Apocalypse (The Wasteland Chronicles, #1) (7 page)

“I love you, Khloe. Now please…run.”

“Goodbye,” Khloe said. “I love you…”

I pulled Khloe toward the exit, just as she
had pulled me along when my father was dying. Though I had no
strength, I had to be strong.

I had to do what I must, not what I
wanted.

We ran down the corridor, and did not look
back. People who had been alive and well only hours earlier now
flooded the tunnel. I had no idea how, but the xenovirus was
turning humans into crazed monsters after death. They charged
forward, their hellish white eyes paralyzing me with fear.

Together, Khloe and I turned the wheel on the
door. We pushed it open into the cold, pitch-black night and
howling, shocking wind. We stepped forward as if into another
dimension. Together, we slammed the door shut, shutting in Bunker
108 and its infected denizens forever.

The dusty wind blustered, chilling me to the
bone. I latched onto Khloe in the darkness. A single tear coursed
down her cheek.

We shivered at the wind and the cruelty of
the world.

It felt like the apocalypse happening all
over again.

We stumbled over rocks into the cold, windy
darkness. The wind cut like a knife. Our clothes were not
sufficient protection against it. We had no light. We could only
hope, by some miracle, that we would come across some form of
shelter for the night.

After a few minutes, I looked back, and saw
nothing but black night, felt nothing but the wind and sand
stinging my face, heard nothing but the maelstrom and Khloe, crying
beside me.

“Just a little farther,” I said.

Even though she was with me, I still felt
alone, because the wind ate my words as black holes eat light.

After fifteen minutes of cold misery, I ran
right into something hard and metallic, bonking my head. I felt
along the surface of the object with numb hands. Upon realizing
what I had run into, I wanted to cry for joy. We would be surviving
tonight.

“The trailer,” I said. “We have to find the
door.”

For minutes we searched, until I found the
latch that led inside. I pushed Khloe in, and slammed the door
against the merciless cold.

I found the light, and flipped it on. The
interior was mostly bare. A small kitchen area lay in front of us,
and beyond that, a worn couch and a sliding wooden door which led
to the bathroom. The light barely reached the far end, but there I
could make out the corner of a bed. The interior was almost as cold
as the outside, but at least there was no wind.

Khloe went to the couch and crashed down, and
began sobbing all over again.

There was a red fleece blanket on the couch.
I took it and wrapped it around her.

I sat next to her for a minute, shivering.
Without a word, she took the blanket and wrapped it around both of
us.

We let ourselves thaw for a minute. I got up
and went to the fridge. Inside was a container filled with ice. I
tried to turn on the stove to heat up the trailer. It didn’t
work.

I locked the front door, and made sure the
shutters were drawn tight. I went back to the fridge to get the
container of ice. I had to find a way to heat it, but saw nothing I
could do – nothing until morning came. Morning’s warmer
temperatures could get us something to drink by noon.

A quick glance in the cabinet revealed a few
homemade granola bars, stocked from the Bunker. My stomach growled.
I grabbed four of them and headed back to the couch.

Khloe was lying down now, a hand over her
face. I sat next to her.

“Here,” I said, “I found some granola.”

She was still shaking.

“I feel sick,” she said.

“You’re just cold,” I said. “Close your
eyes.”

“That just makes it worse.”

“Then look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly. They were
red, and her face was so pale and blue. Even her lips were blue.
Her body temperature was way too low.

“Here,” I said. “Eat some of this.”

“I feel sick,” she said again.

I could tell that she was fading, and that
terrified me.

“Lie down,” I whispered. “You’ll be
alright.”

I lay down with my front against her back.
Every part of her was cold. I started eating, even though she
couldn’t. I needed all the warmth I could get. I rubbed her back,
her arms, her fingers, trying to create some blood flow.

I got up to get the container of ice. I
returned to the couch and put it under the blanket with us so that
it might melt. I kissed her face, her ears. They felt like ice on
my lips. Finally, she stopped shivering, and I heard her even
breaths. She was asleep.

