Chapter 20

The bunker's oxygen levels plunged this morning. The marker vibrates, hovering between the amber and red zones. We've closed off the other rooms so that the precious air would be forced into the living area. It backfired.

Cass scribbles some calculations in her notebook. "I'd give it 40 hours."

"Are we going to die?" Gwen softly tugs on the hem of my shirt. Her other hand clings to the edge of Philip's bed. I hold her close but don't answer. Don't dare to. Overhead, burgeoning clouds surge over us, cracking the window. Roofs and concrete blocks lay on the pavements, or what remains of them. The explosion knocked out some of the older structures, but luckily, it left most things intact. Somehow, the radio returned to life this morning, the frantic voice at the other end telling us that Proxy is giving out some rations at the old Capital City.

"I'll go and get us some food, then we'll think about what to do." I stare at the red marks on Philip's arms, noting how they look like fresh lacerations.

"Don't leave me." Gwen reaches for me, but I don't respond. If I did, I knew I wouldn't be able to let go.

"I'll be back soon." Regret twists down to my core as the words leave my mouth. Between her sobs, she still holds her hand as if she trusts me with her life. Cass smiles at me and leads her away. As false immunes, they live solely on the experiment rations they're given and aren't allowed to eat anything else. If we get there earlier, I'm sure there'll be some leftover rations. We can always bring those back and make the last meal for them.

Jax stands on the makeshift ladder and lets us outside. Clouds of dust whip against my face. They prick my eyes, forcing me to feel my way through half the time. Rescue workers in their radiation gear rush by us, shouting as they dig beneath the rubble. The rescue tents are swarmed, overwhelmed by the dead and dying false immunes. In the wreck, broken limbs are crushed under the metal spokes. Suddenly, the jagged stones cutting into my feet don't feel too unbearable.

Soon, the abandoned city looms into view. It's reduced to a vaguely-reminiscent skyline of the old world.

"Remember the clock tower?" Jax asks, smirking as he looks at the rusty facade of our lives before the war. He points at the building's remains. "When we were kids, we sneak inside to catch ghosts. You got so scared that you wanted to bring your vacuum cleaner too."

"I don't know why I believed you," I say, remembering how I had to hold on to him every time we went inside. No one could blame me for the vacuum cleaner, though. If it was possible, I was seriously thinking about taking it outside and hoping for the best. A scowl quickly forms on my lips. "Yeah, and you said that they were coming to eat us."

"Worked, didn't it?"

I shoot him a questioning look, to which he grins like the cat that ate the cream. He taps my nose and twirls a finger in my hair. "You actually believed me."

Glowering, I elbow him in the ribs. He doubles over and coughs dramatically, cursing while he tries catching up to me.

By the time we get there, a snaking line of people already surrounds the city's perimeter, extending far into the broken roads.

The light-hearted moment from earlier evaporates to nothing. Now, we're just outside the gates, and I fidget with my identification bracelet as guards wave us to one of the booths. A small, beige-colored bag sits at the counter. Once there, a guard scans my wrist and sends me on my way. Jax joins me soon after, and he stares at his portion like he can't believe that's how cheap Proxy is.

I clutch the rations close to my chest, walking to the infirmary where Meredith is. Somehow, I've got the feeling that this may be the only medical facility we'll ever encounter in the Trials. I tread along the cracked path, wincing with each step as the ground scratches against my worn boots. Researchers rush past me as soon as I step inside, nearly knocking me over. I've barely managed to push past the crowd when Meredith greets us from behind the reception desk.

Her lips are set in a thin line as her gaze lands on us—the sore thumbs in a sea of white coats. Today, she dons her face-changing mask, so she's hardly recognizable, even to us. It's been years since she quit working for Proxy, but she sneaks in sometimes to steal supplies. Depending on the mask, she can pose as a random worker, an intern, or almost anything she wants to be.

"Proxy thanks you for your participation in the Trials." She shoots us a terse smile, subtly rolling her eyes at the ridiculous words.

Meredith walks ahead, passing the old hospital wing along the way until she stops at the last room down the corridor. The door swings open, and she disappears inside. I'm still looking for anyone walking by when I'm pulled into the dingy space. She switches on a small, dim torchlight hanging from the wall.

