Breathe.

One. . .

It all happened so fast. The flash of light, the rush of panic, the orange and red smoke rushing through the air. It happened so fast, it almost went into full slow motion on instant replay. Even then, the seconds everything took seemed to last forever. Maybe God was giving us time. But who believes in God anymore? If everyone was dropping to the ground and dying, God had to be dead too.

I’d seen the flames outside the living room window. We were on the seventeenth story of a run down apartment not too far from Times Square. The window could see past it, to look at the open water. In the distance, you could see the land of Jersey. In the distance, you could see one or two lights coming from Newark. In the distance, minutes later, you could see an orange mushroom cloud exploding into the air.

The panic rushed through my veins. I rushed past the window, not even looking at the clock. I’d be distracted if I knew the ball was about to drop. I sped towards to the closet. Mama stopped me. “Tinker,” she cooed, “Why are you running? What’s that face? Why are you so fearful?”

I looked into her darkened face. I could not see her facial features. “Mama,” I choked. “I think they’re letting off bombs in Newark. If they set off bombs there, they’ll set them off here. Mama, we have to hide! We have to get in the closet-”

“Hush. Hush.” she breathed. She kneeled down to my level. “Tinker Scarlett, every thing's fine.” she said. “You probably just woke up from a nightmare.”

“No Mama, this was real!”

“Maybe you should take your medicine,” she pleaded. She took my wrist gently in her hand and lead me to the kitchen. I stopped at the hall closet.

“Mama, I’m being serious, and all you think is that I’m crazy and need my medicine!” I scolded, “Something bad is happening, and I need to protect you from it. Please believe me. Mama, please believe me!”

“Sweetheart,” she cried, “Calm down. There’s nothing.”

Papa came out at this point. I could not see his face in the darkness either. He had my little sister in hand, a worried look on her mouth. they both overheard. But did they hear me, or the crash?

Time was ticking. I had to get into the closet. “Papa,” I begged, “Don’t you believe me?” He looked at me with scornful and sorrowful eyes. Gray eyes I’d never forget. “Papa, please believe me!”

“I believe you Tinka,” Marlena whispered. Mama and Papa looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe they would have gotten meds for her too.

I felt it then. The crash approaching. The angel of death touching me. Everything about my short lived life rushing before my very eyes. Without a struggle, I grasped Marlena’s hand and pulled her into the closet with me. We curled together in a corner. I took an old walkman out of a box and put a CD in. Marlena put on the music I offered. I would not let her hear the screams of pain erupting from Mom and Dad.

We held close together with each tremor. Survive together, be alive together. We held together for long hours, which slowly turned to days. I never dared look at my watch. I never dared to peek outside. We stayed still, clutching to one another’s tattered clothes.

After there were no more fearful noises around us, I pushed the door open, just a crack. I peeked outside. No one was there but the light of day. I motioned Marlena to follow me. She nodded and obeyed.

What we saw we’d never forget. Our entire apartment, in pieces. Most of the walls were missing. The plait glass of the windows had melted. Everything we’d ever known: Gone.

I whispered for Marlena to be careful and stay still. She obeyed and stood on the cracked wood floor. I made my way to the bedroom. “Mom!” I yelled. “Dad!” No reply. “Mom! Dad!” Still no reply. “Mama! Papa! Mama!! Papa!!” Nothing. Absolutely nothing in the bedrooms or kitchen. Mom and Dad were nothing. Nothing but ash. They’d gone with the wind.

It all rushed through my mind quickly. Mom and Dad: Dead. My friends, Aryan and Blaine: Dead. Grandma and Grandpa in Newark: Dead. Everyone below us: Dead. Nothing survived this thing. Nothing but me and Marlena. The only things in our apartment were us, the clothes on our backs, and a few things inside of steel dressers. I opened on of mine. Most of my clothes: Gone. Stolen or disintegrated. The only thing was an orange and black striped sweatshirt and a sweater with holes on the thumbs. I grabbed both, stuffing one inside one of Marlena’s bunny backpacks and put one over me.

