to sleep close to her every night. He didn't always touch her, but he would always be close enough that he was impossible to ignore.

Crystal couldn't say that she minded, though. It was nice to have his warmth during the night and be able to listen to him breathe. It made her feel like she wasn't alone, which she too often felt as they traveled from state to state, farther and farther away from her home, his home, and all of the memories. The bad and the good memories trailed behind them in the form of fumes from the exhaust pipe, but the weight of those past emotions still weighed heavily on her mind. No matter how far they ran or drove, Crystal knew she would never be able to leave those feelings behind, but she wasn't sure if Paul knew that. He was determined to run, and they were running fast.

Crystal wasn't sure how many days it took them, but she determined it had to be at least four to five days from how many cars they went through. At least seven cars and one truck, which was the last vehicle to take them all the way to New York. She wasn't sure, but Paul seemed to be very proud of that fact. Paul was definitely a pick-up truck kind of guy. Regardless, his pride deflated the moment they saw New York. Buildings toppled, whole streets completely blocked and destroyed by debris and meteorites, and there was no guarantee on the death toll as most of those whom Crystal assumed had died were under the rubble.

She had thought it was bad in Alabama, but New York was a skeleton — a skeleton of broken buildings and like a frozen moment in time.

"I've never seen New York before. Guess I never will."

Crystal was surprised Paul spoke, but his words rang true, and she didn't need to respond for him to know she felt the same. She had only ever seen the bustling and busy city in books and on TV, but what she saw was far from the image that had been created for her, and it only got worse as they drove deeper into the city. Eventually, the roads were completely impossible to navigate in a vehicle. Paul was hesitant to leave the truck, but he did end up leaving it, though he made sure to take one last look at it before they dove into the dead city.

Paul spared no time in finding the direction of the docks, as his goal had always been to find a boat and leave America as quick as he could. Crystal didn't tell him that she was pretty sure it would be near-impossible to find a boat still docked, and what would be docked, she had no doubt it would be in shambles. Knowing Paul though, he probably already had a backup plan, and if he didn't, it wouldn't take him long to come up with one.

Along the way, they passed some of the smaller shops. Little shops that were pressed in between the larger skyscrapers and buildings. Some were more intact than others, mainly due to the large structures around them taking the brunt of the chaos, but others weren't so lucky.

One of the buildings caught her eye, and — despite Paul's need for speed — she stopped in the middle of the street and studied the storefront, or what was left of it. Half of the sign was still on the ground and could be read as being "Lily's," but the rest of the words were probably hidden the ashes. What had Lily served in her little shop? She could picture a young girl selling pastries and cakes, but the image reminded her more of Alabama with its small town bakeries than a bustling part of a city as big as New York.

The thought left her aching and sore, more emotionally than physically, but it didn't stop her from further exploring. Something begged to be found amongst the pile, but Crystal was also tired of following Paul all of the time. She wanted to do something for herself, so she climbed into the broken windows, the only side that still looked like something reminiscent of a store. The other side was caved in and made a bit of a hutch for the side Crystal climbed into. The lack of proper lighting and windows made it almost impossible to see, but Crystal could make out the outline of a bar or long shelf. While walking closer toward the back, her foot crunched something metallic.

Without much thought, she bent down and tucked the object under her arm. She wasn't sure what it was, but she didn't care. It might be what she had suspected was hiding in the rubble. There wasn't much else of interest, but it was haunting to find tables still standing with broken chairs leaning against their ledges for support. She could almost hear the people talking, the smell of pies being lined up at the bar right out of the oven, and the chipper voice of a young waitress taking them to the tables, hoping for a good tip. It gave her chills and made her heart swell, but she could hear Paul's voice calling for her outside, and he didn't sound happy. She mentally cussed him before rushing back toward the light and climbing out of the window.

He waited not too far from the sidewalk where the little shop had once stood, but the way he stood — arms crossed tightly against his chest and face skewed into a grimace — had her far from willing to just follow him. Instead she took her time, sauntering toward him as she looked at the little metal can that she had stepped on. It read pretty easily, except for the large dent that somewhat mangled the type of roast, but it was apparent that the can was a coffee can. Crystal couldn't help her smile when she realized the little shop might have actually been a pastry shop, and the little can became even more of a treasure. When her eyes met Paul's again, his grimace melted into one of mild curiosity.

Whether he was genuinely interested or not, Crystal didn't care. She held the coffee can up to his face, causing him to lean back and squint to read the letters. He mouthed the word coffee, then peered at her around one side of the can. His frown told her that he wasn't as excited about her discovery as she was, but his feelings didn't dampen her own in the least. If anything, it made her more sure that the treasure was important. It would make Paul smile again, and she would make sure of it.

