What day is it today? No idea. My arm is fixed in place by some… sticks?

I'm sitting on a double bed, with a bunch of pillows around me, supporting me. In front of the bed at my feet are the walls painted with nice color, interrupted by a door frame. I can see the other room, looks like a dining room. There should be a door there, but it was never put in place it seems. To my left, an open door reveals a little bathroom. Regardless of how pretty it looks, the strongest point of this place is that it doesn’t smell like piss.

My arm not touching the sheets is in the place it should be. Not the most comfortable sleeping position but well, it is better than crushing my arm with my body.

Wait a minute… Soda!

Soda is... next to me, to my right, lying on a small single bed. Behind him on the wall is a window that lets the light enter the room… isn’t it dangerous?

“Hey,” I can't say much, my throat is parched. But I don't need to say more, his face lights up, and…

Mierda! He ran out, the noise he made will alert half…

Oh.

I laugh at my stupidity. Of course, my little brother is no fool. We're safe.

Ha! We really are safe, we really are…

And there he comes back with his little body through the door frame into this room, bringing a jug of water and a glass he's already filled. I thank him, apologize in my mind for what happened a few moments ago and finally drink that precious good. I feel the coolness of the liquid as if it were cleansing me from the inside, taking away the dryness of my throat, the burning of my esophagus. It is at the seventh glass, when the jug is almost empty, that I am satiated. My eyesight recovers some color, my head stops hurting, stops throbbing. My brother then brings me some canned food and a spoon. I eat the first one as if it were yogurt, then the second and the third. The fog in my mind clears.

Wait, this isn’t right. This isn’t right at all! I need to make sure…

“Soda, did—”

“Yes, Ceibo, I already ate. Worry about yourself for now. How do you feel?” He laughs a bit.

Well, there goes my worry. I explain that I could do a hundred push-ups right now if I wanted to.

He gives me a face that screams “Please don’t” and tells me:

“You were knocked out for a whole day. That's normal, with the injections they gave you. Not to mention your lack of sleep.”

That explains the absence of pain, then. He tells me what happened and I start to recall the doctor telling me not to worry, that there didn't seem to be an infection. Yes, he was even able to adjust my arm, although I don't even remember when and how he did it. And it may be a good thing that I don’t. If there was an infection, I would be having a fever right now… and we got supplies from the pharmacy if that happens.

Right. This neighborhood, poor as it looked, had a pharmacy and a little local market, although of course, like everywhere else, we don't have an abundance of medicines or other resources. Scarcity is unforgiving.

I feel my chest, my belly. I’m covered in gauze. My arms too. More memories, after the injection, I recall washing my road rash with soap and the doctor helping me. After that, I cleaned my dirty pants, washed and changed my clothes. It really helps, I don't plan to die of sepsis after everything that happened.

I'm going to be fine. In six to eight weeks, I'll be up and about. Carajo, even if they cut my arm off, I’m confident I'm going to be just fine.

After a much-needed bathroom break, Soda calls the others. The tank top wearing Yanqui boy in the beanie and the doctor come in. After my thanks, they tell me the rest. Soda already gave them the whole story: the bus driver that saved our lives, the shabby hotel, our odyssey through the streets, the supermarket, our house… our fight with mom on the southern highway that we left behind. The existence of this special kind of monster is truly terrifying if there are others like her out there. But…

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He has explained what we found out about them too, their weakness, their difference in intelligence and attitudes, how the blood affects the tougher ones like mom, our escape in extremis, everything. Or well, almost everything. Although there was conjecture among all that was said, given that we couldn't communicate during all the hustle and bustle, the little guy hit the nail on the head about everything. I have nothing to do but confirm his guesses.

And finally, I say the last things, what Soda didn't see: the secret of the sunlight, how they seem to be weaker at night. And how my hand healed with the blood of a monster, but I still wasn't transformed.

Everyone's faces turn pale at this last thing but… it is true that it's strange and nobody wants to test it any further, but in case of an emergency, anything goes.

“That would explain”—the doctor begins—", why the wound is interrupted in that odd way. Why your right hand looks so healthy while your forearm is still injured like that.”

After considerable silence and pondering, we all seem to agree on one thing, in unspoken certainty: we can win against these things, and we don’t necessarily need a bombardment to do that. We can, and must fight back.

“You did a good job, amiga… no, you two did a good job”—the boy speaks— “. Ah, forgive me, we never introduced ourselves properly. My name is Luca Johnson, it's a pleasure. The doctor here is Papo,” he adds.

Papo raises his hand, giving like a small bow.

“The Shonson,” I say with my yeísmo.

“Why does everyone call me that here?”—He lets a little laugh escape—"And you, Soda, right? With all the hurry I forgot to say this. Those mushrooms, they're going to save our lives, I’m telling you, man. Good job getting them.”

Soda blushes. He's a smart kid, it's nice that he's recognized.

“I can't believe that mushroom nonsense was actually true, la puta madre,” Papo laughs.

“I told you, Papo. I told you and you didn't believe me,”

It still scares me that people talk so loudly. My tone is the quietest of them all. I never thought we'd find another refuge.

“Potatoes and mushrooms, can we get by with that?” I say, finally raising my voice properly.

“We aren’t that many mouths to feed, for better or for worse, so we can manage. Not to mention the supplies from the little local market here. If we stretch them out, we got nothing to worry about for a while. That’s not to mention the occasional meat. Without human intervention, the wildlife is going to have a chance to thrive, even with the fallout,” says Luca.

We're already thinking ahead. Good. I turn to the boy.

“We've talked about the past and present, now let's talk about what's next, what's the plan?”

“This is just our temporary base. We need to get to the east, take advantage of the fuels still working. Get away from the cold and the possible remaining Infected, get closer to the rivers. We can make plenty of rudimentary water purifiers, so we avoid diseases. Also, the chance of catching fish is really going to make a difference. Hell, even the chance of getting to better land to plant things is worth the try. Besides, there are aquifers in these areas, not too deep. We can survive. More than survive, we can live.”

Right, fuels are going to become a weird goo, useless, inefficient. We're going to be unable to extract energy from them, from any of those things. Between three and six months it will take for the common gasoline. Diesel may last a little longer. Fuels based on organic ethanol (I don't even know what that means, but I remember them from chemistry class) are the ones that last the least, from one to three months. At the most, our cars will last for one year. And the generators too. After that, darkness. The age of electricity is over. We did not bet on renewables, we screwed up on that one too.

Oh, fuck it, no problem. We are much better than I first thought. To the east in these parts are a lot of vacant lands, people live very spaced from each other, which means fewer monsters or… infected, as Luca calls them. And more chances to work the land. And if the bombardments have done its thing well like in this city…

I see relief in Soda's little face.

“I don't see you very excited, amiga,” says Luca.

“Oh, no, no. I was just thinking about the guns.”

Luca smiles. Soda joins him in that expression.

“Are you really planning on taking on those demons that are left? You haven't even fully recovered,” says Papo the doctor, face pale again despite his dark complexion.

“Sure, doctor. But in six weeks I'll be fine, won't I?” I reply as I wink at Soda.

“She's right, Papo, we can't rest until the last of these remaining Infected are dead. Also, a couple more guns wouldn’t hurt, right?” Luca seconds me.

I look at the side of the room, where Soda was. Our backpacks, mom’s rifle and revolver, my machete, and even the monocular thingy, are resting there now.

Heh, I turn to the boy again.

“Let me ask you again, amigo, what's the plan?”

Luca smiles wider than ever.

“Taking a little walk around some of the Chinese-Russian military bases nearby. There must be a couple of interesting things left over there.”

That's right. This is just getting started.