He wasn’t sure whether the remnants of adrenaline in his bloodstream or the fact he knew nothing of the stranger he was following were responsible for how jumpy he felt as he followed the allegedly charitable altruist. After what happened, these more "normal" situations felt like bait with a snare waiting underneath it, and it had the seventeen-year-old tied up in a bundle of nerves when he'd otherwise be the imagine of chillaxed.

As the ball of muscle in front of him continued to lead the way (to God knows where), Wyve’s brain was left to marinate in questions and doubts. I mean, was this really a good idea? The guy didn’t look like the fast type, and Wyve was warmed up from before, but what if he had a gun? Wyve didn’t fancy his chances at zigzagging away, and that cylindrical black shape hooked onto the other’s pants was starting to look suspiciously-

The man suddenly stood dead in his tracks. They had stopped in front of a well-kept building- a wooden building, standing out like a sore splinter amidst its concrete and cement counterparts. Wyve stopped moving as well, although it was more like all his muscles unwillingly locked in place. The enigmatic man looked back at him and let out an exasperated huff.

“Don’t you bolt on me, kid.”

“Wasn’t gonna”, Wyve muttered with a voice as terse as his body was. He wasn’t about to admit it with the pinnacle of masculinity next to him, but he felt a wave of embarrassment crash into his body. What had him so scared, and more importantly, since when was he such a massive wuss?

He didn’t bother replying to Wyve -which only served to further humiliate him- as he sauntered inside their timber destination.

And so Wyve was left alone.

The mahogany door stood like a portal to another world, one he was fully capable of walking away from. It’d be the wise choice, really. He could handle a broken arm by himself with a visit to the pharmacy. There was absolutely nil chance that anything good could come from walking into such an obvious trap, especially when Wyve was already 0-1 in his luck with mysterious strangers.

No.

Wyve had done enough running away today, and for what it’s worth this whole situation was impossible to skirt around, no matter how unwilling he was to play along with its lunacy. With less hesitation than he anticipated, the young boy who worked morning shifts at the corner’s diner less than an hour ago now strode through the caramel doors of his fate and prayed that whether it was death or salvation awaiting him at the other side, it’d be done and dusted with quickly.

The place was definitely a bar, but its styling called back to an old-school saloon, with round tables peppered all around the open floor. And just like the saloon of an abandoned town without its sheriff, it was devoid of any signs of life, not even from the stranger that had lead him here.

Before any alarm bells got ringing in Wyve’s already jittery mind, the leather-clad man reappeared from a door behind the bar. He lugged a metallic green case around his arm, branded with a caduceus at its top; a travelling doctor’s toolbox, and the last thing he expected a guy like him to have laying around.

“…And you just knew that’d be there?”, Wyve murmured. Accusing an unknown variable of foul play while being vulnerable yourself wasn’t exactly peak stratagem, but the combative words just fumbled out of Wyve’s mouth before he could catch them.

“Fucking hell kid, want a sling or not?”, the goliath’s cobblestone voice bit back.

The promise of something that could alleviate the intense agony coursing through his arm had Wyve shutting up pretty quickly. He stared on as the man opened up the med-kit and caught a glimpse of its insides. Syringes, pill bottles, bandages and all other kinds of medical supplies sat neatly organized in the foam casing, and some looked far more advanced than the contents of your average med kit. Wyve barely swallowed down the questions that were rising up his throat and sat down in a nearby chair to let the man do his work.

//

The arm felt awkward, rendered immobile by the cotton-like fabric latched onto it. An icepack laid nestled behind the white sheet and sat on his still burning, but now bearable broken arm.

“… Thanks.”, the gratitude came out quieter than he had intended, but as long as the message got across it didn’t really matter to Wyve. Guilt bit at him for being so snarky with someone that was just trying to help, no matter how dubious their motives might be.

“No need. I only did the easy part.”, the medic looked down at his patient’s arm with a grimace, “Pain killers should lessen the sting, but I reckon you should cool down on any intense physical stuff.”

The doctor’s eyes roamed back to the other’s face, searching for an answer to a question he wasn’t willing to voice out loud. “I don’t know how your arm got that fucked up, but its probably gonna take the worse half of six to twelve weeks to heal.”

Wyve looked down at the wooden floorboards by his feet, a dark thought whizzing by his mind,

‘That’s if we have that long.’

From the little sight-seeing Wyve got done, the concrete prison they were trapped in looked to stretch on endlessly. If five-hundred-thousand people were really stuck here, then fights over whatever non-perishable foods were laying around would break out as soon as a day from now. After that- well, monsters wouldn’t be the only ones tearing us apart.

