North

Jason ran.

He knew that running, as opposed to hiding, was a dangerous reveal. Because when you hid, it eventually stopped. But when you ran, it just kept looking for you.

Well screw that, he thought, sweat smearing his brow as he leapt over a pile of rotting carcasses. Screw that, and screw IT.

His torn up sneakers pounded against the pavement, echoing up and down the empty alleys. He had been holed up in Boston for only a couple of days- which, of course, made him think of his Dad. Driving up from Pensacola for a live game at Fenway had always been their summer fantasy; his Father, though, didn’t believe in taking more than two days off from managing his hardware store, so the compromise was an annual weekend at the Red Sox Spring training in Fort Myers, Florida. This yearly pilgrimage was magical for Jason: alone on the road with his Pops, staying in crappy motel rooms that smelled of musky cigarettes. His Dad would always, with a sparkle in his eye, point out the techniques of the baseball pitches, drills, runs. His Dad loved watching the players run- because he himself was a runner. One of Jason’s earliest memories of his Dad was his halo of sweat, coming toward Jason in the car seat, after finishing another one of his marathons for charity. “Something about running,” his Mom would say, a sly look in her eye, “makes him feel alive.”

Those were the best memories of his Dad- jogging on sunny afternoons together, doing laps at the track, racing and cackling. It all felt like adventure chasing; his Dad easily found magic in the mundane, Jason realized later, understanding how rare it was. On their road trips, they’d discover the local greasy spoons, and Jason would be allowed to drink cheap beer, even though he was only in high school. “Better to drink it with me, than your dumb friends,” his Dad would chuckle. They’d laugh- they were always laughing. Right up to the end, until Jason dropped out of college to watch, in horror, as Pancreatic Cancer fiercely grabbed his Dad, and never let go. His Father had made small, useless jokes, the best kind of jokes, even on the morning before he passed.

“Look after your Mom and Sister,” he’d said through raspy breath, his body just etchings of bone. “They’re only cryin’ cause they’ll miss my meat loaf.”

But Pops, what are the rules for looking after them, Jason thought bitterly, narrowly ducking a fallen power chord, when an extraterrestrial pathogen wipes out the Earth?

He swiftly turned a corner, his heart racing, and glanced behind him. There it was- the ‘sssssss’ hiss of its movement, the oily green mist moving like a snake through the air. Damn! This particular stream wasn’t ceasing. Get low, he thought, furrowing his brow. Get low, and get away.

Up ahead he saw a row of old tires, piled together haphazardly, stacked in front of an ajar door to a long abandoned golf shop. He did the math in his head; he’d done this before....

He practically skidded to a stop and grunted, hauling one of the tires, and threw it at the mist with all his might. The mist thudded to a halt, collecting in the air, the ‘ssss’ like sound coiling upon itself. He did it again, lobbing another massive tire in its direction.

Now, he thought. He ducked behind the pile of tires and army crawled his way into the golf shop, creaking the door open just wide enough to slip inside. Slamming it shut, he peeked his head above the window frame, breathing rapidly.

The gaseous mist moved in a slow circle, ‘sniffing’, he knew, for sentience. It lingered for one more moment, then peeled off, snaking its way in the opposite direction.

He exhaled, sliding down against the door, catching his breath. His eyes combed over the shop and its shelves; from what he could see in the available sunlight, there wasn’t a lot here. Some warmer clothes, some golf clubs. This run might not net him much; he’d do a once over before he headed back to his temporary base.

It began a couple months after his Dad had passed, three years prior. A mini comet hit the Indian Ocean, plunging water across vast parts of the globe, causing tsunamis, earthquakes, and major devastation to the surrounding countries. While the daily news covered what the planet thought had been the major event, the actual horror of what had happened began taking hold on land.

Strange news spread: people were dropping dead in the streets. Healthy people, young people. Just - dead, with no warning. First, it was mostly reported from geographic places near the comet drop- the assumption was something to do with pollution. When the deaths rapidly ascended across the globe, however, scientists and oceanographers quickly assessed that the comet’s properties produced a green, gaseous omission that was poisonous to all sentient life. One step within three feet of it resulted in death. An airborne pathogen that could actually, terrifyingly, be seen and heard, as it sought living prey across the planet.

It was the lone, recluse scientist from Germany who discovered: calculating the way the green gas moved, something about it was intentional, especially toward the human species. It seemed to always move directly, and quickly, toward human beings- hungrily- almost like people were being targeted. Whispers of Earth being watched, and the gas being controlled, rang through the globe. Like the whole planet was just a product of an alien video game, up above. Chess pieces on another species’ board, with annihilation being the goal.

Jason had, at first, scoffed at this notion. Aliens didn’t exist. This was incidental. A terrible, incidental accident in the history of time, in which he was living, and these vague conspiracies were nothing but distractions to actually solving the immense problems at hand.