I walked over to Marlena. She was looking down, holding back tears. I rushed over to her, hugging her. She let out tears. “I want Mommy and Daddy!” she yelled. I calmed her, telling her everything would be fine soon. Suddenly, I heard a noise. I turned around, thinking it was someone in the building. It wasn’t. It was the floor beneath our feet, giving way and dropping us seventeen stories.

We fell, Marlena screaming at the top of her lungs. Six stories from the ground, the backpack got caught on a broken piece of banister. Marlena didn’t get caught on anything. She fell, back first, onto the concrete ground. I yelled her name several times. Nothing. I began to cry out. No response, from her, or anyone else. I climbed off of the banister and made my way down through rock climbing through melted debris.

Once reaching the ground, I ran to her and held her broken body in my arms. Her bright blue eyes were open, and her black hair was soaked with blood from her skull. I held her to my chest and cried.

I was alone.

I woke up, breathing heavy and sweating. I looked around the barrack. I was okay. I was alive.

Footsteps pattered in like an oncoming storm. I turned to see a smile. “Good, you’re awake,” Frankie said. I nodded at him. “Listen, we were thinking of Venturing today.”

I paused. “Frank, that wouldn’t be the best idea.”

“Why not?” he asked. “We’re low on supplies.” I sighed. “It’s not considered stealing if the city is abandoned and everyone’s dead.”

“It’s not that,” I told him, “I just don’t want you guys getting hurt.”

“I understand that.” Frank said. “We have only each other after all. But that means we also have to help each other. We have to take what isn’t ours to survive. We’re the only ones in this region. It’s all ours Tink! We have to take advantage of it before-” He cut himself off. He knew not to talk about them.

I sighed. “Okay.” He nodded and walked down the hall to tell everyone. I thought back to the beginning of us: The Outsiders.

There was a group of people that lived in a place called “The Underground”. It was all of the survivors from the bombs across the country. All were under the age of twenty-five.

I’d come across them after day three after the bomb hit. I walked around all of New York City, my feet sore and tired. I had sat on the concrete, hungry, tired, and in pain. An Underground member emerged from a manhole near me. He was my age, and stared at me, wide eyed. “We got another survivor here!” Just then, two men emerged from Underground stores and pulled me into the manhole. Underneath, there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of people who’d survived the Time Square incident alone. I was amazed. I wasn’t alone. I had someone to count on.

The leader approached me. He was a twenty year-old soldier that was about four heads taller than me. “Name!” he ordered me.

“Tinker Brandil, sir!” My father had been in the military. I knew the drill.

“Age!”

“Eleven, sir!”

“Previous location!”

“The Oakwood Apartments! Seventeenth floor! Number 1700, right near the stairs, sir!”

The man nodded and lead me to a room. I stayed in that room for sleeping for three days. Three days in a dark place can make you crazy, they say. But after seeing my little sister die and my parents gone, I don’t think I could have had any sanity left.

A doctor came in with the military man one day. Well, he was a medical student, with a dead teacher and nothing to practice on. He had studied to be a pediatrician. Therefore, he’d be examining me.

He was young, about twenty-two, and had mocha colored hair. The military man said I was to be examined in front of everyone on an old subway platform. I was nervous. I had never had anyone see my body since puberty started. I refused to change for gym, and, if forced to, would go to a bathroom stall. “You can’t afford to be bashful here.” the doctor said. He had a Boston accent. “You’ll be sharing a room with girls your age soon enough.”

I nodded and agreed. The men took me to the platform. Several girls my age and a little older were already there. There were also a few younger boys. No men, thank God. Some girls were already undressed. Some wore old robes or blankets. I was the only one fully dressed.

Within minutes, hundreds upon hundreds of people squished into the area where a train had once been. A lot of them were young men and teenage boys. Most were older than me. I knew no one. Did I have to undress in front off all of those people. If God is still alive, please make him send a train down those tracks before my turn. I’d seen enough tragedy to understand.