I stayed like that, trying not to let myself
fall asleep in case anything else happened.

I had fallen asleep sometime in the night,
despite my commitment to staying up; I was just so exhausted. Khloe
was still asleep, her breathing slow. Too slow. Her heart beat so
faintly.

“Khloe?”

I shook her gently. Her skin was clammy,
burning up. I touched her forehead. She was on fire.

“No…” she rasped. “No…”

I got up and knelt on the floor, looking into
her face. Her eyes flickered open. They were just as red as before,
and so dim that I was not sure she knew I was there.

“Khloe?”

Her eyes had shut, and she opened them again.
I pulled aside the shutters, so that at least some of the reddish
morning light could filter inside. Her skin was pale, dry, and hot.
She fought for every breath.

“Khloe!”

Her eyes shot open. “What? Where am I? What
is this?”

I reached for the water. Over half of it had
melted during the night. Though my throat was parched and screamed
to be satisfied, I held the water to Khloe’s lips.

“Drink this, okay?”

Her lips moved weakly along the rim of the
container. I tilted it, ever so slightly. The liquid entered her
mouth. She tried to swallow, but coughed it up.

“It’s okay,” I said.

I grabbed her shoulders, softly pulling her
upright. I realized just how frail she was, how the night and the
cold had taken its toll on her body.

“Drink some water. Just one swallow. That’s
it.”

She gave a weak nod. I held the container to
her lips once more. This time, she drank several gulps.

“There you go,” I said.

Her eyes opened. “Is there any for you?”

“I already had mine,” I said. “Here. Eat
something.”

I took some granola, breaking it up into
small pieces. She grabbed one of the pieces from me with her right
hand. I noticed a mark on her wrist.

Teeth marks.

My heart stopped. She looked at me, her eyes
watering. The granola was forgotten, and there was only us, staring
into each other’s eyes, understanding everything without saying a
word.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I cupped her face; it burned against my hands
like a sun. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open and
focused on me. It felt as if my heart were ripping apart.

“It happened in the apartment…”

My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t believe
this was happening.

“I love you, Alex. I’m…sorry. I was hoping I
would be okay. It was such a small thing.”

“You did nothing wrong,” I said, pulling her
close. “I love you, Khloe.”

“I…don’t want you to think it’s your
fault…”

“It’s not,” I said, the tears streaming down
my face. “It’s not.”

The world was taking everything from me that
mattered. Khloe was all I had left.

I just wondered when my turn would come.

“I won’t leave you,” I said. “I won’t.”

“You’ll have to,” she said. “Maybe…maybe
you’ll find another home. Another Bunker.”

“You are my home.”

I stroked her hair, gave her more water as it
melted. The trailer warmed as the day progressed. I tried to feed
Khloe, but she refused. From time to time, she would cough, and I
would wipe whatever phlegm accumulated around her mouth. I would
stroke her hair, once so lush and soft, now so dry and wispy. Her
once beautiful skin was now sickly, lifeless, pale, translucent,
revealing blackened veins. Her face grew gaunter as the day
progressed.

Soon she began to stink. But I did not leave
her side.

“I love you,” I said.

I told her the same thing again and again
throughout the day. Her eyes were closed, and I feared they would
never open again.

“I…” she said.

Her chest fell, her head slumped, and she
leaned against the couch. Every muscle went slack, and some spirit
fled her face, leaving behind only a body. Her eyes relaxed, and
remained half-opened. I stared at her, seeing only a body that
looked like Khloe but that was not her.

I could not even cry. I stayed, holding her
cold hand as it grew ever colder with each passing minute. I wanted
to be sure she was not really dead.

Her body, by some small, cruel mercy, did not
attack me and did not swell like the others. I don’t know why, and
never really questioned it. Maybe since it was a small bite, it
would have taken more time.

I went outside in a daze. I found a shed
behind the trailer. Inside was a shovel.

I knew what came next. I lost myself in
digging a grave not worthy of Khloe. Putting a body in the ground
was foreign to me. Everyone in Bunker 108 was cremated.

