Present Day

  “Hey Dax, wake up man.”

  Dax was awake and had been for around an hour. The hard wooden floor and balmy summer prevented comfortable sleeping accommodations. He remained still.

  “Cabron, stop playing. I know you can hear me. Get up!” Dax continued to remain silent until the sound of clattering filled the barn. Dax shot awake and rolled behind a wooden railing on the second floor of the building. His eyes rapidly scanned the room. They chose the barn because there were minimal signs of danger save an ancient tractor that was flipped over onto its side with its doors ripped from the hinges. Regardless, he slept on the second floor to make a quick escape through the adjacent barn awning and latched the barn door with a rusty scythe. Mateo chuckled and Dax’s rapid heart rate began to slow.

  “Don’t worry, it’s a mouse.” Dax’s eyes eventually rested on movement near a pile of aluminum siding just as a mouse popped its head out and darted away.

  Dax sighed and rubbed his face. “Mateo, if you always wake up this damn early I swear I’ll beat you.”

  Mateo chuckled, “Now, that would be a sight to see, fool.”

  Dax reluctantly dropped his hands and picked up the brown cloth that covered his body moments ago. He looked outside the small barn window and squinted. The landscape was ablaze, the golden gleam of overgrown and underwatered fields shining around them.

  “Mateo, is it just me or does it get brighter and brighter each day? At this rate, I’ll be blinded by the time we make it to the next city.”

  “We won't get there if you keep sleeping in. With all the crap that’s been going on, you’d think you would've kicked the whole sleeping in thing.” Dax stood shaking out the cloak that was thin enough to be translucent. He watched brittle pine needles and dirt fall on the dusty hay covered floor boards. Satisfied that enough debris was gone, Dax folded his bedding into a perfect square, smoothing each crease as millions more seemed to form in its place.

  He looked toward the blinding canopy of trees stretching for miles in every direction outside the barn. Mateo and Dax were in Indiana and after days of traversing through abandoned cornfields, they had finally found a barn he had determined was suitable enough to rest within.

  Man, I’ve got to stop sleeping on this ground. It’s not good for my posture. Dax rubbed a tender spot on his lower back. The only problem with traveling through the rural parts of Indiana was the lack of homes to break into for shelter. Unfortunately, when the world they knew ended, it didn’t make room for comfort or stability.

  “Bro, you got to start carrying around a damn sleeping pad. My back is killing me.”

  Dax sighed, it’s like Mateo was in his head reading his thoughts, and that was not too far off from the truth. “You know the rules.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Too much baggage, too much to manage. Man, I’ve been hearing your rules for the last three states. I’m running out of patience with them. We deserve at least one day of luxury,” Mateo whined. “I mean the end of the world, bro, and we are out here sleeping on the dirt floor under a dusty ass canopy like we’re homeless? We should be staying in the Ritz Carlton. You white people love that shit.” Dax would have loved the idea of sleeping in a Ritz Carlton but a hotel room kept them isolated in a city full of a population that had sporadic and violent tendencies. It was too risky, and they wouldn’t be able to escape unscathed.

  “You complain too much. Remember we have been able to cross those three states because of my precautions,” he responded. “Anyway cities are populated and populated means what?” Dax could almost see Mateo’s eyes roll, a smile growing in response.

  “Aww come on! Rule numero uno: cities equal people and people equal more of the twisted. I know, I know just get started with your routine so we can get the hell out of here man. I want to see Sears Tower!” Dax winced, his stiff body protesting while he bent over to stretch. He hung his arms down and attempted to touch his toes, a movement that caused more strain than usual. His precautions, though tedious and demanding, were in place for a reason. The lighter the load Dax carried, the faster he could avoid direct confrontations. With the twisted’s unparalleled speed and strength, Dax did not stand a chance in a fight. Running was the only option. That’s also why stretching was a key component of his monotonous routine. Nothing was worse than fleeing and pulling a hamstring mid-flight, and when it came to a fight, Dax had the strength but he was no fighter. He continued a series of hamstring and quad stretches, easing the tension that ran through him. Following his last movement, he walked over to a support beam where a light brown rope rested, camouflaged against the old wooden sructure.

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  “I think it’s Willis Tower actually. The name changed back in 2009.” He moved his finger up the thick rope to a knot with a frayed end sticking up out of the side that twisted and ran in almost every direction. It was intermingled with a second section that ran up the tree tied to a smaller satchel ninety feet above. To others, it may have seemed like a twisted mess that could not be untangled, so convoluted that a knife was needed to sever it but that was its purpose. If the bag was tampered with, Dax would know immediately. Pulling one of the frayed ends released the tension of the rope, the bag falling right into his hands.

