“Alone Together at the end of the World”

When I see the gas station, I think it’s a mirage. I’ve avoided places like this for so long that I almost forgot they exist. I scan the area hesitantly. The station looks picked clean, but I ready my hunting rifle just to be safe. There’s nothing here but rusted cars and shards of glass from the blown-out storefront windows. My shoulders slump in relief. Food or no food, it could be worse. There could be people.

I walk inside and begin searching the aisles. Empty, expired, empty, expired. I kick an empty beer can across the room and slide to the floor. My stomach grumbles loudly, like it knows I failed to find it sustenance once again.

That’s when I see it, like a shining beacon of hope. The Cup O Noodles stares at me from its spot by the cash. Brought to my feet by some animalistic instinct, I sling my gun back over my shoulder and grab at the noodles. I rip the seal open just to make sure it’s real.

“That was going to be my dinner, but please, make yourself at home,” a boy says, as he emerges from the back room.

I’m so shocked that I nearly drop the noodles. It’s a person. An actual, living, breathing human. The first thing I notice is his hand, which is stuffed inside his jacket. I reach for my gun.

“Woah, woah, it was just a joke!” he says, hands in the air.

He’s sweating, big droplets snaking down his forehead. There’s dried blood on his free hand and a smear on his cheekbone, like crimson warpaint against his pale skin and blue eyes. His shirt is torn open near the ribs and stained a blossoming red. He’s had better days to be sure. The boy watches me watch him.

“Would you believe there’s no first aid kit in this joint?”

“I-“ My voice sounds foreign, even to me and my throat is dry. 

“If you want to take it, I’m not exactly in any shape to stop you,” he says. “But I’d hope you wouldn’t deny a dying man his last meal.”

I weigh the odds in my mind. I have things, things he could use. But what if it’s too late? If there’s anything I’ve learned, its that every action has a direct consequence, another pound on the scale of life and death.

“You look well-stocked for a drifter,” the boy says, eying my backpack. 

“And you look scrawny for a local,” I fire back.

The boy laughs, then winces as he cradles his side. “Care to make a trade?”

“Of what?” 

“Any medicine you have for the last of my food,” he says, nodding at the noodles.

I eye the noodles, my mouth watering at the thought of their salty taste, and then I’m glancing at the boy again. He’s right - he’s not looking too good. He’s a few weeks past the five o’clock shadow phase and his choppy dark hair seems like it’s about to swallow his face. If it weren’t for his pale and exhausted complexion, he’d look like any other college student I’d pass in the halls. My brain makes the calculation quickly and without authority - he was bigger, but I could take him. I sigh, shaking my head. I could take him if it came to that. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, slinging my gun back over my shoulder. “We’ll share.” 

#

Local Boy is more resourceful than he looks. He might be low on medicine, but he’s made himself a cozy hideaway in the back of the station. It’s more stocked than a camping store with its tent, sleeping bag and campfire setup. I almost envy its coziness - almost. But staying put is how bad things happened - take Local Boy as a prime example. I stir the noodles, which are cooking on his hot plate, while he patches himself up in the bathroom. The intoxicating broth has me licking my lips and I hope he hurries up because I’m on the verge of slurping up the entire pot myself. 

I try not to jump when I hear his footsteps behind me, but he sees it and snorts anyways. 

“Someone’s jumpy.” 

“Sorry,” I say.

He hunkers down across from me, wincing slightly. I try not to stare as I turn off the heat.

“Woman of few words huh?” he says, handing me a spoon. 

I’m shoveling food like I’m some kind of feral animal. Old me would have been mortified by my behavior but I’m too hungry to care. Three days of nothing will do that to a person. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles and I eat a little faster. I need to find a place to make camp before dark. 

“So…do I get a name?” Local Boy asks. 

“Nope.”

“Ah,” he says, sitting back. “You’re one of those.” 

I stop eating to glare at him. 

“I’ve been holed up here for six months and the first people I see when I venture out to the lake ambush me. I barely got out alive. I mean, jeez, doesn’t anybody just want a good old conversation anymore?” 

A few. A very select few.

“Most people are busy surviving.”

He rolls his eyes, like I’m the ridiculous one. “Anyway, I’m Mackenzie…you play cards?”