"Jax, these can heal you if you ever get injured. For false immunes, this also doubles as a numbing agent, so they won't feel anything during their executions or when they die from radiation. That's all I can get my hands on, so make it count." She gives Jax some purple vials containing a bubbling liquid. He stares at the tiny words printed on the prescription labels. "Vators. Where did you get these?"

"Take care of yourselves." She slips out and hurries down the hallway, checking her blinking transmitter.

I stare at the vators. These were initially developed to ease radiation symptoms every time they appear. One vial will turn to three, then five, until false immunes rely entirely on it to survive. For Proxy, it's always about the money. That's also why Meredith stopped working here because she didn't believe in profiting from another's misery. Instead, she secretly modified the earliest formulas to make what we have now.

Jax taps my shoulder. "Do you hear that?"

He grabs my hand, pulling me forward until I hear some static mixed with someone's voice—no, it's my voice, and it's coming from the far end of the room where grayscale footage is playing. For a moment, my figure on the screen freezes mid-sentence as the video loads and replays again. It dates back to a few days before the war. As I examine the surveillance clip, I'm vaguely aware of Jax squeezing my shoulder lightly. I thread my fingers with his and hold on tight.

It starts with me barging into a hospital room where Mother worked as a doctor. "What happens if you die?" I scream and pound my fists against the glass that separates us. She doesn't turn around yet. Instead, she mutters some chemical names to the nurses. They spring into action, working fast as they crowd around a patient's bed.

Mother walks briskly to me. Her skin is pale, and I'm sure she's lost weight from all those back-to-back graveyard shifts. "Please, Aria. I need you to understand." She presses her palms against the glass and matches them with mine. I can't say anything, as if someone stole all the breath from my lungs. The barrier between us feels thicker than ever. There's an inexplicable, growing chasm that hollows me from the inside out until she speaks again, "Saving lives is my job, and I can't leave this place. Whether it's the end or not, it's still my duty. When the bombs hit, we'll have to be ready."

Slowly, my arms fall limply to my sides. "Then what about us?"

Wincing, she looks away and wrings her hands. "I know that Sierra will be safe with you."

"Just tell me if you've got somewhere to go when it happens."

She doesn't answer.

I can't see this anymore, so we make our way outside, where Eorius's searing heat beats down on me. The baking warmth is a welcome distraction. I've given Jax some of my water, so the air scratches my throat with every punishing breath. That is until he finally gets me to drink up. Throughout the whole way back to the bunker, Mother's voice remains stuck in my head, repeating her words over and over again.

Once we arrive, Mateo peeks through the dirty window and slides the trap door open for us. Jax and I slip in, slamming the entrance shut before another dust cloud hits. Gwen stands in the back, staring at me like she'd never seen me before. She spots the drugs and cocks her head quizzically. Philip shuffles into the room after her, and I wince at the purple splotches spreading across his skin. He doesn't even flinch when I stick him with the vator needle.

Glancing up at me, Philip rubs his eyes. "My mom died in the false immune camps, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. I remember now."

He wraps his gangly arms around me, sobbing into the hem of my shirt. I hold him tight as he rests his head on the crook of my shoulder until his tears drench my skin. Between sniffles, he looks up again. "Thank you for everything."

I nod and gently wipe the tears from his cheeks, embracing him until his breaths grow again. We stay like this for a while until he's calmed down. Though he had a dose of the vator, he stays behind to wait for Gwen and Cass to get theirs. After that, Jax and I drop our rations off first since the longer we hold on to them, the higher the chances of us meeting a stray Raider along the way. Turning around, I watch Mateo as he leans a shoulder against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. He meets my gaze reluctantly. "What are you thinking?"

"How about making them a last meal? I mean, it's the least we can do before it's the end for them. It'll be some time before the Raiders start foraging again, so we can still go now if we want to."

This isn't just about making sure the false immunes are comfortable. When I lost my parents, I wished I had a chance for closure—whether it was a final meal or a few last words—before they were gone. Nowadays, that sort of thing feels like a luxury.