When it was almost my turn, the military man ordered me to undress. He said I could keep one article of clothing on for warmth. I kept my orange sweatshirt. He took my bag and threw it behind the doctor’s counter.

It reached my turn and the doctor beckoned me. Teenage boys whistled with delight. They had a younger girl to beat on. I pulled myself onto the counter and unzipped my jacket. I blushed as all the boys hollered at me. My legs began to shake with fear. Were they going to hurt me? Sexually? Verbally?

The doctor examined me quickly. He checked my skin for burns, my heart rate for problems, and my body to see it was developing right. He made me lie down and checked my eyes, throat, and glands. He tried to open my legs at one point to see if I was far into puberty. I kept them tight.

He noticed my shaking, but said nothing. The military man approached me and asked aloud, “Brandil, do you have a medical condition?” I sighed and nodded. He hit me. “Speak up!”

“Y-Yes sir!” I should have said no.

“What, exactly?” he questioned. I couldn’t change it now. I had to tell him.

“Anxiety and extreme paranoia, sir.”

He eyeballed me, and, before I could apologize, pulled me by the hair to the ground. I curled into a ball, crying. He throw my bag and sweatshirt at me. “Get outta here!” he yelled. “We don’t take fuckards like you! We have enough problems!” I lay there and cry for a moment, slowly getting on my sweatshirt. I looked at the doctor with pleading eyes. He shook his head, giving me a concerned look. “Get outta her! Get!”

And with that, I left the Underground, wearing only a sweatshirt and a bunny backpack on a cold beginning of January.

That was so long ago. Three years. I had others now. Friends, that would take care of me.

I got ready for our Venture, putting on my jeans and white sweater with the holes on the thumbs. I looked into the broken piece of mirror melted into my wall. My black hair was long and frizzy, and my skin was getting paler by the day. I looked down at my clothes. It was living proof they took care of me from the start.

I’d spent weeks on my own, ducking into apartments for warmth. I’d been going through one of my growth spurts that month, making me officially 5’6”. My sweatshirt didn’t touch the bottom of my bottom anymore, making me even colder and more embarrassed.

The day they found me was the coldest day of the year. I was curled up in the middle of what used to be Central Park. Suddenly, a girl with chestnut hair hovered over me. She kneeled down and felt my forehead, without a word. I thought she was a dream. An angel, to take me to my sister. She got up silently and ran off.

Five minutes later, she brought back a more talkative young boy covered in burns. He gasped, coughed, and kneeled down. He picked me up and took me to the Outsider’s hiding place, The Barrack, an abandoned subway wait stop with cross wood walls.

I stared at the walls before Fin called to me. Fin, the boy covered with burns and survived. Fin, the boy who, even though it would meant using too much energy for his broken heart to handle, carried me to The Barrack. Fin, the reason the underground rejected the physically and mentally ill. Fin, the sweetest bot I’d ever met. Fin, the artist with no canvas to practice on.

“Tink! Tink!” he called. I finished eyeing myself over and ran to the Center, our living area in The Barrack. Everyone was there, sitting quietly around the perimeter of the room.

“Is everyone ready?” I asked. They all nodded. “Okay, let’s get this Venture on the road.” Frank cheered. He loved Venturing. Maybe it was because he grew up in the city of Philadelphia. Maybe it made him remember the brother’s he’d lost. Maybe it helped him recover from the trauma of Philadelphia being taken over by them.

We walked down the abandoned tunnels. Tunnels untouched by the Underground. Our Tunnels. The Outside Escape Route.

After walking down the tunnel for an hour, we came to an emergency ladder. I scaled it first, being that they all made me the leader. i was considered the strongest. I was considered one of the lucky ones. But weren’t we all lucky to have each other and still be alive? To still be in our home country instead of running away like others?

After seeing it was safe, I beckoned them all through the open grate. They all climbed through the hole and onto the concrete. We were out in the sun. We were free.

We all walked down the street in excitement. Well, a few did. Frankie couldn’t stop smiling, and would sometimes run off to see something that used to be amazing. I looked around at the burnt buildings. It all brought back horrible memories.