"Want some coffee?"

Paul let out a sigh, then shook his head. The lines of emotional age were even more prominent than any time Crystal had seen them before. He wanted to head toward the docks, but Crystal wanted to linger and try to recover what bit of normalcy she had left in her before they delved headfirst into a completely new world. She pulled the can back and held it tight against her chest, staring Paul down with the most determined looks she could muster.

He sighed again, but his face was softening, the lines fading back and forming the young face she had first met.

"Do I have to fix it?"

She nodded, tilting her head to the side with a crooked grin, "Of course! I don't know how to build a fire!"

Paul shook his head, feigning annoyance, but Crystal could see the start of a small grin forming on his face. It wasn't a large win, but it was better than nothing.

Paul had been far from willing to stop and cook a can of old coffee, but he didn't put up a fight once Crystal agreed to move closer to the docks before they set up shop. Along the way, they gathered a bar stool, a chair, a broken table, and even a few jars to put the coffee in. It was an odd assortment, and Paul wasn't pleased to find he had to carry most of it, but he bore the burden all the same.

They only stopped once they had cleared most of the skyline, which blocked their view of the docks. Crystal wished they had stopped before then as the sight was far from hopeful. Boats were turned upside down, crushed, and there was no telling how many were in the water, if any. Paul either didn't notice or didn't care; he just stopped and began to set up the table and chairs. Then he walked a distance away before starting a fire with what debris and matches he picked up along the way. Crystal tried to keep her eyes on him, but she found her eyes drifting back to the docks.

She never really figured out if she was going to go with him or not. Whether they found a boat or not didn't really matter. What did matter was that she wasn't sure how far she was willing to follow him. She desperately needed answers, but her heart ached at the thought that it might not be the answer she wanted. Regardless, she couldn't go through life just following him around with no rhyme or reason for doing so. She had done it for too long. He helped her survive and took her places she would've never seen in her ordinary life, but what purpose did it all serve?

Crystal didn't get a chance to answer as Paul walked up to their little makeshift cafe with two jars of black coffee. He set them both down on the table, then slid onto the bar stool. It shook for a moment as he steadied himself, but he didn't mind it too much, instead focusing on the coffee. Crystal tried to smile as she sat down, but wasn't sure if it came off as smoothly as she had tried to make it. With her attempt at normalcy beginning to fall flat, she could only revel in the warmth of the mason jar in her hand, which reminded her a bit of home. Even as she tried to distract herself and enjoy the few moments of comfortable silence, her eyes continued to drift back to Paul, who lifted his own mason jar to his lips, took a sip, and then wrinkled his nose.

Once again, she smiled, but much more easily than her previous attempt. She loved her coffee black, and she had assumed Paul would be the same. It seemed he didn't care for the bitter drink. His own gaze flicked to her face and she could swear his cheeks were beginning to light with a bit of a pink shade. It was strange how easily and comfortably their normal moment was salvaged, but in her newfound comfort, Crystal found her lips spitting out words before she was able to think them through.

"I love you," she said.

Paul stared off into the distance, his face unmoving and blank.

Neither of them had expected to end up like that. Sitting there and just discussing their love affairs over long-past-fresh cups of coffee. How long ago had it been since they could enjoy moments like that?

She didn't know, but did all that really matter with the world as it was? She supposed not. She sat in silence, studying her companion's face, while he studied whatever was left on the horizon. She wondered for a moment if he had become a statue, and her eyes began to swim with boredom before he finally showed signs of life.

His eyes remained on whatever point he decided was fit for his gaze when he finally said, "Does it really matter?" She slowly turned to face the same horizon. What did he rest his eyes on? The only remotely interesting object was the crumbling ... was that the Statue of Liberty? She had never seen it before, and she supposed she would never get to see it again. Even then as they sat together, at a table with three and a half legs, herself in a lawn chair, and him on a bar stool, both looking at the broken and misshapen horizon, Lady Liberty remained up in all her glory.

Her crown was a circle of nubs around her head, which now eerily resembled a crown of thorns, and part of her face had fallen off and was now floating off to whatever other country still remained — a country that probably no longer existed. Europe even exist anymore?

She supposed that small fact didn't matter, either. Her eyes then drifted toward the beacon that surely remained in the lady's hand. The cone that once held the flame of –- was it hope? Freedom? Justice? She couldn't recall all of a sudden, and it left an empty pang in her chest.

No matter, she supposed, recalling her companion's words.

Does it really matter?