  “Do all white people know how to tie knots, or is it just you Boy Scout types?” Mateo commented.

  Dax shrugged, wrapping the rope around his shoulder and elbow creating a perfect lasso. He placed the rope in the bag and grabbed a small Ziplock full of sunflower seeds. Breakfast of champions, Dax thought, chewing the dry and lightly flavored seeds. He scanned the backpack’s contents: rusty pliers, dirty shirts, bruised fruit, a national parks catalog, and a full pill bottle rested with the rope.

  “Us white people? How dare you group us all together like that, Mateo.” He stated with a grin, “You, of all people, should know better.”

  “Talking about grouping, what do you mean I should know better? I will have you know I am my own unique individual self. No group can hold me in,” Mateo retorted.

  Dax stifled a laugh, his fingernails biting into his palm. “Not too unique I guess if you’re going around with the ’wannabes’ back home.” The words left his mouth and he felt the weight of guilt along with the tinge of regret course through his body. His body felt taut, despite his earlier stretching.

  “You know I had no choice, Dax. Everyone else pushed me out. The only group that made me feel like I belonged. I was not planning to be with those fools screaming about gang shit. I never meant to hurt anyone.” Mateo murmured.

  “Hey don’t sweat it, man,” Dax plopped another handful of seeds in his mouth, “Bygones will be bygones.” He hoped Mateo couldn’t detect his lack of conviction. There would always be remaining fragments of resentment towards Mateo’s inaction. It was why they were in this mess.

  Dax continued his routine, smothering the thought. He zipped his backpack and swung the thick leather strap over his head, tightening it until it was snug against his chest. Satisfied, Dax opened up the smaller pocket and looked inside. Dark metal sat in the front pocket nestled between a Swiss army knife and a box of bullets with a rubber band tightly wrapped around the top. It was a 9MM Smith and Wesson M&P. Dax turned over the gun and ran his hand across the smooth weapon, feeling its insignia along the barrel. It always surprised Dax that such craftsmanship and beauty could cause so much damage with one twitch of a finger. Dax pulled the spring-loaded cartridge, inspecting it for dirt or debris. Anything that could interfere with the firing mechanism. Satisfied, he pressed the button that released the cartridge looking at the gold bullets shining back at Dax that lined the sleek component. He pushed it back and put the gun to safety, resting it in his bag.

  Mateo groaned loudly, “Bro how many times are you going to check the gun, mud did not just magically appear in the chamber and no one took the damn bullets. You have some serious OCD you need to get underhand”.

  “You know the more you talk, the longer this takes me? And what if this gun got jammed? Then what?” Mateo sighed.

  “Man we haven’t even used that damn thing so what the hell are you worried about”

  Dax rolled his eyes pushing the cartridge back into the gun.

  It has jammed before and thank God it did.

  Dax placed the bag over his shoulder and stood up. He looked at his watch, the glass had cracked with the hands permanently stopped at 7:30. A painful reminder of the state of the world. “Alright, I think we are ready to go,” Dax grinned. Adrenaline pumped through Dax pushing out any of his previous guilt and regret.

  “Man about damn time, thought we would never leave, fool! - Chi-Town, hold it down, baby!” Mateo exclaimed, “Let’s get going! I need to try some deep-dish pizza.” The idea was a good one if it held some actual truth. To be honest, the only reason he was going to Chicago was for Mateo, something to keep up his spirits. Dax hoped he would not be disappointed by the damage done by the blast. Dax scanned the camp looking for anything left behind, hoping to see the one person who he knew would not be beside him.

  “You looking for me?” Mateo lightly chuckled. “I haven’t been around for quite some time.”

  “Funny, Mateo,” Dax murmured with a sigh. “Nah, I know I’m stuck with your loud ass for as long as I live. That or until they throw me into a psych ward.” A laugh rumbled out of Dax by his own joke.

  Mateo’s chuckle quieted. “I promise you would be the last person to be thrown in a looney toons facility. There are crazier fish in this sea.”

  That’s the truth. If he was being honest, Dax was looking around for Mateo like he did every night because if the boy did show up, it meant the last five months had not been a complete nightmare. He was hoping he would see Mateo’s flawless tan skin and slicked-back black hair one more time. It was a pipe dream, he knew the image of the small Mexican boy from the Bronx would never be seen again. The only thing that remained was the voice that Dax carried in his head. Before he thought more about the boy, Dax started running.

  “Now that’s what I like, Dax! Andale, white boy!”