The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

I caught up with Sax today. He’s been withdrawn ever since he went to his daughter’s home, which is understandable.

I spoke with Thorpe first, tried to find out what happened when they got to the apartment. This is what we were trying to talk about when Ben exploded yesterday and I was determined that it wouldn’t just slide past us. So many things seem to be slipping through my fingers at the moment.

Thorpe said that the Stripers had been delighted when they found a building that hadn’t been broken into yet. They tore off into the other apartments, while he and Sax went into his daughter’s.

It was untouched; it looked like they had just stepped out for a moment. There was nothing there of use. The Christmas tree was still up and the presents were all there, wrapped and pristine underneath it. Sax didn’t say anything. He just wandered around, took a few things, and then they left.

Normally I’d sit with Ben while we all ate, but he’s still avoiding me. So I sat with Sax and asked him how he was doing. He gave me an odd look and then smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Checking up on me, Faith?”

I thought about what I should tell him, then shrugged and went for the truth. “Yeah.”

He patted my hand and suddenly he looked like a grandfather. The hair growing around the base of his skull is lightly salted and he doesn’t have a time-creased face, but there was something so aged in the slump of his shoulders, in the downturn of his head.

Her name is Alecia. She’s a few years older than I am, and her little boy is nearly three years old. He runs her ragged, all energy and straining boundaries. Her husband is the only boy who ever stood up to her father and refused to be intimidated out of dating her.

He showed me a couple of pictures of them; he must have taken them from her apartment. She looks a little like her dad around the eyes.

Their car was gone, he said, and the little one’s pushchair. They hadn’t been home since it happened and he didn’t know where they might have gone that day. Still, I told him, there was hope. They could have joined a group, like we did. They could have gone somewhere else for help and sanctuary.

At least we didn’t find evidence that they’d died. At least we know that they might still be alive somewhere. And we’d keep looking, we’d keep an eye out for a sign of them.

I don’t know if I helped, but the reassuring smile he gave me was a bit more convincing the second time around. 

I didn’t notice until we were settling down to sleep that Sax isn’t carrying his saxophone any more. He’s had it on him since the city came down, battered and bent, hanging off its strap or gripped in his meaty hand. It gave him his name.

I think he left it there, in Alecia’s apartment, among the things she doesn’t need any more. I think he’s said goodbye to it, to that part of himself that he has carried with him this whole time. He’s moving on without it.

I can’t help but wonder if he gave up too quickly. But maybe he’s being realistic. Maybe he’s right to think that there’s no chance of us finding our families again. But he hasn’t said anything to burst our bubbles. He’s carrying on anyway. I don’t know where he finds his strength.

I think he’s the bravest of all of us.

We’re in another building tonight, this one packed full of tiny apartments. Furniture has been squeaked into the narrow rooms and every spare cranny has been stuffed with knickknacks, ornaments, books, pictures, and, in one case, shoes. We went through each cubbyhole home, searching for food and water mostly, and anything else that might be of use.

It’s still strange, walking through other people’s things. I find myself unwilling to touch things, trying not to leave them out of place, in case whoever owns them might come back someday. Maybe they’re like us, walking home the long way. I take what I know we need, but it still feels wrong.

I want to leave a note behind us: an IOU, an apology. Some sign that we took because we needed to, not because we wanted to. Not because we could. But I didn’t leave a note. I am a thief now; perhaps it’s time that I admitted that and got used to it. Perhaps it’s time I stopped making excuses.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to walking around other people’s homes, and hoping that they’re dead and never coming back so that I’ll feel less guilty about taking their stuff.

We finally settled down for the night spread across three apartments.  Sally and Masterson took one, which we were all grateful for. They can be… obvious, shall we say. They don’t make much noise, but a little carries a long way in the darkness.

Sax and the kids took up residence in the apartment at the other end of the floor. There was a bed for each of them, and I’m fairly sure that I caught a glimpse of Dillon bouncing on one of them. Nugget was watching, her arms wrapped around the cat, as usual. Sax has been more distant from the littlest one since he visited his daughter’s empty home, but he’s still keeping an eye on her. I’m hoping that she’ll draw him out again.