Still… it began to feel like cat and mouse. He, and many, couldn’t shake the feeling that people were being chased, by this other worldly threat. While these conversations grew louder, an alarming, terrifying green mist began to glow around the comet itself as it lay lodged in the middle of the Ocean, a third of it protruding frighteningly into the sky. Like a green, poisonous shield. Whatever lay inside, was protected by this deadly, fatal air to humans on their turf.

It all happened quickly, after that. Amidst widespread panic, Governments assembled plans with the WHO for sealed bunkers, submarines, even rockets: anywhere people could isolate indefinitely. A global strategy of limited gas masks and containment was theorized, across nations: was it possible to just live with it, with shored up efforts in place? The Military attempted to implement formations of civilians into large swaths. But inevitably, fear beget fear, and chaos wreaked havoc amongst the terrified public.

And amidst all the new rules for living that emerged in the dawn of the comet crash, there was one that was so simplistic, and irrefutable.

The green gas moved. But so did human beings.

It was discovered: you could outrun it.

And those who managed to survive outside, could run.

Who knew all those days at the Track would come in handy, Jason mused weakly. Survival of the fittest, indeed.

The wind blew outside the creaky shop door on what, in a normal world, would be considered a beautiful Summer afternoon. Jason watched a little beetle crawl its way across the dusty carpet, climbing over a loose lime green golf ball, perched against a low wooden shelf of plaid pants. The beetle sat atop the ball, still. What does it eat, Jason thought absently, his stomach rumbling, as was the norm. Does it forage for food like me, amidst trash and carcasses and any kind of pantry? Has it lost family, too?

His mother succumbed early. He and Vanessa knew that their Mom was changed, irrevocably, from watching the Cancer ravish their Dad. His parents had been together since the 6th grade and were always, surprisingly, delighted with each other’s presence. Theirs was a small and happy home, filled with cooking pot roasts and noise, cozy lamps and the hurricane of children and busyness- Vanessa’s jewelry and debate club pamphlets and trombone bags on the carpeted stairs, Jason’s Track medals lining the living room armoire. Her light had dimmed after her husband’s passing, and when the global catastrophes shuttered his Mother’s real estate business, and she watched her friends and community and any sense of normalcy scatter, Jason saw the vacancy in her expression. Too much devastation at once, seemed to fill her head with a fog, under which she never really found lucidity again. She went for a late night walk, months after the pathogen was a threat, against county curfew. Vanessa and Jason found her casual refrain on the kitchen table the next morning: “Had to go out. Wanted to talk to Daddy. I’ll always love you both so much.” They shared a look, knowing it was not so much a tragic end, but a flip of a coin. And so it’d flipped: the gas had gotten her. Local rescue found her body on a bench in the park downtown, the one where she and their Dad had always had their picnic dates.

It was his job, he thought stoically. He had to protect the family he had left. Vanessa. His little 19 year old sister.

They’d made their way to a submarine, attempting to navigate the chaotic frenzy of mass crowds in gas masks, all vying for their place on board. Screaming fights were commonplace, as it was clear that life was about finding the next, now- the next safe place, that was fortified and sealed; the next round of people they could rely on. Jason knew: all that mattered was that they stay together.

The night before they’d left, their argument was explosive - he was determined to go into containment, but Vanessa wanted to try it on their own.

“I’ve read about it, Jason! People are finding their way on the road! Forging camps inside large halls and homes, creating communities. Fuck the Government’s plans- we can find a place, make it ours!”

He’d seethed, shaking his head in disbelief, yet again feeling like they were from different planets. All 5’3 inches of his sister was comprised of fight: against societal rules and authority, and for the little guy. He’d ambled along in his intensely shy, parent-approved way: gotten good grades, was good looking, gotten a good Track scholarship to Florida State. Good, good, good: the good son. Vanessa was all rancor, even as a little girl. Always trying to challenge a point and addressing hard truths- always asking people, and Jason, questions that no one else would dare, about life, and the secrets of the soul. He hated it; he craved it. He needed her, maybe more than she needed him, he assumed. Because, he knew, that the WORLD needed Vanessa. It needed someone to fight the necessary fights against injustice, and bring light to dark, hidden places.

He’d had a period as a teen where his shyness was giving way to social anxiety. The more he watched his younger sister easily breeze through the social complexities of adolescence with prowess, the more he felt like something was wrong with him. His Dad, always knowing, mentioned it to Jason on one of their runs on the beach.

“You know, Vanessa was made to be her. And you were made to be you. And you’re both perfect, and we love you, just the way you are.” Jason kept jogging his sturdy pace, averting his eyes downward as they passed two pretty girls in bikinis. “Bet Vanessa can’t do this!” His Dad shot ahead, over a sand dune, and sprinted into the ocean, diving into oncoming waves. Jason burst into laughter, chasing him into the water.

She would have scoffed at the notion of ‘protection.’ But Jason knew deep down, and he knew that Vanessa knew: he would always be her big brother. He had picked her up when she failed her first driving test, misery and shame hanging over her like a cloud; he watched her cry and thrash after the debate club lost the state championship, blaming herself, the star pupil, after her closing statements; he had been at the table when their parents had given her a stern talking to about her attitude, after a teacher lowered her grade for consistently speaking out of turn; and when she bawled into the abyss, holding their Dad’s limp hand in the Cancer ward, Jason was the one she clung to. Jason, it turned out, was her steady force. He would be there for her, whether she needed it or not.

