#endurestart

Even with all the familiar faces in the hardware store, all the pairs of feet shuffling along, it felt irrevocably lonely. Hunter thought, maybe at some point in time this place was alive. Maybe there were people who loved it. Maybe there was history woven into the walls that told of someone who devoted their life to this business. But she couldn’t feel any of that now. There was just emptiness, and silence, and an air that left Hunter’s lungs stinging. 

The loneliness that haunted this store was the same loneliness Hunter felt when she stopped moving, stopped distracting herself. She was sure it never went away, but if she kept herself busy enough she wouldn’t have to feel it. This hardware store didn’t seem to have anything in it worthy of distraction, and Hunter considered going back to the perimeter--until her eyes caught onto someone that she had deemed worthy of distraction.

Masen wouldn’t have been Hunter’s type five years ago, but her standards were a bit different now. She just preferred spending nights with him over spending them alone, but she liked most things more than lonely nights. Plus, it was fun. He was fun. And right now, he was also distracted. Hunter took this opportunity to sneak up behind him, snaking an arm around his waist and gently pressing her teeth into the crook of his neck.

“Aaaand you’re dead,” she whispered before retreating backward a few steps.

Looting was, of course, necessary for survival in a world like this. People begged and borrowed and stole whatever it took to keep their skin free of bites and blood pumping through their hearts. So, they stopped places that might have had things they actually needed, like gas, or weapons, or food, fresh water, more weapons. 

Masen liked to look for other things, things everyone else wouldn’t have cared about. Those were the things that told him what he needed to know about people. He remembered a picture of a father and daughter on a fishing trip at that bait shop he’d stopped at in Texas. The back of the picture had a name, and that name had matched the name of the shop, and Masen couldn’t help feeling like he owed these people something, even if that something was as small as remembering them when no one else did.

This time, he’d opened the bottom drawer of an old wooden desk and found mostly your typical desk items: loose staples, writing utensils, extra rolls of tape, some manila folders; he was about to shut the drawer when it caught his eye, small and white.

“I think I just found a joint,” he whispered to Luca, laughing. Masen had always been too afraid to try drugs, both because his physical health was the only part of him people depended on, and because if he failed a drug test his life would’ve been over and his mother’s heart would’ve been crushed. But none of that was a factor anymore, so he held it up for the other boy to see.

“Back parking lot?”

James was never good at social interactions but he knew that it was essential in something like the apocalypse. He had spent a long time by himself even before the world started to fall apart so trying to acclimate back into being somewhat normal was a lost cause. He mostly kept to himself, only interacting when he absolutely had to.

Today the group happened to come across a hardware store and everyone collectively seemed to agree to see what was inside. James, not having much of an opinion on the matter, seemed to get paired up. As everyone else went on their way, James stood awkwardly for a moment. “Uh” his low, growling voice felt like it echoed even though it was barely audible “So I guess we just--” he didn’t wait for the response of the other person before moving forward, nervously playing with the zipper on his jacket.

Hunter let out a chain of huffs as the groups left toward the hardware store. They were wasting time. If they were smart, they’d go to the hospital first. At least then they’d have the medical supplies in case any of their other adventures went wrong. In typical Hunter fashion, she made her opinions on the matter very clear when they were deciding where to go. But they didn’t listen, just like they never listened when she suggested splitting up to cover more ground. She didn’t enjoy not being heard.

Rifling through her medical supplies, Hunter continued to huff. She was slumped on the ground, grimacing like a kid who didn’t get dessert. “I need more,” she said to Jack, though she wasn’t sure she was listening. “Like, who’s saying tools are more important than medicine?”

Growing up, Masen had always found a sort of freedom that came with the night. There were always warnings and caution signs about things that lurked in the dark, but he had all but convinced himself that it was just to keep people from realizing how much was possible when the moon came into play. 

Sitting around a fire, climbing through someone’s window while they begged him to keep quiet, night swimming and laughing because anything was possible; he could be absolutely anyone he wanted to be, and no one could look through their windows at him and scoff.

Now, even as his limbs felt weightless and he felt lighter in his footsteps, he knew he had to give up that freedom he’d always found comfort in. Now, the monsters he’d been warned of were real, and they waited with hungry bellies and purposeless conviction. He kept his eyes peeled, shot gun at his hip, as he approached the night watch station to meet with Jack. As expected, she waited for him and he greeted her with a half smile.

“Blair and Micah already left?”

As the afternoon sun dimmed and introduced the evening, Hunter returned to camp with nothing to show for her hard work except for the beads of sweat on her forehead. She’d been busying herself in every way possible: first by setting up camp and taking inventory, then by guarding the perimeter, then by searching for something useful, and finally hefting a load of plywood off a door in hopes of finding treasure. Nothing came of it, but Hunter was pleased with the amount of work she’d accomplished.

The first face she saw as she settled into a spot on the ground was Luca’s. He’d been there the last time she left the camp, in the exact same spot, and the sight angered her to the point of her fist shaking. He was supposed to be useful at locations such as these, light on his feet and quick to scout a place. Hunter was disappointed, and she knew it was her own fault for expecting anything of him. After a moment, her fists fell loose at her side. She took a deep breath, trying to be more understanding.

She sympathized with him--really, she did. He’d lost his sister so recently, and she’d felt those same wounds. She knew how paralyzing they were when they were fresh. But when she’d lost--when her brother had--when she was first alone, giving herself excuses would’ve gotten her killed. She didn’t want Luca to dig his own grave so willingly. So she held him to higher standards than she otherwise would have, just to keep him alert. Or, more accurately, to keep him distracted. It was the only thing she could think to do.

“Heads up, Palermo!” Hunter warned him a moment before chucking a rock in his direction, aimed at his abdomen. It looked like an attack, but she’d call it a friendly test.

The topic of religion was one Masen often liked to avoid. There was a time in his life when he considered himself a believer; there was also a time in his life when he never had any reason to question his faith. He could recall attending church with his parents all throughout his childhood and, though he had his doubts at times, his mother would just kiss him on his forehead and assure him that he would understand on his own some day. She was wrong, of course.

When the preacher laid hands on him, Masen did the same as the others: fell back, closed his eyes as if the event was too precious for his eyes to comprehend, and the crowds just  cheered. They didn’t even notice him slipping away to the bathroom where he began to cry, because he had faked it and none of them had even noticed the difference. He wept because if he had faked it, how many others had?

He sobbed because he no longer believed and it made him feel so very, very alone.

Masen’s eyes darted over to Micah, empathizing with him. There was, perhaps, no greater torture to a man of faith than to be stuck in these godless times; maybe Masen had lucked out by becoming a non-believer in the end.

“Gotta be honest here,” he said, sparking his lighter and taking a drag from one of the cigarettes he’d found in a desk drawer. All those years avoiding parties with his friends, avoiding alcohol and drugs and anything that could distract him from being the best athlete he could be, and for what? In the end, it hadn’t mattered at all, had it?

 “I think maybe I was missing out.”