“I don’t,” I seethe, wishing that I could burn his name from my memory. In this world, you learn to pack light, to make use of everything you’ve got. Names are nothing but dead weight. Thunder rumbles again, closer this time. “Besides, I’m leaving.”

“The storm is practically here,” Mackenzie says, frowning. “Why don’t you stay a little longer and wait it out?”

I peer outside at the dwindling light and the trees whipping wildly in the wind. The pouring rain starts a few seconds later. It’s getting pretty ugly out there and I’ve always hated the dark. But lately, I haven’t had time to feel afraid. Mackenzie seems unusually gentle and I forgot how easy it is to be around people like him. 

“Maybe just a little longer,” I say. 

“I’ve got an extra sleeping bag somewhere around-”

“Just until the storm eases off.”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “My humble abode is yours for as long as you want it. So, cards?” 

It’s been two hours since the storm ripped through town and the rain began pounding on the roof like something that wants to get in. We’ve played two rounds of crazy eights and so far were tied. Not that I’m keeping score. There was a time when I was competitive, the girl who had to win at everything. I can feel her coming to the surface like the familiarity old friend.

“Best two out of three?” Mackenzie challenges as he shuffles the cards. I hope he doesn’t notice the way she perks up at his offer. “If I win, you tell me your name.”

I consider it. What does it matter?  The storm has to let up eventually and once it does, I won’t look back. Besides if I win, he won’t be getting anything. 

“Okay, you’re on,” I say, before I can change my mind.  “If I win, I get those boots in aisle eight.”

Mackenzie is sneakier - and a better liar - than he looks. After beating me for the third time, he can’t stop smiling.  The truth is, I just want to play him again. He may be infuriatingly nice, but I’d be lying if I said a small part of me didn’t miss that. I bite my tongue though because I don’t want to him to think that I’m a sore loser and going back on the bet.

Mackenzie is busy rustling through the not-so-frozen aisle and when he returns, he’s holding two glass bottles filled with bright pink liquid. He holds out a bottle for me but retracts his hand when I reach for it. I shoot him a questioning look and he raises an eyebrow at me expectantly. I make a show of sighing, but he’s right. He won fair and square.

“My name is Skye.”

Mackenzie’s pale face lights up as he passes me the bottle. “It’s nice to meet you, Skye.” 

The color reminds me of that awful cough medicine for kids and I tell him exactly that. He considers the drink, sloshing the neon liquid around in his bottle. When he coughs into his sleeve, I notice the way his hands are shaking just a little and the way he grips his bottle tightly when he sees me staring. I want to ask if he’s okay, if I can do anything more. But both questions sound stupid, because of course he’s not and I probably can’t. Mackenzie takes a long sip of his drink and wipes the back of his mouth. The look on his face doesn’t do much to sell me on the drink. 

“If someone told me I’d spend the end of the world in a creepy gas station with a god-awful, 0.01% grapefruit cooler and a Cup ‘O Noodles as my last meal, I’d have laughed.”

In fact he does laugh, incredulously, like he still can’t believe his state and that of the world’s. Mackenzie’s laugh quickly turns into a groan as his grips his side. He lets out a deep, steadying breath as the silence stretches out between us. When the pain subsides, he takes another sip, which looks like it tastes about as gross as the first. 

“You know, you could at least suffer a little with me here,” he says. 

I look down at my drink, wishing I had something stronger. Not for myself, but for him. Did he even clean his wound properly? Should I ask if I can take a look at it? But that’s a ridiculous idea - I’m not a doctor and I can’t help. So instead, I twist off the cap and take a sip. The taste screws up my face and I seriously consider the possibility that this drink is poison. That or my taste buds forgot what flavour is. The brand sounds vaguely familiar, like something my dorm-mate Charlotte would have liked. We were always teasing her about her poor drinking taste. 

“So, how long has it been?” Mackenzie asks, pulling me from my thoughts. 

“Huh? Since what?” 

“Since you’ve been with people.”

I take another sip, even though it’s decidedly putrid, to bide my time. 

“That long huh?” His face softens and I wish it hadn’t. I don’t want his pity.

“I have my reasons,” I say cooly. “Besides, you’re alone.” 

