Shit. That was the only thought I had as I jumped from the third floor of my apartment building. For one, I wasn’t sure I was actually going to clear the window. The sliding portion had been moved out of the way, and the screen was pushed out. But it still wasn’t really meant for a full-sized human to fit through.

  And two, there was nothing beneath me but concrete.

  Shit.

  ***

  I had been staying in my apartment after the EMP hit -- The Change. I didn’t see any reason to leave. There was food, some larger containers of water to drink from. And since I no longer had a cell phone or radio, I could only tell from the smoke, or the sight of fires below my 8th floor balcony that anything was going on.

  There were no sirens, fire trucks, or alarms like you see in the movies. Everything we had these days was automated. Payment, transport, communication—and it was all gone.

  The first few days, I’d considered leaving to check on my friends. But honestly, I doubted any of them would still be home after everything that had happened. I wasn’t sure why I'd stayed.

  Instead, I lit candles at night, blinds drawn, and kept the door locked. Everything I needed was there, at least for a little while. Once my supplies were gone, well, hopefully the stores would still have something left.

  But one night, as I was reading on my couch with some candles, I heard glass breaking from below me. And I knew it had finally happened—someone had targeted the apartment building. So I grabbed the backpack I had prepared for this. It had enough food, water, and clothing to keep me going for a few days. Blowing out the candles, I unlocked the deadbolt and left everything behind.

  I had planned to slip through the side stairs and go out the emergency exit—unseen. But the attacks had unfortunately gotten in the way of that plan. The heat and flickering of the flames greeted me as I moved down the stairs to the second floor.

  Gasoline, maybe? I thought, as I saw all of the lower stairs engulfed in the licking flames. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. I turned, running back up the stairs and tested the door to the third floor. I didn’t feel any heat through the door, and took my chances. Now, jumping was not my finest idea, nor my first. That came later.

  I had decided to check the apartments here for any extra supplies. I made it to the fourth apartment when I heard the heavy fire door leading to this floor, slam shut. I ducked behind a sofa, cursing under my breath and looked around. The apartment only had one exit—the front door. A cursory glance around showed that there was no balcony either.

  That left my only other option, a window to my right. It was behind their small dining area. It was open, probably left that way by the residents leaving in a hurry. A slamming door could be heard down the hall, the sounds getting closer.

  A louder bang I hadn’t expected rang from outside the apartment. A gunshot. Then a woman’s voice screaming. I heard running footsteps, and the door handle to the apartment rattled. Hearing the door open, I leapt from the floor and dove through the window.

  Shit.

  I know Barclay was the one who had found me. Though I still don’t know how he got me back to the office building. I don’t know what happened to the guys in that apartment. I don’t know what happened to the person who had been screaming.

  But when I woke up, I was in The Community. And I had broken my right tibia, and cracked 2 left ribs, and dislocated a third, by hitting the edge of the sidewalk curb. I also did a good job bashing my head in—which had knocked me unconscious.

  I was in and out of consciousness for a week, and I don’t remember much during that time. Bad concussion was the guess, but they told me later that there were times where they’d thought I’d stopped breathing. They had someone stop by every evening to listen to my chest, and make sure I was still alive. They also set my leg, just in case I woke up.

  The ribs had gone unnoticed, other than the discoloration of the skin with a plethora of bruises. But I had realized almost immediately after waking that breathing hurt. Sipping breaths, and my head throbbing, it hurt to be alive. But I was alive, and that was something.

  I was confined to the bed for 6 weeks, which had been awful. Thankfully, the office I was put in at least had windows. I had daylight, but not moving was torture. We didn’t have proper supplies or anything really useful that we had come to rely on. No x-rays, oxygen, ultrasounds, MRI’s or even general heart monitors—nothing. So it was a waiting game to see how I would heal, or if I would be able to walk again.

  Barclay had been present during my recovery. He had walked in soon after I had woken up.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Why did you throw yourself off of a building?” His rough voice had woken me. I looked up at him blearily, wondering if I was supposed to know him.

  “Why did you throw yourself off of a building?" His voice was slower this time, like he’s thinking my brain was damaged from the fall. Maybe it was, since it still felt like my heartbeat was coming from directly inside my skull.

  “I didn’t.” The first time I say it, it comes out as a whisper and I know he couldn’t have heard me. So I clear my voice and repeat myself.

  “I was told you broke a few things.” I think I managed to raise an eyebrow. After all, even without a proper cast, I was in an office that somewhat resembled a medical trauma set-up. He walked across the room and sat down in a chair.

  “Who are you?” I ask as he shuffles in his chair some more, and all I can think is how irritating this man is.

  “Barclay,” He says this directly as if it answers everything, and he doesn’t make any effort to elaborate. Instead, he stops moving and looks at me, stating simply: “Explain”. And because of how direct he is, I do. At least the parts I remembered.

