The Living by David Kazzie

Author:David Kazzie [Kazzie, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: preppers, Genetic Engineering, genes, survivalist, Post-Apocalyptic, Apocalypse
Published: 2019-05-12T22:00:00+00:00

20

The sun streaming through the large plate-glass window woke her more than anything else, its warmth baking her skin. She blinked twice to clear out the sleepiness still lingering in her eyes. A thin sheen of sweat slicked her arms. As she regained her bearings, she drank in her surroundings, a sip at a time. She couldn’t quite remember where she was or how she’d gotten here, but there was a strange familiarity about it, the sense she had been here before. She was indoors, lying on a twin bed.

Somewhere, perhaps the next room over, a noise.

Will.

She knew the sounds he made even when he was out of her sight. The way he shifted a chair or rustled through his belongings, even the tinny clang of his utensils against a plate while he ate, she could isolate the sounds he made from those of anyone else on earth. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she could tell from the languorous movements that he was in no danger.

There was a plastic water bottle by her head. Looking at it reminded her how thirsty she was. She reached out for it, her thin arm trembling from the exertion, but she didn’t have the strength to reach that far.

“Will,” she called out, her throat dry, her voice small and cracked.

She waited a moment, but he did not respond.

“Will,” she repeated, this one a bit louder. The effort made her feel lightheaded and the room began to dissolve around her. A wave of nausea rumbled through her like a lonely freight train. She hoped he heard her because she couldn’t bear to call his name a third time.

No answer.

She slept again.

When she woke up, it was dark. The room shimmered in the light of a candle. Things would be a lot better if this were a dream and she were back in her trailer at Evergreen or even better if she was eighteen and still a freshman at Caltech. She touched her forehead again and found it cool this time. She tried getting up, but again her muscles failed her.

“Are you thirsty?” a strange voice asked.

She nodded. Her tongue felt swollen and thick, like it couldn’t get out of its own way. A bottle at her lips. The cool liquid against her dry, cracked lips stung and felt exquisite at the same time. Her jaw twitched, and a bit of liquid ran down her chin and into the hollow of her neck.

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost eight.”

“Where are we?”

“Lincoln.”

This bit of news galvanized her. That bookstore had been thirty miles away from Lincoln. She had no memory of anything since stepping outside.

“Lincoln? Where’s my son?”

“He’s fine,” the woman said with a hint of a Southern accent. “He’s sleeping in the next room. Cute as a button, that boy.”

“How did we get here?”

“You’ve got to take it easy, honey,” she said. “We’ll get to all that. First, we’ve got to get a little food in you.”

There was a tray on the nightstand next to the bed.

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