Mackenzie’s face puckers up. “Not by choice.”

I tap my bottle anxiously, trying not to let what I’ve pushed back for so long break free.

“I remember when I felt that way,” I say, feeling far away. The memories are seeping through and I wipe at them quickly before they can spill down my cheeks. 

There’s a loud bang, like something tearing through the front of the store. I jump before realizing that it’s just the thunder crashing over our heads. Breathing a sigh of relief, I listen to the racing of my heart. I look over at Mackenzie and it slows just a little. 

“Um, where was that sleeping bag you mentioned?” I ask. 

“I can grab it for you,” Mackenzie says, a warm grin spreading across his face. “But first you’ve got to let go of my hand.”

I look down, feeling heat crawl up my face and pull back my hand. I can’t do this with him. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” Mackenzie assures me. 

It’s not - but it kind of is. 

#

We’re in the back room, tucked into our sleeping bags. The rain has quieted down, rendered to a soft pitter-patter on the roof. Neither of us point this fact out though. Beside me, the fire crackles and sputters, covering the room in a warm orange glow. I watch Mackenzie from across the fire, his sleeping bag tucked under his chin. He looks so much more at peace like this. 

I’ve tried to sleep for what feels like hours, but sleep won’t come. Mackenzie shifts onto his back and his eyes open, slowly at first and heavy with sleep. He turns his head to me.

“Hey, you’re still awake.”

“It’s not easy.”

“I know the concrete isn’t exactly feathery soft but-”

“No,” I say. “What I mean is, your way isn’t easier. Having someone doesn’t automatically make everything okay again.”

Mackenzie pauses for a second, as the realization hits him.

“We didn’t believe it,” I say so quietly I’m not even sure it was out loud. But I hear Mackenzie shift again, like he’s waiting for me to go on. I clear my throat and start again.

“When it happened, we didn’t believe it. The school shut down and exams were cancelled. In the early days, some locals packed up their stuff and left but there were no planes, or trains, or buses - most of us were stranded. After some time, I think we were verging on hysterical because instead of being afraid, we threw a party. I mean, what college student doesn’t want their finals to be cancelled? We stayed in the dorms until we couldn’t - it must’ve been weeks but I’m not exactly sure. It was only when we saw them there, in the flesh, marching up the quad that we finally knew it was real. And then we ran and ran until it was just me running.”

“To where?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Running was supposed to be safe.”

I wait for Mackenzie to ask where the rest of my people are, but he doesn’t and I’m grateful.

“You’re not all wrong,” Mackenzie says. “Just mostly.”

I snort.

“Sure, it’s easier to have no one to look out for. Because let me tell you, most people are horrible - especially the ones who convince you grapefruit coolers are a good idea. Never trust those guys.” 

Is he seriously teasing me? Part of me wants to go over there and throttle him, but I’m too busy laughing despite myself.

“But if you have no one to look out for, it means you don’t have anyone to laugh with or talk to. No one to butt heads with or get angry at. In fact, there’s no reason to feel anything at all. If you’re numb, then you’re not really alive. And if you’re not alive, then what’s the point?”

“I don’t want to be like that,” I say, unsure whether I want to laugh or cry. Maybe I’ve gone hysterical again. I look at Mackenzie, who’s still smiling. It’s weak but it’s there.

“I wouldn’t worry,” he says. “You’re doing just fine.”

#

I wake to the smell of smoke and the sudden, soul-crushing knowledge that I am alone again. Beside me are the boots from aisle eight and a note.

Skye - Keep running until you’re not alone. 

When I realize that Mackenzie’s own boots and coat are missing, I untangle from my sleeping bag so fast that I nearly trip over myself. A quick search of the gas station confirms my worst fear: Mackenzie is gone. 

Even so, I’m throwing on my jacket and stuffing my feet into my new boots. Back on the road, I run as fast as I can. He can’t do this - he’s too hurt and he’s alone. We’re both alone…

But not if we’re together. 

I’m teetering at the top of a hill and I can see him there, at the bottom. His brown curls are whipping wildly in the wind as he shuffles onward, unsteady on his feet. My hands turn to fists, I take a deep breath. And then I’m shouting. 

“Mackenzie!”