A click sounded. The bright flash of torchlight cut through the gloom. His hand shot out, palm up—wanting. I licked my lips and stared at his other hand.
Trust. I hated that feeling. Hated the way it made my pulse race. Hated the way it made me feel weak. But I was here for a reason. He knew it. I knew it.
He has something I wanted. Something that was worth being vulnerable for even if it was only for tonight.
Do you know what day it is? You get double presents.
“You want it or not?”
My fingers curled, dragging the can from the front pocket of my jacket, and handed it over.
“No label?”
The glare hit my eyes. I shook my head and stared into the blur. “It was gone when I found it. But it’s right there…it’s right there on the top.”
The glare glanced off the metal as he turned it over.
“Chicken cacciatore? What the fuck is that?”
I swallowed hard, fingers dancing, playing a goddamn tune in the air. I clenched my fist, stilling the tremble, and waited. He didn’t want a response. He’d either take it, or not…and if he didn’t…
I swallowed hard.
Don’t think about it. We’re not there yet. We’re not even close. I swallowed a shiver as the cold raced along my spine. The ice started somewhere in the pit of my soul, it raced through my veins, lingering in the hollow of my arm—a cruel itch, a gnawing itch.
“You know how long it’s been since I had chicken?”
I waited, silent. My fingers went to my arm, finding the raised marks. Please, please just take the damn can. It’s good…I promise it’s good.
I licked my lips. I knew how long it’d been…three years. Long enough for the taste to live in our memories—long enough for the need to survive.
I fear what happens when all of the food is gone. I fear a lot of things now—fear being lonely, fear leaving this world alone. For now, I don’t think about it. The thoughts come and they go. No, I don’t think about it—not anymore.
For now, I’m alive, and I’ll stay alive for as long as I can. I’ll fight, I’ll steal, I’ll trade a can of food for a night of dreamless sleep and tomorrow, when I wake from this dark, underground station, I’ll go back home, back to the rats and the cockroaches—back to searching for food and staying hidden.
He ran the crooked edge of his nail along the steel rim, searching…hope flared. Maybe he wanted it? Maybe chicken cacciatore was gonna keep the demons at bay?
The steel was gone in the blink of an eye, tucked away under layers and layers of clothes. He dragged his hand free, fingers curled tight. But I caught the shine of glass.
The torch clicked off. Darkness descended. I opened my hand, warm glass in the middle of my palm. “It’s strong, strongest batch I could make. And it’s the last—you hear me?”
I licked my lips and nodded.
Still his hand never moved. “Harlow?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah, I hear you.”
The warmth of his flesh left mine. I shuddered with the touch, so fucking alien.
No one touched me—no one touched anyone. Not anymore. Especially not him. There was no kindness in this world—my heart skipped and surged as I closed my fingers around the vial—no warmth, no comfort.
Nothing but this…nothing but Nirvana.
I turned and left him standing there with his pocket full of chicken cacciatore, and the memory of days long past on the tip of his tongue.
“Hey,” he called, stilling my step. “You want to share it?”
I flinched, and swallowed hard. “No…thank you.”
“Suit yourself. If you want it, you know where I am.”
I wanted only one thing from him…but he wanted a lot more from me—chicken cacciatore could fill his belly, but it wouldn’t warm his bed, it wouldn’t moan and shudder—it wouldn’t give him what he really wanted—power and control.
The soft sobs grew louder as I left the dealer behind and made for the other end of the platform. I gripped the vial in my pocket, walked to the edge and jumped down. Rocks tumbled under my steps as I crossed the silent tracks.
I’d stay here in the train station, just for tonight. Out there, night would come fast. There wasn’t time to get back home. Besides, no one came down here—not anymore.
Thick, heavy whimpers grew louder the closer I came. I dragged my hand free and neared the next platform. Muscles tightened, tendons strained, as I gripped the edge and climbed, lifting my foot high to catch the edge of the concrete. Muscles quivered, thigh tensed, driving me higher as I straightened.
I looked over my shoulder to the darkness behind me. The dealer was gone now, lost in the void of this place. But I’d gotten what I came for, peace, even if it was just tonight.
“Can you help me?” a woman called. Shadows blurred with the movement. “There’s something wrong with my baby.”
I glanced at the long bank of toilets in the middle of the platform. They were the only ones here, the only place with a door and a lock to shut the world out, while I shut out the dreams and the voices.
The faint red glow from the emergency lights were a beacon. I shook my head and stepped backwards. “No, stay away from me.”
“My baby,” she wept and held out a thick bundle.
My steps were awkward as I lunged backwards and raised my hand. “Get the fuck away from me. Get that thing away.”
I didn’t need to see her baby…didn’t need to see a damn thing at all.
The smell gave it all away.
“My baby,” she whispered. “My beautiful baby.”
I kept her in my sight as she lowered her gaze. The bitter stench of rot wafted with the rustle of the blanket, and the jingle of a rattle filled the air, reminding me what day it was…
Christmas.
The red glow of the toilets was all I needed. I didn’t know how the lights still ran after all this time. Dad told me it was solar. That, even though the power grids were down, there was still ways we could gain power. We could rebuild, he told me. Humanity could still survive, but we just needed a reason to try.
But Dad was gone now, like everyone else.
This was me surviving, this was me trying…one day at a time.
I headed for the last door of the toilets.
It’s strong, strongest batch I could make. And it’s the last—you hear me?
I heard him…loud and clear. The dull ache of hunger reared, spearing through me like lightning. My hands trembled, I splayed my fingers wide and gripped the handle.
In those moments after Dad was gone, I prayed for the plague to come for me. I gathered myself and walked outside. I screamed and screamed. My rage bounced off the darkened windows and howled like a hurricane along the empty streets.
Still, nothing came to kill me.
Not the plague, not The Mighty.
Not even my own strength to end it all. I don’t remember how long I stood there in the cold and the dark, until finally I turned and walked back inside. There were no screams left now. This version of me could only murmur. Only whisper. Only plead for the voices to stay away with the tip of a dirty needle.
I gripped the toilet door and yanked. Wood squealed against the cracked tiled floor. The faint stench of piss and terror still lingered. I hit the lock, shoving the bolt all the way home and made for the busted porcelain sink.