The End of Us

It’s almost time. We’ve known it for a while.

There’s a quiet settling into the bones of the world, into the ash and the air. The birds are gone, the soil turned soft and sterile. Even the wind rests.

“Sam?” Avery’s voice brings me back.

He’s stopped walking, pulling our canteen from his pack to drink before holding it out to me. My boots slip in the ash and I catch myself as I take it, the metal warming to my hand.

I tilt it back slowly, sipping just enough to wet my throat.

“Thank you,” I say, handing it back.

“We’ll be out of water soon,” Avery’s voice is gentle.

He’s afraid, but it’s a tired fear. He tucks the canteen back into his bag.

The hills surrounding us are barren, a washed expanse of grey and brown. Ridges run like scars across the landscape where towns and cities once stood. We’ve been following a dry riverbed for days, hoping to find signs of life or water. Crouching low, I push my hand into the dirt. It’s soft and light and deathly dry.

“Let’s keep going,” I say, standing and clapping the dust from my fingers.

Avery nods, and we move on in silence. The quiet’s settling into us too, it seems.

Just before dark the riverbed takes a twist, and we find ourselves at the crest of a valley. A tangled ridge cuts its way below, leaving us at the edge of a steep incline. Avery drops his pack with a heavy exhale. We’ll set up camp here for the night and make our way down in the morning. Wordlessly, we pitch the tent.

While I start a fire, Avery pulls a pack of dehydrated beans from his bag. We pass it between us. The stale protein sits heavy on my tongue as I chew it to a paste. Avery glances over to me and shocks us both with a laugh.

“What?” I demand, the word mulled by my full mouth.

I swallow thickly and this makes him laugh even harder, a baffling, gleeful sound. After a bewildered moment I can’t help it. I’m laughing, too. It rolls through me like thunder, aching through my belly and into my chest and it feels so good. The fire crackles as though it’s laughing with us, and I hear the echoes of us carrying through the valley below.

Suddenly the world isn’t quiet at all. I don’t know how it started, lost somewhere in the mix of the laughter and noise, but Avery is singing our song. His voice is booming for miles and miles, and the world is alive again. I smile and rest a hand against my locket. The tiny gold heart glitters in the light of the fire, worn and dirtied but still beautiful.

“Sam,” Avery’s voice is just beside my ear. When I look at him, he’s blurry.

The tears won’t stop. Avery takes my face in his hands and presses his forehead to mine.

“We’re here. Be here with me,” he whispers, his fingers worrying themselves into my hair.

“I’m here,” I say through the knot in my throat, blinking away salt until I can see him clearly. “Avery, what if we can’t find water?”

He searches my eyes for something we lost long ago. Something buried miles away, in the ashes of our home. A life we laid to rest before the birds all died and the world went quiet.

“Then we will find someplace to lie together.” He says, stroking my hair. “Someplace beautiful. And I will sing you songs. And I will hold you and I will be with you, and when we go, wherever we go, we’ll go together.”

“Promise?” The word cracks. My throat is dry and we have no water.

“Promise,” Avery says.

I look at him a moment, take in his eyes and the shape of his jaw and the way the light dances on his cheeks. I nod my head until my breathing steadies, and then I stand.

“I’ll get us a blanket,” I say, moving toward the tent.

My boots slip in the ash and I can’t catch myself in time. I pitch to the ground, tumbling over the edge of the ridge.

“Sam!” I hear Avery shouting for me as I hit the ground again and again, tossing and rolling against the incline. I try to curl my body inward, protecting myself, but I’m moving too fast. My shoulders and back take the brunt of it, and then I hit solid ground and lie still.

The air has left my body. I can hear Avery scrambling down the ridge after me. He’s shouting my name, but I can’t answer. I let out a weak cough and try to raise myself onto my arms. As I press my hands into the earth, I go rigid.

Water.

Avery is at my side, asking me questions I cannot hear.

“Water,” I say in a ghost’s voice.

“What?” He’s taking my shoulders, trying to help me.

I cup a shaking hand to the ground. There it is. A stream no wider than two inches runs through my fingers. Avery goes still and silent beside me and I’m laughing again.

“Water,” I show him.

He is weeping. Water pools in the palm of my hand.

My laughter turns to cries, raw and unbridled. A lament tears from my throat and echoes through the valley. Avery joins his voice with mine.

We are here, and we are together, and we are alive.

The world carries the sound.

Somewhere far above us, a bird calls back.