"Then I'll get some exo energy to cook something up." Jax jumps down from one of the larger crates, moving to stand next to me. Nodding curtly, Mateo waves us off as red specks begin forming in his eyes again. He wordlessly starts down the creaking stairs to the basement and locks the door.

Before we leave, I open a ration packet and take a piece of bread with me. Hunger churns against my hollow stomach, but I'm saving my only sustenance for later. Since there's not much I can do about my blistered, aching feet, I give them a quick massage before heading outside with Jax. I press a feather-light kiss to his lips. "Come back safely," I whisper.

A smile spreads across his features. "You too, beautiful."

He takes off for the forest while I start on the road. The rocks here are sharp enough to cut through scantily-clad feet, so the route there will take forever now. Government officers have set up movement guides to keep us on a relatively safe trail through the rubble.

I study the movement guides again, noting how the wooden pieces barely stand straight in the soil. A thin rope hangs between the sticks, guiding us along the way to the ration center. Now's the best time to get the leftovers. If I wait until the crowd thins out completely, the extra rations would be gone, packed, and shipped back on courier trucks. While I'm stuck here, I work out another path in my head. It's a shorter way and also riskier.

Some guards patrolled the area, ensuring no one cut the queue. As soon as they look away, I step over the rope, heading for a cluster of abandoned buildings. For some reason, I'm starting to doubt my plan.

Where the blood is, there the food is.

Most Raiders have teeth so long that their lips bleed every time they eat, so they starve themselves until their bodies can't take it anymore. Focusing on every inch of the rusty structure, I search for purple splotches on the floor and walls. Most of these should be old stains since their last forage would've been in the early morning.

A few others are ahead of me, using the same method to track the Raiders. I follow the direction of their voices and their faint silhouettes. Keeping a safe distance between us, I tail them from the shadows until it's clear which way they're going. It's a warehouse not far from the ration center. Already, its iron-clad doors are bent and hanging by the hinges, obviously a product of a desperate Raider.

A Proxy guard lies deep inside the facility, a nasty cut trailing down his face. His split cheek kisses the concrete. The mangled body is a Raider's warning to stay away.

Shoving my way through the ravenous crowd, I take the ration bags lying in the wooden crates. Most of the boxes were destroyed by the Raiders, but those that survived still hold plenty of food. Once I've taken my share, the others around me shove their stash into their rucksacks.

I shuffle along the roads, carefully navigating past the fallen structures. The streets are filled with rubble, and shattered glass litters the ground. Sometimes, I think I hear footsteps. My grip on my knife tightens, curling around the handle until my knuckles go white. There's a hint of movement in the gaping windows of a skyscraper. A shadow leaps from the top floor, landing on the ground with a thud. Someone's running. My mind screams for me to keep going and never look back, but not today. Hurriedly, I undo the drawstrings of my rucksack and set a ration packet behind as a faux peace offering. It won't be long before the Raiders track the food scent to me, and if they want the rest of my loot, I'd rather get it done and over with.

When I get up again, I hear someone treading on the gravel. A small rock skips the pavement and hits my cheek. His cocky smile is illuminated by the soft lighting—a Raider. Scowling, I hold my ground, watching his movements and the cocky bounce in his steps before charging ahead.

He lunges at me with his claws, but I avoid them by mere inches, sliding between his feet to the other side. His eyes exude a crimson glow as he snarls at me, licking his lips. I gulp nervously but keep my expression mostly unreadable. The Raider comes at me again, and I aim for his head. It's a blow meant to distract him, not to kill. Stumbling backward, I take my chance and stab his thigh. Magenta liquid gushes out from the gaping wound.

He gets on his knees but doesn't stay down for long. Spitting at the deep gash, he stops the blood flow and comes at me again. I steer clear of his direct attacks. Then, he reaches out and grabs my ankle, slamming me into the dirt as a blanket of dust stirs up. I taste copper, and my body aches and burns. A fist cuts through the haze. I quickly twist out of the way, but I can't get far as he keeps a firm grip on me. He sinks his teeth into my thigh. I hold back a cry and thrust my knife deep into his back.

