Breaking the Fast
They had followed the dirt road for many miles, believing that it would lead them to civilization, or at least what remained. It was just the two of them now, after the drama, the battles, the brief but sad services for those who had fallen.
The two of them had forged an uneasy alliance in the weeks after meeting, and even started to trust each other, though their survival instincts argued against it. Both of them had been in the wild enough to know that the more people there were, the more supplies they would need to find - and the more likely it was that there would be trouble. But as they found and then lost others, both grudgingly accepted that having someone to watch their back was going to heighten their chances of survival.
When their seven-person group started arguing about the latest kill and who got credit and who should lead, they simply asked for a share that no one would argue with and left. They recognized the signs of a dying group and knew that it wouldn't be long before it got bloody, and the most important thing was to put distance between them and the others.
That night, he woke to the sound of gunfire in the distance and saw distant muzzle flashes from where they had split with the others. A brighter glare - a fire, perhaps - illuminated her features for a moment before she turned, giving a shrug to his silent question. He nodded back, unsurprised, and went back to sleep.
The next day, they broke camp quietly, giving a moment of silence for the uncertain fates of their previous companions, and then set off in the opposite direction from the gunfire. It was risky, because it would be entering the dry salt flats, but there was an unspoken agreement that the most dangerous threat came from behind them. While nature was heartless, it wasn't intelligently malicious.
It had been three days since then and the supplies were dwindling rapidly. Hunger and thirst were no longer occasional visitors, but rather constant companions that dogged their footsteps, slowing them down. They were disciplined and pressed on, taking longer breaks in what shade they could find, eating and drinking less, but it was starting to take its toll.
She crested the hill and saw the gas station, an oddity because it still had all four walls and a roof that still stood. It had been the only real structure that they had seen in days, and she was betting that no one else had been this far into the desert for a long time - from possibly before the Culling. It was almost certain, in fact, and she was only saved from weeping because her self control told her that her body couldn't afford the reckless water loss. Licking cracked lips, she beckoned him to her but stayed quiet, not wanting to give them away just in case someone unfriendly was already calling it home.
He was less reserved and let out a whoop of joy - and then looked chastised as he realized that he had just given them away. But no doors slammed shut, no hostile voices called out across the desert, and after a moment of looking at each other, they both sprinted towards the building, trying their best to dampen their hopes and failing miserably.
She passed him halfway across the hundred meters to the door and almost skipped into the open doorway, scavenger eyes instinctively scanning the room for danger and opportunity.
And then she fell to her knees, tears coming to her eyes as she surveyed the empty, barren, pristine shelves, looking for the supplies she needed to be there, trying to will them into existence, trying desperately not to fall apart.
He walked in behind her then, gasping heavily, holding his side, and simply looked in with empty eyes as they shared a vision of a refuge that could have sustained them for weeks or months. For minutes, they stood there, letting their minds supply what their eyes could not.
And then, having nothing else to do, they set up camp in the middle of the store. They spread their sleeping rolls out, started a fire, and set the single, quarter-full canteen and two strips of jerky between them. Neither said a word as they each took a strip and took a mouthful of water.
That night, she slept, while he kept watch.
The next morning, she was surprised to find that he wasn't there. She whistled an alert, something that should've brought him from wherever he was, and then scrambled to her feet, knife out and ready, when she didn't get an answer. The shelves that crushed her dreams yesterday now stood and shielded possible enemies, as she turned in every direction, trying to find the threats.
And then she looked down and saw the note, written with dirt on the linoleum.
My friend,
We will not both leave here. Have a moment of silence for me.
She saw the line of dirt, carefully poured with the funnel of a fist, that led around the shelf. It was to spare her the sight when she first woke up, she realized, and then slumped to the floor, tears coming once more, alone and hopeless, even as her survival instinct saw a new way out.
To take his sacrifice would be to break a rule that was incontrovertible, one that had stood since the beginning of civilization. The sheer thought of it turned what was left of her stomach, and she told herself she shouldn't even consider it. And yet she did, with increasing regularity, as she sat there with just the shelf separating the two of them, feeling as the hunger and thirst bore down on her. And she knew, too, that if she waited too long, his gift would simply be squandered, fit only for the flies.