The bigger of the two spoke up, breaking off Wyve’s train of thought, “Tryin’ wrap your head around it? Just as shell-shocked as you, kid. Well, we all are. It’s all a fucking mess really, people ’re already on edge.”

“Yeah, I thought so.", Wyve nodded, "Name’s Wyve, by the way.”, he provided his name partly out of obligation for the aid he received, but mostly because he couldn’t stand being called ‘kid’ a second more. Couldn’t quite place a finger on the discomfort’s roots, but it got under his skin all the same.

The biker-doctor nodded in acknowledgement, giving Wyve a sharp smile. “Dorran. Well met kid, made a striking first impression ‘n all.”

Running thin on his self-control, the "kid" let out a huff betraying his frustration, which only made Dorran’s smile widen, which only made Wyve’s glaring intensify.

One particular question had been nagging at the back of the young boy’s mind, and now that things had “calmed down”, he felt reassured enough to share it with his impromptu company.

“Y’know, I’m thankful and all, really, but why help me? Are you some sort of philanthropist doctor?”.

Dorran threw back his head in a rumbled laugh, as if enjoying an a joke only he was in on. “Me? Nah, I’m barely even a doctor.”

“As for the why, well…”

The humor disappeared from his voice and was replaced by something heavier. Even behind the lenses of shaded glass, Wyve recognized the thousand-yard stare he wore as he sat stone still. Dorran was looking at him, but his mind was on something else entirely, something entirely formless and ungraspable to anyone but himself.

“You would’ve died if I hadn’t stepped in.” he said with a voice as grim as could be.

Wyve felt a shiver cascade down his spine. A moment went by when the room was nothing but silence, the atmosphere so thick the air struggled to swim through it.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Died? He… would have died? I mean, of course an untreated, broken arm wouldn’t have helped his survival odds but wasn’t the situation equally hopeless for everyone involved? Wyve didn’t consider himself a pessimist, but he couldn’t picture a future where they all survived something like this, broken arm or not...

‘If he hadn’t stepped in…?

Is he … talking about more than just my arm?’

He had been tricked into believing that the monsters were the only thing to fear, that he could find safety in the comradeship between humans, but the intensity in every one of Dorran’s words made him almost as uneasy as the sight of that alleyway creature. Almost.

Before he was even given a chance to respond, Wyve’s phone buzzed for the third time today, and for the third time today he was only left more confused than before by the push notification glowing from his phone .

Entering into the app, the upper-left corner that had previously been black as space was now occupied by a shopping bag icon. Thumbing the button with more curiosity and less fear than the previous two times something involving this app happened, a laundry list of “items” available for purchase sprung from the screen.

Item Price Canned Peaches 60 Coins Buy Water Bottle 40 Coins Buy Lighter 50 Coins Buy Bandages 90 Coins Buy

He scrolled and scrolled and scrolled but the list seemed to go endlessly. It was everything and anything one could ask for to survive the apocalypse short of a one-way ticket out of here. A blue buy button shone brightly to the right of each item listed, and Wyve’s index finger twitched as he scrolled past the section dedicated to marine food dishes.

‘This is what the coins are for? Where would these things even be delivered? How do you get more coins?’

He shelved those questions away for when he could actually find the answer to them. His hope, the same flame that had been doused again and again by these ruthless conditions, began to reignite within his body. With newfound vitality, Wyve swore to himself he wouldn’t let that flame be snuffed ever again.

The good news had almost taken his mind off of his conversation with Dorran, who was now looking at his phone with an unreadable expression.

“… Some rest would do you good kid. I’ve got a couch in the back you can crash on.”

Thankful for the other dispersing the awkward silence, the brunette would happily take him up on that offer. Although he had reasons to be cautious, Wyve was getting sick of suspecting someone who’s been (almost) nothing but kind to him. With a heavy nod and droopy eyes, he made his way towards his provisional bedroom for the night.

The couch was dusty, spotted with stains, and terribly cruel to his back, but that didn’t stop Wyve from going out like a light.

///

‘Knocked down to the floor, knees scraped, children laughing at me in the playground.

My legs wobbling beneath me, my breath abandoning me, with blood creeping closer and closer.

If you think being made fun of by crayon eating brats and seeing a monster tear open the human body are on completely different levels, that just tell me you haven’t been through either.

I couldn’t care less about what some kids thought of me. Let them call me poor, make fun of my double hand-me-down sneakers or my backpack coming apart by the seams.

And I’ve seen monsters before, just in very different shapes. This isn’t my first run-in with death either so… why?

You know, it’s funny. Both times, I ended up trying to resolve the problem with my fists.

Both times, it ended about as badly.