He screeches and falls over. The red undertones of his eyes slowly fade away, and blood pools beneath him.

When I look up, more Raiders are gathered at the buildings. They balance precariously on their heels at the edges of the buildings, looking down at us with steely expressions. I've seen this before, and this must be the Raider's acceptance fight. If he can't get me to surrender my stash, he's kicked from the territory, and he'll go on his own for a while. Before he can do more damage, I grab the ration bag and leave.

There's a low growl behind me, followed by a deep snarl, but I don't look back. Once I'm a fair distance away, I slow down and take a small sip of water. Crossing the road, I run my fingers over the Sanctuary's dome. It glows a little, the rough surface scratching against my calloused palms. Purple flares trace vein-like patterns onto the glass, but it isn't broken. This is probably where Eorius's explosion hit the hardest.

"Hey, Aria." Krystal heads toward me, not bothered about the debris, as she makes her way to me. Somehow, she managed to get a camouflage coat, so she blends in seamlessly with the surroundings. She stands an awkward distance away—near enough to touch but far enough to bolt if I tried anything. Her features are shadowed, but the worry in her knitted brows and the tight set of her jaw are unmistakable. Her hair is bunched up and matted, the wavy strands peeking through her peeling mask. Then, she reaches into her pocket and hands me some batteries in a velvet pouch. They're still in their plastic packaging.

"Where did you get these?"

She smirks and folds her arms. "The storage area at the exo energy station. I swiped it clean. Some Proxy workers saw me, so they know who I am now."

"You went to the one near the execution pit?"

"Take this too," she says as she hands me a can of soda. I raise it to the moonlight, trying to see if it's what I think it is. Saving for one of these usually takes four months. Soft drinks are scarce now, so their prices have always been ridiculously high since the war ended.

"How'd you find me?" I ask.

Krystal cracks a smile. "I don't fly solo, Aria. I've got my people all around. Not just that, I also figured you might need some of these in case the bunker's power runs out."

"Then, why are you helping me? Proxy's probably after you right now."

She pushes the supplies to my chest and nods, running off into the dead of night.

I continue further up until I pause for a short break. An abandoned building sits in the middle of nowhere, protected by overgrown trees. It's relatively stable even after the explosion. I climb to the second floor and use my clothes as a mat. Once I've set the extra rations aside, I pull out the piece of bread that I'd brought from the bunker. Unwrapping the wax paper, I bite off the chewy crust and into the rock-solid center. Even stale bread is a luxury back at home. This familiar aroma of baked yeast was the only thing Sierra and I loved to bits. I still remember what it was like whenever Mother brought these home.

"Close your eyes," she ordered. We did. She lightly swatted our hands as we tried to peep between our fingers. Her expression was stern, but her voice gave away the surprise.

She held out two hardened loaves from the bakery's closing stock. I'm sure they'd been sitting there for days until they had lived past their edible lifespan. Still, they were one of the best things I've ever tried. Sierra and I always asked her for more. That stuff was the best thing I've ever tried, and it was somehow better than having the new food. Half-price was the best price.

The smell gradually fades away, carried by the howling wind. Sighing, I lie back down and stare into the vermilion sky. It always turned this color with the help of holograms. Since fireworks were banned for their carbon emissions, this was how we celebrated the new year before the war.

After sitting out here for a while, I pull myself up and head back to the bunker.

That evening, we hunch around the low, makeshift table, staring at the spread before us. It isn't much. I made some fritters using rationed flour and water, frying the mixture to a crisp.

"Yue cakes?" Gwen asks, staring at the steaming pile of food. Her brows pull together, and she bites her lip. "I thought we only eat them when we're older."

Philip looks equally confused, but he doesn't say anything. A grim line forms on Jax's lips, his hooded gaze locking onto mine in silent understanding. Yue means dawn in the native dialect. That's when a child starts learning about the world and thinking about what they want to be—the beginning of something new.

As Gwen and Philip dig into the food, I dare not tear my gaze away from their faces, afraid I'll forget them. There's no pencil and paper to draw their likeness and no way I'll remember them.