She looked towards the stump where the flame had once been. She supposed the flame was also floating to some other, possibly nonexistent land mass. Maybe it could give the people who found it some hope. Wouldn't it be ironic if it made it all the way to France? They could recall the Americans and their symbol of hope and freedom, and maybe they were attempting to rebuild as she and her companion sat there, pondering the post-apocalyptic world around them.

Does it really matter?

Her eyes drifted back to the horizon.

She responded, "No, I suppose it doesn't."

With a new sense of abandon and muddled thoughts, Crystal rose without warning from their little cafe, which caused the broken table to lean. Paul, with a curse, scrambled to steady himself, his jar of coffee, and the table, all while trying to see what Crystal was trying to do. She muttered a halfhearted apology before turning to face the docks head-on. Her feet moved with a lightness she had never had before, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The spring in her step didn't last long as she lifted her foot behind her, hopping along closer to the dock, while trying to pry the Converse from her foot.

She stumbled a bit as it came off into her hand, but she caught herself and immediately went back to hopping as she repeated the process on her other foot. The other shoe came off a bit quicker, and she was glad for it, as she had gotten close enough to be able to feel the spray of the water as it moved and crashed along the docks. She refused to look for boats, having her own project in mind. Paul was calling to her, but she refused to acknowledge him until what she was doing was seen through.

Dangling the shoes by their laces out in front of her, she was reminded of the care and obsessive nature she had when first taking care of them, before the world had ended. The original shoes had been perfect, but they were long gone. Thankfully she had managed to find a similar pair in near-perfect condition. Looking at them as they dangled over the water, she found they had become far from perfect, not unlike herself. They were scuffed on the once white toes with black smudges and dirt. The cloth was torn in some places, and the threading was unraveling. If she turned them over, she was sure the soles were about rub through, but she didn't bother with it.

They didn't matter. They were just shoes, just like Crystal's feelings were just words, but she was surprised to find a soft smile relax on her lips at the thought. They didn't matter then, but they would matter... someday. With that final thought, she released her fist from the laces and she watched as the shoes fell into the frothy surface of the ocean, floating for only a second before they sunk below the depths... out of sight, forever. As the coolness of the concrete beneath her feet began to soak through her socks, Crystal found a sense of calm fall over her. There was nothing that mattered but her own thoughts; the cool, salty breeze from the ocean; and the occasional spray of water against her toes.

But it wasn't long before Paul broke through to her. His words were like static, and Crystal failed to understand them at first. He continued to repeat himself until Crystal fully turned to face him, and she found that his face was screwed up in a strange mixture of surprise, confusion, and anger. It was either anger or frustration, but she supposed he was probably feeling both.

"What are you doing? Why did you do that? Now we have to find you more shoes." He emphasized the last sentence, as if to emphasize the trouble she was causing him.

Crystal only smiled in response.

Paul's face fell into a scowl, but even that melted away in a sigh. Accepting that he would have to find her more shoes, he changed the focus on his original plan: the boat. Both Paul and Crystal gazed up and down the docks, and Crystal wasn't surprised that everything she had feared was in fact what they saw. Empty lines where boats had been docked, boats that were still docked crushed and riding up the side of the dock, mangled frames that Crystal could only assume were once boats of some shape or form. She found the entire trip and plan hopeless, already trying to find a way to salvage the journey, but Paul was already working his way down to one of the frames that had pressed itself against the side of the dock.

Despite Crystal's warnings, he gripped the boat's rope and leaned down to grip one bar of the frame. He tried to lift it out of the water to see how much of it was left, but the water weighed it down enough to prevent him from maneuvering it too much. Thankfully, he seemed to be pleased with what little he was able to see. He mumbled something that Crystal guessed she was supposed to hear, but the ocean's waves were a bit too much for her senses.

"What?"

Paul looked up at her, this time yelling back to her, "If we can't find a boat, I'll build one."

The words fell heavily on Crystal and made her somewhat queasy, but Paul's optimism was a breath of fresh air, and as he rushed off to another boat, calling for her help so he could strip some particular part off of it for his new project, Crystal couldn't help smiling toward whatever the future held. She knew, eventually, what she had always wanted, would matter again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alyssa Hubbard is a writer of many, but an author to HUMANS AND THEIR CREATIONS, AN AUSTRIAN MARCH, and the APOCALYPTIA series. She was born in a small town in Alabama, where she spent more time writing and reading than playing outside. Her sister is a two-time cancer survivor, and she is her greatest inspiration. She attends the University of Alabama for a BA in English with a minor in Creative Writing. Alyssa spends most of her time reading, writing, re-writing, and re-writing, and re-writing, and re-writing... She loves blogging and singing in public. For more information and teasers for future books, check out her website.

www.LissyWrites.com