So that left the last poky apartment on the floor for Thorpe, Ben and me. I asked if someone should keep watch – we usually try to have someone awake for most of the night, just in case. Ben said he would do it, walked into one of the bedrooms, and closed the door behind him.

It was so abrupt that I stood there blinking at the door for a few seconds. Thorpe asked me what the hell had happened between us, and I had no answer to give him. I have no idea what to think about Ben’s moodiness.

Thorpe offered me the last bed, probably because of all of this. I told him that I fit on the couch better than he did, so he might as well take it. Now I’m sitting here in someone else’s living room, lit only by this laptop screen, wondering where my friendship went.

If I’m honest, Ben’s attitude hurts. Thorpe seemed to think that whatever it was has something to do with me, and I’m starting to think he’s right. This has gone on for too long. I had hoped that he would unbend and talk to me again, but it only seems to be getting worse.

He’s still awake – I can hear him moving about. I’m going to talk to him, to see what this is all about. In a minute, when my heart stops beating so fast at the idea.

Ben didn’t want to let me in last night. I knocked because it’s polite and he said that he was busy. Busy doing what?

It had taken me so long to screw myself up into knocking in the first place that I wasn’t going to be turned away so easily. I was determined to at least find out what the problem was. So I let myself into the room, insisting that this would only take a minute.

It was very dark in there. The curtains were open but with no stars or moon, no streetlights or headlights, there wasn’t much out there to help. He turned on a little camping lamp, wasting a little battery power so that we could see each other.

Of course, I had no idea what to say to him. He looked at me, full of expectation, and words died in my throat. He looked so angry and I didn’t know what to do with that. Options fell away like flaky skin, and I asked him the first one I held onto long enough to put into my mouth.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” He sounded bitter.

“Something must have. One minute we’re okay and the next you won’t talk to me.”

He hesitated and turned to look out of the window. “I found out your secret.”

“My what?” I have a secret? I tried to think of what it might be, what I could possibly have hidden that he might be upset about. But there wasn’t anything. I’ve never been one for keeping secrets. “What secret?”

He was silent for a moment, and I thought he was going to tell me that I knew exactly what he was talking about and to stop pretending. Which I wasn’t! Instead, he turned around and looked me in the eye, the sort of look that made my stomach shrivel up inside me. I was sure that I had done nothing wrong, but it still felt like I had.

“About you and Thorpe.”

I almost laughed. Almost. Of all the things he could have said, that one wasn’t on the list. It’s ridiculous for so many reasons. I think the nearly-laugh snuck into my voice, though I tried not to let it.

“There is no ‘me and Thorpe’, Ben.”

He was far from convinced, and I had to pry at him to find out where he got that from. He thought it was strange that I didn’t hold a grudge against Thorpe, even after all the arguing, which I made clear that I hate. He thought it was strange that I wasn’t more upset over him hitting me in the face. Ben touched my jaw just below the bruise, which is fading into yellow now, and he seemed more concerned than I had seen him before.

He told me something about the fight that I hadn’t known before. While I was trying to drive off Dillon’s attacker, the man with the spiky hair had gone for me from behind. Thorpe had laid into him, telling him to stay away from me. I had seen the end of the frenzy, but hadn’t known how it started. When I heard that, I wanted to go give Thorpe a hug, but right then was hardly the time for it.

Ben couldn’t look at me when he told me he’d seen us on the roof. He had come up to see if I was all right, only to find Thorpe already there with his arms around me. I had torn into him one minute and then leaned on him the next; I can see where the confusion might be.

Taken all together, I suppose it does look suspicious. Ben never knew about Trevor; obviously doesn’t know Thorpe’s leanings.

I explained what happened, I told him that I was crying, up there on the roof, and that’s why I was leaning on him. I don’t think that there are any hard feelings between Thorpe and me, despite all the arguing, but there certainly aren’t any warm, fluffy ones instead. This isn’t playground hair-pulling that hints at deep passion and wild sex while no-one’s looking.

I almost told Ben that I really wasn’t Thorpe’s type, but that’s not my secret to tell. Instead, I told him that it was the other way around – that Thorpe really wasn’t the kind of guy that I go for, and it would never be like that between us. Which is true; I don’t fancy him at all. He’s like a brother – an annoying brother that I put up with because he’s family.