Kara was silent the whole time. Kara, the oldest in the group. Kara, the skilled piano player I remember from when I was in sixth grade and she was in ninth. Kara, the one in denial of everything. Kara, the one disappointed after every night asleep that the nightmare wouldn’t end. Kara, the one I was afraid for when she realized all of this was real.

Today seemed different than every other day. I ran to an abandoned wall I kept track of the dates on. I counted the days of the year so far. One hundred and seventy-three days since January first, the three year anniversary. By pure remembrance of how the calender went and that it was a leap year, it had to be the first day of summer.

It would explain the sweltering heat. It would explain the blooming flowers in the long cracked concrete. It would explain the excitement and glee. Summer was always a kids favorite season. Whether we knew it was the first day or not, we’d live the next three months to the fullest.

As we walked, looking for cracked windows to electronics stores and such, the sun was high above our heads. I was sweating to death, but hesitated to unzip my sweatshirt. What if they appeared and took us? What if they saw the thin undershirt and let themselves have their day?

As I questioned, I felt a little tug on my pants leg. I looked down to see blonde curls. Miracle, the one thing I needed. Miracle, the little girl with amnesia. Miracle, the epitome of her name.

“Tink,” she started, “What are you afraid of?” Miracle, the girl who was sensitive and would always know what you were thinking.

“Nothing hun,” I cooed. She looked around anxiously, the way Marlena had when she thought there was a monster in the room.

“There’s no one but us,” she said. “You’ll be okay. I promise.” And with that, she walked quietly away. I smiled at the thought. Somehow, Miracle could make a person calmer, less anxious. She was my new medication. I trusted her fully, and unzipped the hot house over my shoulders.

“Guys, come here!” Frank yelled. I snapped out of my daze. “You gotta see this!” We all looked at each other and ran around the corner to where we heard Frank’s voice from. We headed towards an open road. “This way!” he called from the East. We ran down the street towards the voice beckoning. When we reached the open road, everyone but me crowded around Frank, crouched down.

“That’s amazing!”

“Wow!”

“Beautiful...”

“Isn’t it great?”

I walked over calmly and peeked over Miracle. They were huddled over an old phonograph. it was tattered, but the metal piece was still attached. It could still play music. Music. A thing long forgotten here in the outside world of what used to be a Dream Land.

It was a burnt wood color, and had a long compartment at the bottom of it. Miracle opened it and pulled out what we needn't search for now: Vinyl. We all cheered and huddled around the thing Heaven had brought us. Everyone spilled their joyous thoughts to the air. Everyone except Bo. Bo, the girl who never talked. Bo, the girl who found me in Central park that day three years ago. Bo, the one with all of the secrets.

“Bo,” I cooed, “Do you like it too?” She nodded and smiled lightly. She was a mute, but she could communicate. or, at least she’d try.

Finn carried the find back to The Barrack. As we followed, we stopped once in a while to search through broken stores. Frankie and I got supplies from old grocery stores, like canned goods and tap water from the watering house. We took a power source from an electronic store, and as many batteries as our pockets could carry. Like Frankie said, it wasn’t stealing if it was abandoned and no one would ever come back.

We reached The Barrack and plugged in the phonograph. Bo put on a Beatles record from the compartment. Guitar and vocals broke the silence. We all danced and sang along what we remembered our parents and grandparents once sang. The music made us hopeful for a new day. A new tomorrow.

As the song faded, we all spoke our hopes for when we’re rescued. Kara longed to make great music, but knew she would once she woke up. Frankie and Finn wanted to go back to normal. Miracle wanted her memories back. Bo kept her vocal chords in check. I hoped that one day, we’d be rescued from everything. From fear. From paranoia. From destruction. I wanted my family more than anything, but I knew i couldn’t have them back. These five were my family now.

The music came back on then, making us forget the sadness that happened to be building up then. Words of hope erupted from the speaker. “I get by with a little help from my friends!” We would. We would help each other. We could survive this.

And in a way, haven’t we already?