That night, she had a moment of silence before starting the fire again, grabbing her sharpest knife, and walking around the shelf to him.
The two of them had forged an uneasy alliance in the weeks after meeting, and even started to trust each other, though their survival instincts argued against it. Both of them had been in the wild enough to know that the more people there were, the more supplies they would need to find - and the more likely it was that there would be trouble. But as they found and then lost others, both grudgingly accepted that having someone to watch their back was going to heighten their chances of survival.
When their seven-person group started arguing about the latest kill and who got credit and who should lead, they simply asked for a share that no one would argue with and left. They recognized the signs of a dying group and knew that it wouldn't be long before it got bloody, and the most important thing was to put distance between them and the others.
That night, he woke to the sound of gunfire in the distance and saw distant muzzle flashes from where they had split with the others. A brighter glare - a fire, perhaps - illuminated her features for a moment before she turned, giving a shrug to his silent question. He nodded back, unsurprised, and went back to sleep.
The next day, they broke camp quietly, giving a moment of silence for the uncertain fates of their previous companions, and then set off in the opposite direction from the gunfire. It was risky, because it would be entering the dry salt flats, but there was an unspoken agreement that the most dangerous threat came from behind them. While nature was heartless, it wasn't intelligently malicious.
It had been three days since then and the supplies were dwindling rapidly. Hunger and thirst were no longer occasional visitors, but rather constant companions that dogged their footsteps, slowing them down. They were disciplined and pressed on, taking longer breaks in what shade they could find, eating and drinking less, but it was starting to take its toll.
She crested the hill and saw the gas station, an oddity because it still had all four walls and a roof that still stood. It had been the only real structure that they had seen in days, and she was betting that no one else had been this far into the desert for a long time - from possibly before the Culling. It was almost certain, in fact, and she was only saved from weeping because her self control told her that her body couldn't afford the reckless water loss. Licking cracked lips, she beckoned him to her but stayed quiet, not wanting to give them away just in case someone unfriendly was already calling it home.
He was less reserved and let out a whoop of joy - and then looked chastised as he realized that he had just given them away. But no doors slammed shut, no hostile voices called out across the desert, and after a moment of looking at each other, they both sprinted towards the building, trying their best to dampen their hopes and failing miserably.
She passed him halfway across the hundred meters to the door and almost skipped into the open doorway, scavenger eyes instinctively scanning the room for danger and opportunity.
And then she fell to her knees, tears coming to her eyes as she surveyed the empty, barren, pristine shelves, looking for the supplies she needed to be there, trying to will them into existence, trying desperately not to fall apart.
He walked in behind her then, gasping heavily, holding his side, and simply looked in with empty eyes as they shared a vision of a refuge that could have sustained them for weeks or months. For minutes, they stood there, letting their minds supply what their eyes could not.
And then, having nothing else to do, they set up camp in the middle of the store. They spread their sleeping rolls out, started a fire, and set the single, quarter-full canteen and two strips of jerky between them. Neither said a word as they each took a strip and took a mouthful of water.
That night, she slept, while he kept watch.
The next morning, she was surprised to find that he wasn't there. She whistled an alert, something that should've brought him from wherever he was, and then scrambled to her feet, knife out and ready, when she didn't get an answer. The shelves that crushed her dreams yesterday now stood and shielded possible enemies, as she turned in every direction, trying to find the threats.
And then she looked down and saw the note, written with dirt on the linoleum.
My friend,
We will not both leave here. Have a moment of silence for me.
She saw the line of dirt, carefully poured with the funnel of a fist, that led around the shelf. It was to spare her the sight when she first woke up, she realized, and then slumped to the floor, tears coming once more, alone and hopeless, even as her survival instinct saw a new way out.
To take his sacrifice would be to break a rule that was incontrovertible, one that had stood since the beginning of civilization. The sheer thought of it turned what was left of her stomach, and she told herself she shouldn't even consider it. And yet she did, with increasing regularity, as she sat there with just the shelf separating the two of them, feeling as the hunger and thirst bore down on her. And she knew, too, that if she waited too long, his gift would simply be squandered, fit only for the flies.
That night, she had a moment of silence before starting the fire again, grabbing her sharpest knife, and walking around the shelf to him.