I like that idea. I’m afraid I’ll get too attached to it, but for now it’s a warm glow in my chest. It makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time, and hug them all up. This broken, blessed, strange family of mine.

I told Ben that I wished he’d talked to me about his doubts sooner. I’d missed him. I’d missed talking to him and the feel of his friendship across the room. I’d missed the little squeezes he gives my hand when I need support, and his arm around my shoulders when I’m feeling down.

Of course, halfway through that, I realised why he was so upset by it all. I must be stupid or blind, but I just wasn’t thinking about it like that. I’m not used to this kind of attention. I missed how people might interpret things between Thorpe and me, and I missed Ben’s feelings, too.

He was jealous. Jealous because he thought I was with someone else. Which meant that he liked me, that way. I’ve never had anyone be jealous over me before. I’ve felt it – I remember how I felt when I saw Cody and Bree together, that sick, hot feeling that seeps all the way through my insides until I don’t know whether to scream or cry or set fire to something. I never thought that I’d make someone else feel that way. It’s the last thing I ever wanted or meant to do.

He really liked me. I stared at Ben and suddenly felt like crying and grinning, all at once. I didn’t even mind when he asked if I really wasn’t with Thorpe. I said no, I said never.

He went quiet for a few seconds, just looking at me. It felt like an itchy forever, so I asked, “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

I was so relieved that I almost hugged him. I remembered his poor burns and sore ribs before I actually grabbed him, though, and gave him a happily apologetic smile instead. He swapped my smile for a quick kiss, which both of us preferred, I think.

Of course, I had no idea what to say after that, so I went for a goodnight and an exit that was only mildly awkward. It was tempting to stay – to talk to him – but I needed to think about things. There’s a lot running around in my head right now, and this giddly feeling in my stomach that makes me smile when I’m not paying attention.

Today we walked together again, and we talked like we did before. I feel lighter. No-one has said anything about it.

I wonder if Ben was the only one who thought that about Thorpe and me.

We’ve been struggling to find a vehicle. We haven’t seen any Striper symbols for a day or so now, so we figure it’s probably safe. The streets are less clogged here – we wouldn’t have to take so many detours, I think.

The problem is that there’s so many of us – we won’t fit in anything smaller than a van, and it’s hard to find one light enough for us to push-start.  We finally decided to go for two smaller cars.

It took us over an hour to get them both going. Breaking into them and fixing the ignitions is turning into a quick ritual; the hardest part is finding vehicles with manual transmissions that will take all our stuff. We ended up with a couple of older cars, one of them rescued from an unfortunate kiss against a lamppost.

Ben drove one car, with Sally, Masterson and me as passengers. Thorpe took Sax and the kids. It was a peaceful division, for once.

Nugget was a problem at first. She refused to get into the car, slipping out of Sax’s grip to go back to the building we spent the night in. She wouldn’t say, of course, but I think she was looking for Jones.

We only really see him when we take shelter for the night – he follows us in his own way during the day, but he always appears when we sit down to eat. He does the rounds every now and then, and I’m not the only one who puts the empty can down for him to lick clean. I didn’t want to leave him behind either, but we couldn’t afford to hang around looking for the damn animal.

Sax looked fed up and stressed, so I went to talk to her. She was searching through the bed she had slept in, messing it up – someone had made it this morning. I don’t know who that was.

I’m not good with kids. I get along with Dillon okay, but I understand him and he likes me. That helps. Nugget – well, I had no idea where to start with her. I never really learned how to talk down to kids, how to get onto their level; I was the youngest in my family and it never came up.

So there I was, with her attention resting on my shoulders, staring at those big brown eyes as they stared back at me. So I just talked to her, like she could understand, even though she didn’t give me a single sign that she knew what these words meant. I told her that the cat would find us, that he’d come as soon as we settled to eat. That cats can move a lot faster than us on foot, and plus, he didn’t have a pack to slow him down. He’d catch up.

