The morning light, filtered through the tattered curtains, was a pale imitation of the sun I remembered. It was enough to rouse me, though, and I groaned, rolling over. Immediately, two small figures were upon me, shaking me awake with an urgency that belied the grim reality of our situation.
"It's Kira's birthday!" Keith declared, his voice a high-pitched whisper, as if the very words were a precious secret. Austyn, ever the echo, nodded enthusiastically beside him.
My heart sank. A birthday. In this wasteland? We were scraping by on meager rations, every crumb counted. A cake felt like a cruel extravagance, a frivolous waste. I was caught between the pragmatism of survival and the aching desire to bring a flicker of joy to Kira's face. Using our precious food meant risking hunger, but denying her this might break her spirit. Before I could voice my dilemma, Keith piped up, his eyes sparkling with uncharacteristic glee.
"I have fudges in my bag! And a candle!" He rummaged through a battered backpack, pulling out a handful of individually wrapped fudge squares and a stubby, half-melted candle. It was incredibly surreal. It was as if he had been preparing for this day, even before the world had gone to hell.
Hesitation flickered, then died. "Okay," I sighed, partly because I knew they were already too excited for me to say no, "Let's make her a cake."
And so we did. The fudge squares were soft and pliable, and we mashed them together, forming a lopsided mound on a salvaged tin plate. Keith's candle was proudly placed on top, and I carefully folded some origami flowers from scraps of paper we had saved. It was a strange, beautiful testament to hope amidst the despair. We waited anxiously as Kira woke, the surprise on her face replacing her usual quiet thoughtfulness. When I told her it was Keith who'd orchestrated the whole thing, she stared at him for a long, silent moment, then tears welled up in her eyes. She pulled him into a tight hug, the ferocity of it hinting at a bond I didn't fully understand. It was a heartwarming scene, and the love between them was palpable.
That day was filled with laughter for the first time in a long time. I took pictures of her with her phone, a relic from a bygone era. It wasn't connected to the internet, a detail that had initially seemed strange. But as I scrolled through her gallery, filled with photos of her before, her family, and her writing, I understood. It wasn't for communication; it was for remembrance. The photos we took that day, our faces smudged with fudge, looked oddly vintage, like something from another world, and in a way, they were.
That evening, Keith, emboldened by the day's events, tugged at my sleeve, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Can you teach me craft?" He asked.
And so I did. We fashioned small creatures from bits of cloth and string, laughing at our clumsy attempts. It drew us together, bridging the gaps left by the disaster.
It was that night I saw Kira laugh—really laugh—when I said, "Why don't scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything." She rolled her eyes at first, but then she actually laughed… like a real, genuine laugh.
That laugh was a little spark of normal in all the chaos. It made me see that she wasn't just beautiful on the outside, but inside too… someone who could still find a reason to smile, even when everything felt broken.
We spent a week in relative peace, strengthened by these small moments of normalcy. Then, the time came to move on. Kira had been preparing, her movements precise and efficient. She stretched, her eyes sharp with awareness, and when she asked me to join her, I was surprised. She was a strict teacher, showing me basic defensive postures and movements, and I was rather clumsy and ridiculous.
The day we finally left was surreal. We were draped in layers of thick clothing, our faces covered with dampened cloth, masks against the unknown pollutants in the air. "Trust me, it's safe," she'd said with a confidence that was both reassuring and unnerving. She knew more than she let on.
Kira carried Austyn strapped tightly to her back, bags hanging from her waist, and a wicked-looking metal pipe in her hand. She was a warrior. I carried Keith, who held another bag, the weight of it surprisingly light, almost like he was trying his best to not tire us. The streets were empty, eerily silent. We followed the map I'd drawn, avoiding populated areas, seeking stores, searching for any sign of life or resources. What we found was mostly empty, picked clean, or damaged beyond use, a stark reminder of the competition. Eventually, we found a secure building. It had a broken water pipe we might be able to use if we could fix it, and a room that we could bathe in, using our stored distilled water.
Water was our most crucial shortage. Kira volunteered to go out and look for more, but I refused. It wasn't because I thought her weak, but because she was their anchor. She had something to live for. I was just living to see one more spot on the map. My reason for surviving felt hollow in comparison. I had also made a promise to Keith… that I would protect her. After a long back-and-forth, she finally agreed, though the hesitation in her eyes said everything.