As I emptied the hole, I emptied myself.
Though it was cold, I was covered in sweat by the time I
finished.

I laid her body in, and let my tears fall
into the grave. I was completely bereft of all hope and life. Khloe
had been all that for me.

It was an hour before I could bring myself to
cover her. I could think only of all the memories Khloe and I had
shared.

And now, all hope was gone. She was gone, to
be buried in the cold, hard earth, never to move, laugh, or breathe
again.

When the last of the grave had been covered,
I felt so guilty. I knew objectively that it wasn’t my fault. But
that didn’t help. Everyone around me had died. While I longed for
death myself, it wouldn’t visit me.

I thought of everyone who was gone now – my
dad, Khloe, even Michael and Chan. Had all of them died because I
refused to speak up about that woman? If we had spoken to her, we
might have been more hesitant about bringing that man inside the
Bunker.

There was no real way to know. I wanted
someone to blame, even if it was myself.

I would have brought myself to take my own
life, but I didn’t for one reason – Khloe would not have wanted it,
and neither would my father.

I knew them well enough to know that.

By the next day, I couldn’t stay in the
trailer any longer. I had to find somewhere else. Food and water
were running low. It was late September, which meant it would be
getting cold soon – too cold to stay anywhere above ground.

I found a backpack in the trailer. I put in
the container of water, as well as the rest of the granola –
twenty-four bars total. I could eat three a day, which gave me
rations for eight days. Eight days to find a new home, or more
food, and my caloric intake would be pitiful the entire time. I
also packed a couple of blankets. I could not count on finding
shelter, and needed enough to shield me from the nighttime
cold.

Finally, on the morning of the third day
after arriving at the trailer, I set off, kissing the loose earth
atop Khloe’s grave. I marked it with rocks arranged in the shape of
a heart.

On a whim, I headed toward the sun rising in
the east.

I knew of several settlements not far from
Bunker 108 – Oasis, Last Town, and even L.A. But I knew L.A. was
consumed with gang violence, so it wasn't an option.

My goal became to find one of the smaller
settlements and try to get taken in. The only problem was, I had no
idea where any of them were.

The morning warmed quickly, but it must have
never gotten above fifty degrees. The wind was calm, which I was
thankful for. It would be October soon, so I needed to find warmer
clothes.

I didn't have much to my name: my pack,
filled with granola and water; my blanket, rolled up and tied with
some nylon rope: and the clothes on my back. I didn't even have a
weapon. I had forgotten the handgun back in the tunnel – it had
been out of ammo, anyway, but it still could have come in
handy.

I left behind the line of red mountains where
Bunker 108 was hidden. I crested a hill and turned around to see
the metal trailer, shimmering in the red midmorning haze. A small
spot of turned red earth marked the spot where Khloe would forever
lay. I looked out, north and east, surveying several ramshackle
buildings spread over the vast tract of desert and dunes, long
conquered by the victorious elements. A crumbled highway, half
buried in sand, cut through the twisted landscape, maybe two klicks
out. The red sky spread upward like something out of a nightmare.
The day was relatively clear, yet still the meteor fallout reduced
the sun to a slightly brighter shimmer on a small part of the
sky.

Nothing moved or breathed, save myself.

I walked on. I did not speak a word. In fact,
I felt as if I would never have reason to speak again.

I don’t remember that first week much. All
the days blended together and I cared for nothing, not even myself.
I could only mourn my past life and everything I’d lost, and wonder
if there was any point in going on.

At nights, I would hole up in any building
that offered the least bit of protection. I would eat my stale
granola, drink my water, and curl up in a corner with my blanket
and shiver myself to sleep. I cried the first two nights. I had
nightmares of Khloe rising from the grave.

Hunger and thirst became my constant
companions. When I came across pools of water I drank from them and
refilled my container. It was not cold enough to freeze except in
the dead of night. I had expected to find food in the buildings.
But every cabinet was bare. The Wastelanders had had thirty years
to take everything.