Page 24 of Ember Rising

Maybe, somehow, they survived. That’s one of the reasons I fumble through the darkness, patting down the covers of the makeshift bed I made in the training compound’s basement.

The crinkle of plastic tells me I found it. I carefully pull off the paperclip holding the nearly empty bag closed and dump the final couple bits of salt into my mouth.

I have to work to swallow it, my throat raw and dry. Some of my teammates and I broke into the building’s vending machine when we started sheltering in place here seven months ago. The pretzels were at the bottom of the mountain of packaged snacks, and I just finished the last bag.

Well, I finished it over the course of the last few days. I’ve been denying reality. I thought I had the willpower to make my stack of mildewy blankets my final resting place.

It’s been a harrowing half year. The virus hit so hard and fast that there wasn’t time to respond. My teammates and I watched the horror play out on our phone screens. Hospitals overwhelmed. Buildings looted. People killed in the streets. Governments collapsed overnight.

Experts agreed the virus was airborne, but there was no outrunning it. Even here. Most everyone left to shelter in place with their families, but five of us stayed. The training facility was more secure than our homes, and it had a stockpile of five-gallon jugs of drinking water.

It was me, two teammates, one coach, and one security guard. And within two weeks, they were all dead.

The darkness is familiar to me now. I roll up my blankets, securing them with strips of torn fabric. A knot forms in my stomach as I stand, knowing what I have to do.

It’s time to go upstairs. I think I’ve been in this windowless basement for around three months. The first two months weren’t so bad because I had flashlights, so I could read and see where I was going. There’s a small bathroom down here, but without water and electricity service, it’s not usable anymore.

My bathroom in our New York home had floor-to-ceiling marble and a soaking tub with a stellar view of the city. Now I’d kill for a functioning toilet. I use a bucket and floor drain these days, and soon I won’t even have that.

There’s a soft skittering sound as I make my way over to the stairs. It’s probably the rats. I was disgusted by them at first, but I don’t bother them and they don’t bother me.

I climb the stairs with leaden feet. Daily exercise has been part of my routine, but I’m not the athlete I once was. I can feel bones on my body I couldn’t feel before.

After so many days in the silent darkness, the light that greets me when I push open the door at the top of the stairs is blinding. I steel myself, half expecting to be attacked.

It gives me the crawls, feeling so exposed and not being able to see anything. I shield my eyes with my hands, blocking out most of the light, and the floor comes into focus.

It’s the same beige tile I remember. I wait around fifteen seconds, then move my hands up slightly.

The seating area looks the same as always—fake-leather-upholstered chairs centered around a wood coffee table with archery magazines on it. The vending machines are battered and empty, but I know who did that. I smile at the memory.

“Never thought I’d be hunting for Skittles,” Molly said, aiming her arrow at the vending machine. “But here we are. Goggles on, guys.”

She was the last one to die. I begged her to hang on, knowing everything would change once I was alone.

There were no more wry jokes. No one to keep an eye out while the rest of us slept. No getting to know people I never would have if not for that fucking virus.

After a few minutes, I’m able to see everything around me, and it’s the same as it was when I sequestered myself in the basement. I figured if people broke in, they wouldn’t spend much time trying to get into the locked basement, so I was safer there.

No one broke in, though. The windows are all intact, and nothing is out of place. The air is thick and muggy from the lack of air-conditioning.

I croak out a single note of laughter, my voice not used to being used. What if order has been restored, and I spent the past three months on the edge of insanity for nothing?

I was safe from physical harm in the basement, but that safety came with a cost. At first, I talked to West, the guy I’d been on two dates with when the virus hit. I’d imagine conversations, saying my parts out loud and imagining his.

He was a shy, funny investment banker I was planning to sleep with after our third date, before the apocalypse jumped in with the ultimate cockblock.

I had pretend conversations with my parents, my coaches, my teammates. I imagined breaking Olympic archery records, interviewing myself about it.

The rats were probably thrilled when I finally shut the fuck up. I spent my waking hours reading, exercising, and trying not to think about what I’d do when I ran out of food and water.

When I didn’t have flashlights anymore, that’s when things took a turn. I slept as much as I could, rage-cried, and carried on conversations in my head in every language I know. Eventually, though, I got to a dark place.

Like the others, I got sick. Sicker than I’ve ever been. I assumed I was going to die, and after days of constant vomiting, sweating, and delirium, I’d made peace with it.

At least I wouldn’t be alone. Byron, the security guard, was still alive then. We were both sick, but only he died.

I need a bow. Tucking my roll of blankets against my hip, I make my way toward the ranges. I hurry past the closed door that leads to the athletic training rooms, the towel shoved into the crack beneath the door making my stomach roll.