It’s what family does, he heard his Dad’s voice, echoing in his brain.

Distant shrieks suddenly pierced the silence that permeated his thoughts; he spun his head to look outside, staying low. He’d found, since he’d been on the road alone, that trusting other survivors proved a game of caution, as time wore on. Survival would often out- over anything else.

He squinted, seeing four figures sprinting from up the block to his right. His heart lurched- it was a family. Just like his own: a Mom, Dad, Brother, and Sister. The kids - barely teens. He made a decision.

He nudged the door of the store open just an inch, crouching on his haunches. The timing had to be perfect. The mist never entered enclosed walls and spaces, unless a door was held open too long. It went around hard objects, just like people. As long as he could get all four of them in the shop and close the door in time, they’d make it.

He could see the green air winding its way behind the family, picking up speed. He would yell for them, just as they crossed in front of the shoe shop across the way. His heart pounded- they were almost there....

“SSSSSSSS!!” Jason lurched back in horror, slamming the door, as another spiral of oily mist shot from around the left. The last thing he heard were their screams as both tunnels of mist banged into the family from each end, killing them instantly. They dropped to the ground, lifeless.

The two coils of pathogen swirled together, as if conferring after a feast. Jason’s breath held in his chest. He’d only seen that a couple times before- two of the green mists, working together- but never this close. They have a connected intelligence, he thought, shaking. He closed his eyes.

****

The sun’s rays slowly changed color on the golf shop’s brown carpet. An exhaustion descended, a different kind from finding sustenance, and getting to the next town. From surviving.

Jason felt hopeless.

That family... gone. In the blink of an eye. He’d seen death, at this point, lots of it. Bodies in the street, losing peers he’d met along the way. You grew a thick skin, traversing the new normal on Earth, and its new rules. But this family of four… like his own…. all their moments and mornings and laughs and conversations and just – simply- being: gone. Lying in a pile outside the door, an intangible enemy having robbed them of living itself.

This one hit different. It pierced him inside the hard place, the dark place, the one where memories are not allowed to open.

A family, broken. A unit, shattered. What once had been, was no more.

The words played pinball in his brain... why ... why am I still alive.

It would be so easy to walk into the mist, he thought, a tear sliding down his cheek. It would be so easy, to walk out of consciousness, and into the sweet relief of oblivion, like his Mother. No more thoughts of his Dad’s body at the end, this disastrous world, his pain....

The little beetle had made its way over to his shoe, butting into the heel. It circled back and did it again, and again. It wasn’t moving forward. It didn’t know what forward was.

It took everything he had, to stand up.

Bleary eyed, he grabbed a couple shirts, and a Swiss army knife that had fallen behind the store’s cash register.

He opened the door, cautious. Quiet.

Taking a breath, he dared to walk up to the slain family, feeling like he owed them… something. His presence? A moment of silence.

They’d fallen into what seemed like a staged shroud- the two parents, bending toward each other over their children.

Just then, the sun caught a glint of light, at the neck of the young girl. He leaned in closer, squinting. It was a little Sun pendant. A golden necklace chain and pendant in the shape of the Sun.

He gasped, shock and laughs and the threat of sobs slamming into his chest all at once.

Vanessa wore a Sun pendant, exactly like that. One that had been engraved by their family. She was the firecracker, they’d joked lovingly, around which they all spinned.

They’d said: we’ll meet in Boston.

The plan was, if they ever got separated, their meeting place was Fenway Park.

They’d left the submarine after all, and found their way up the coast. Vanessa had been right: they’d figured out their code, and met communities. The last camp they’d made had been at a Mall in Delaware. It was full of people- good people- who were trying to get closer to New York. That German doctor had somehow found his way to the States, was the rumor. He’d been attempting to bottle the mist and study it, so that he could quickly understand and assess an antidote. A large citizenry was needed, to help. Normal people. People like Jason. An army of humanity, people on the ground, to literally run at the intangible enemy, to help collect specimens, and dart out in time. People that were fast.

History was being made in real time, and was asking all of those that survived: who will you choose to be, now?

Jason immediately volunteered, Vanessa squeezing his hand. They knew what their Dad would do. They left the next morning, with the traveling group, heading North.

But family can get lost. It can get separated, and lose each other, in a broken world, along the way.

Jason sniffed, and looked out at the warm sunset that was just beginning to glow.

He smiled, and closed his eyes. It’s Summer, Dad. Summer in Boston. You would have loved it.

He heard a very faint ‘ssssss’ noise in the distance, popping his eyes back open.

Hope can be fleeting.

But he’d made it here. He would search, and wait for Vanessa, no matter what it took.

And that, for now, was everything.

He turned back toward the stadium, and began to run.