It’s the helplessness. The fact that even though it’s my own goddamn life I’m still being treated like some spectator, like I don’t have a say in it. How am I meant to get back up and try again tomorrow when nothing ever changes the next day? Why keep pushing the boulder up the hill?

It was the same with Ma, with the hospital bills, finding work and keeping it. I’m being forced to play the same rigged game over and over. I don’t- I just don’t fucking know.

I don’t know.’

//

‘Shit… Forgot to turn on alarm clock… Boss is gonna kill me… Maybe I can just call in sick.’

He shifted in his bed- or wait, no, couch…?

‘Shit.’

No amount of wishful thinking was gonna convince Wyve this was a dream; no brain could simulate the world-ending ache he felt along his spine. Sleeping on the floor may have literally been a better idea, but his brain had been running on too few hours of sleep to make those kinds of comparative choices.

“Freeloader’s finally awake, huh?”

Wyve’s neck turned faster than should be humanly possible without snapping it. There he was, the inglorious bastard, sat from across the storage room watching him sleep. Lovely.

“I’d say to ‘take a picture, it’ll last longer’, but maybe you already did, fucking creep.”, he muttered while trying to rub his eye’s drowsiness away.

Dorran let out the same boisterous laugh he had heard earlier, and unironically slapped his knee.

‘At least he’s having fun.’

After he was done wiping an imaginary tear away (‘was this dude for real?’), the doctor refocused back on his patient… well, after a few more periodic snickers.

“You don’t get it kid. Your face", he snickered, "when you turned", another one, "shit was priceless.”, the man barely got through the word before breaking out into another fit of laughter. As he continued to ridicule the teen, he took the opportunity to fish out a cig pack from one pocket and a lighter for the other.

Wyve only gave him a mocking fake laugh, not amused and, to be frank, still a little shook.

… wait.

“Freeloader? You offered me the couch, jerk!”, Wyve spat indignantly, actually offended at the accusation. Dark ash smoke unexpectedly ejected from Dorran’s nose; it was his turn to be shocked, not expecting the brunette’s fiery reaction.

“Freeloader by definition, kid. Crashing on my couch without paying rent sounds an awful lot like mooch behavior.”, the larger man said, and his tone of voice made his sarcasm obvious, at least for the rent part. Wyve could take a small victory in the fact he wasn’t being extorted seconds after waking up.

…His… couch?

“…The med kit”, Wyve began cautiously, “…and the way you’re talking about this place. Did you… know about it before all this?”.

“Owned it.”, the large man answered lightning quick. If his posture and demeanor were any trustworthy indicators, Wyve could swear Dorran looked annoyed, impatient to get this topic over with. With the less-than desirable lighting in the room, and how it seemed to spotlight both of them, the atmosphere had gone from light-hearted to heavy in seconds. He considered his next question very carefully.

“So… do you know where we are?”, he tried keep the hope he was feeling contained inside him but couldn’t stop it from slipping onto his voice.

The other took a huff of his cancer stick, took it out his mouth, let out an impressive amount of nicotinic fumes from his mouth, and rolled its butt between his fingers. The white paper casing burned a pretty red-orange, and Dorran stared at it like it was the most enrapturing thing in the world.

“No clue. Street outside looks nothing like it did before. Bar’s the same 'sides that though.”

Not so easy, huh.

The literal monsters crawling around this city should have been a pretty obvious queue, but this felt like confirmation to Wyve; whatever was happening in this city, it was no doubt supernatural. Trying to get your mind around all the minute details would just result in it snapping under the stress.

The pair sat in such complete silence that Wyve’s ears could pick up on the sounds of the cig’s filter sizzling away. He sat at the left edge of the couch, feeling his knees instinctually draw themselves towards his body for comfort.

“Got a plan?”

“Staying inside.”, Dorran replied.

“And wait till we starve?”

“Better than dying out there.”, he mirthlessly shot back.

Wyve shuddered and silently conceded. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face one of those things again.

“You ran into one of them too? The monsters?”

Dorran, who had been steadily getting more and more restless, sent the other a warning glare.

“We playing twenty-dumbass-questions? And no, not monsters. People.”

Wyve would have been offended at being treated like the child he was if it wasn’t for that last word Dorran said catching him off guard. Worried about… people? How vague.

Spotting the obvious confusion in the brunette’s face and not wanting to hear another goddamn question, the medic bar-owner brashly elaborated.

“People have been turning the city upside down, but there’s no sign of an end or exit in any direction you pick. Weirdest part is, there’s zero food no matter where you look, just empty containers and shit past its expiration date.”

Dorran crushed the halfway done cigarette between his thumb and index finger.

“What they did find, is an awful fast way to make coins.”