When I held my hand out to her, she looked at it.  I told her that we wouldn’t find him here, and she finally took it. I thanked her when she got into the car without any further trouble. I think she spent the rest of the day plastered to the window, looking for signs of a little ginger cat chasing us.

The bridge is broken – we’re going to have to find another way to cross the river. We tried today, and we nearly lost Thorpe, Sax and the kids to the water.

We were all sickened by the sight of the river. It was tanned shit the last time I saw it, weeks ago. Now it’s infected with rainwater, oily green ribbons winding through the channel. I don’t even want to know what might be in there; I saw a few bumps submerged and drifting downriver, but they weren’t identifiable. It’s an intestine of piss and puss, pumping out to poison the ocean. There was a sucking noise down by the banks and the bridge’s feet, as if it was trying to slurp the scenery into its maw and swallow.

We had our two cars, all started and ready, and everything seemed good. There were a few abandoned cars on the bridge, but not enough to stop us getting to the other side. So we piled in and headed off, with Thorpe leading the weave through the debris.

No-one had thought to check the bridge. It looked fine from the riverbank – we could see all the way across it. We’re still learning about how cautious we need to be, and clearly we aren’t anywhere near paranoid enough.

The first indication that something was wrong was a rumbling underneath us. At first I thought it was just the road surface, but then a creak sheared through the sensation and we all knew it was something more. The bright red warning of brake lights flared on the car in front.

We weren’t yet halfway across and the noise was coming from ahead of us. I couldn’t see what prompted it, but suddenly Thorpe’s reverse lights came on and then both cars were careening backwards towards solid ground.

There was a moment when all four wheels were off the ground. My stomach was left in midair as the bridge fell at least a foot, leaving our tyres to catch up. We kept going, as fast as we could, swerving recklessly towards the bank.

I knew that shearing sound, I knew the scream of concrete and steel giving way. I had heard it often enough when the city was falling down on top of us. Here, it was accompanied by small, thick splashes – a tiny part of my brain realised that chunks were coming off the bridge. It was dismantling under our feet, falling victim to the river below.

The almighty crack was deafening and right under us. Our car bounced up as it scraped past the split, but the one in front of us wasn’t so lucky. I remember shouting at Ben to stop, stop, they’re stuck, they can’t get past the crack. I could smell hot rubber as we slithered to a halt, but I was too busy staring at the bridge.

It moaned like a dying thing when it gave way. It sounded like it had been trying to hold itself up long enough for us to get free, but it couldn’t hold out any longer. The whole middle section had snapped off and the far end dropped down into the river. It made the sick water pulse up and swirl out in surprise, only to flow in hungrily again.

Thorpe’s car hadn’t made it. They were suspended over the break, front wheels spinning, engine roaring in frustration. I could see the kids in the back seat, turned back to look at us; Dillon’s mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear him from there.

I jumped out and Sally was right behind me – Masterson needed a glare to get moving. He came, though, when I sprinted over to other car. It was balanced on its middle, both sets of wheels turning in the air.

We grabbed the bumper and pulled it down, trying to pull the weight back to safety. In front of the car, the fallen section of road was a steep slide into the belly of the river. It was heavy, and the three of us wouldn’t be able to hold it for long – the engine was too heavy.

The kids were scrabbling at the doors but I could hear Thorpe telling them to stay where they were. At first I was furious – the kids should be saved first! But then I realised that the heavy people were all at the front of the car – him and Sax. Without the kids as counterbalance, we wouldn’t be able to hold the car back. We’d lose them.

I called to Thorpe, asking him what we should do. He had the sense to wind down the window so he could shout back to me. Then Ben was at my elbow, putting his weight to the task, and he took over the coordination. They might not have a truck any more, no flashing lights or fluorescent jackets, but they’re still firemen. Thank god. It was still a fight, but without them, we wouldn’t have had a chance of saving anyone.

The hardest part was popping the back open. It was lucky that we had decided to steal hatchbacks – we had chosen them for their size, but now the hatch offered an escape route. Sally tore the tray out to clear the way, and then everyone inside was clambering towards us, very carefully.

The kids moved into the boot itself, while Thorpe and Sax made their way over their seats into the back. The rest of us were all pushing the bumper down. We had no rope or chain to use to anchor or lash the car with; all we had was ourselves.