  I don’t bother trying to sit up properly, with my ribs already protesting enough with just trying to talk. Recapping what had happened takes all of my energy.

  “Thank you.” He says simply. “As I mentioned, my name is Barclay. And I was the one who found you.”

  ***

  Weeks later, once I was given the okay to learn how to walk again. I was able to hobble my way around a little, with crutches. And I noticed something. I felt—clearer. And it was hard to pinpoint exactly what that meant. Sure, my head hurt less, and moving felt amazing after being stuck in that bed for weeks. But it was more than that.

  One day, I had made it down to the Kitchen. It had taken me half an hour just to make it down the stairs. Juggling crutches, and wincing anytime I put any weight on my leg. And my ribs still reminded me of every breath I took. But I was moving, and it was a lot more than I had been able to do last month.

  Sitting at a table around other people, even if I hardly recognized anyone, was amazing. The noise, different atmosphere, and eating food at a table—all things I definitely had taken for granted before.

  Beatrice, one of the main cooks, helped dish up a plate of mashed potatoes and some kind of meat for me, since I couldn’t use crutches and carry my plate at the same time.

  I was eating my food, looking around when a guy farther down the table from me started talking.

  “Yeah, I was going to take a trip two months from now. I mean, before the Change, of course. Now, we’re talking about walking it. It would take longer, but my fiancée wants to get married. Or if nothing else go on something like a honeymoon. So we might try making it to the border—“

  I sucked in a quick breath. A tightness started in my chest, and heat was building in my stomach. I tried to breathe, calming myself. In, out, in, out. I reminded myself I was in the cafeteria, safe. But after a few more seconds, I knew something was wrong.

  I looked down at my chest, and I looked normal. My heart was still inside of me, and I was not on fire.

  But I was -- I was on fire, and everything was on fire. I was burning up. And then, before I could even try to get to my feet—nothing. I was sitting, staring at my mashed potatoes that had fallen from my fork onto the table. Gingerly, I took a slow breath in. No pain other than my ribs. I breathed out. I felt fine now.

  The group down the table had moved their conversation onto other topics. Supply runs, who was up next to do laundry. I shook my head. Maybe it was the concussion, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought it was.

  A clang to my right startled me.

  “Sorry,” Barclay muttered as he threw his legs over the bench and sat down next to me. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” I bit my lip from denying it out of habit. Anything short of the truth didn’t seem to work with Barclay.

  “It’s fine.” I say instead. Still not the truth, but it’s hard to change a habit.

  “How’s the leg?” He asks, digging in his own plate of food.

  “Fine,” I answer and mentally kick myself, as Barclay chews and stares through me. “How are you?”

  I turn to face him, taking in the growth of facial hair around his jaw. His clothes are dusty, and his hair is disheveled. He must have been outside the building.

  “Supply run,” He says, gesturing to his clothes. I nod and fight the heat coming into my cheeks. It must have seemed like I was judging him.

  “Find anything good?” I turn and mindlessly eat a spoonful of potatoes to give me a break from talking and hopefully encourage him to speak more. I didn’t seem to be doing a good job of making conversation.

  “Nothing much. I found a child, her mom had been looking everywhere.” I glanced at him, questioningly. He sighed, and I realized it was something he seemed to do a lot. But I didn’t know him enough to know whether it was out of habit, or if it meant something more.

  “The kid was worried about his sibling starving, guess she went down to the market they used to shop at. But one of the shelves came loose from the wall and fell on her. The kid was okay after I moved it, scared of course. I took her home.” He looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, and returned to his food.

  “Wow,” I say. “Lucky you were there. And, nice of you.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Leave her there?” He sounds irritated but I watch him grin into his plate.

  “No, but it really was nice of you.” He shrugs, and without thinking I move to elbow his arm, and I cry out, wincing and holding my side. He grins at me, and I smile, feeling lighter.

  That night, I had the first nightmare. I was in a house, and things looked wavy. At first, I think maybe that’s just how things are here, like a dream world that you just accept, but then I feel the heat and I see orange.

  Orange everywhere. Flames are everywhere, and I can hear a woman shouting, screaming. It’s then that I notice the screaming is coming from outside. I can see her through a window, and I have time to think “It’s okay, she got out. She’s safe.” Before a loud crack comes from above me and I feel the something heavy press against my chest. And then nothing.

  I bolt upright in my bed to find myself sobbing. Now half-awake I throw my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

  It was real. I think to myself, though not wanting to believe it. The guy from farther down the table. They walk to the border to go get married—I sob harder. And I know. Deep down, and with chilling certainty, that the guy doesn’t make it.

  I sleep in fits after that, but relieved that the dream doesn’t come again. I make a note one of the times I woke up to track him down. To tell him and his fiancée to get married here, and to not take that trip.