There was a mad scrabble when the car slid forward a few inches, metal screeching against concrete. Everyone held on until it was steady again, and then those inside moved one at a time, very carefully. One leg out, then the other. Sally’s the lightest of us, so she’s the one who let go of the car to help them out. Me, I was fighting the ache drilling up my arm as we tried to hold the car in place.

The kids came out first, and Sax slid into the boot to take their place. He eased out and the car slid again. I thought it wouldn’t stop this time, but it caught on the rear wheels, leaving most of it hanging over the drop. I have scrapes all the way up my jeans from being dragged across the concrete.

Thorpe was the only one left in there. He made his way into the  back, and then suddenly there was a Nugget trying to climb back in. We were all shouting, clinging on and wondering what the hell. It wasn’t until I heard the little mew that I realised the cat was in the car. He’d found us and come along for a ride, and now he was dangling over a fifty-metre drop into a poisoned river.

The confusion was allowing the back of the car to lift, rotating up so that it could slip past the rear wheels and out of our hands. Someone picked Nugget off and tossed her back out of the way – there was no time for gentleness. I heard her crying and calling for Jones.

Thorpe was climbing out of the car, up onto the bumper. Its upswing was lifting me off my feet. We were losing. Hurry, we shouted. Jump!

I was dumped onto the ground when the car finally went. It almost took me with it. I heard it hit the concrete below, breaking something important. Then it screeched all the way down to the thick embrace of the river. It went alone – everyone had let go in time.

Thorpe had jumped just a little too late. He hadn’t made it to the road, but he had managed to grab onto Ben’s outstretched hands as the car fell out from under him. Now he was dangling over the drop and Ben was lying full-length and slipping. I grabbed his legs and shouted for the others to help. All of a sudden, there were six pairs of hands holding Ben in place.

We called for Thorpe to climb up. Ben was steady, so I went to offer a hand (I still only have one that’s of any real use). It took two of us pulling and poor Ben acting as rope, but we did it. We got him up to safety, gripped and grabbed and hauled until we all tumbled into a heap on the concrete.

All the way up, there was an orange blob attached to Thorpe’s leg. It wasn’t until he was topside that it detached and skittered away to hide in the arms of a little girl. I stared at the two of them, the kid and the stupid cat. Then I said that I thought that firemen were supposed to rescue cats from trees.

Everyone laughed. Even Thorpe. It was ragged, relieved and just a little hysterical. There were hugs and a few tears fought back.

We were okay. We had all made it. Right then, at that moment, that was all that mattered.

I leaned over the edge a little, peeking down into the sick swirl below. There wasn’t even a hint of the car; it had been swallowed whole. Then Ben pulled me back and into a hug, and I didn’t care. I was happy, I was delirious. I didn’t have enough hands to hold onto everyone on the way back to the bank, but that didn’t stop me trying.

Things were strange after the bridge. The river took more than just a car: it also stole the gear that had been in it. Thorpe, Sax and Dillon had all had packs in the back, and even Nugget had been carrying a small bag.

It’s not the stuff that matters, though I don’t know what personal stuff might have been in those packs. Sax seems to have the photos he took from Alecia’s apartment, and Thorpe still has his ring on the chain around his neck. Dillon doesn’t seem upset about losing anything, and Nugget doesn’t talk at all.

It’s the loss of the food and water that has really made a difference. We’ve had to detour southwards along the riverfront, looking for new packs and supplies. Somehow, we also need to find a way across to the other side – I’m determined that we won’t be put off, even if the bridge did try to kill us.

When we settled down for the night, I checked on Ben’s injuries. The poor guy had been holding onto Thorpe and then had all of us jumping on him so that he didn’t slip away too. He kept telling me that he was okay; I had to threaten to get the doctor to look at him before he’d let me make sure.

I think he was telling the truth. I didn’t get the chance to check thoroughly – it was dark and Ben was very distracting. I’d never dared to hug him before, because I didn’t want to hurt him, but we did a lot more than that last night. Hurt was the last thing on our minds, lips or bodies.

Here he comes with breakfast. I can’t stop smiling.