Author's note: Inspired by a remix which I cannot link to because is not cooperating. Please check my bio for a link to it!
Sand used to mean beaches, stepping on thrown-away pop bottles. It used to mean towels warming in the sun, with people tanning on top of them, getting sand in their bikinis and swim trunks. Now all it means to Kendall is an empty landscape of never-ending sand, getting into his shoes, his eyes, his mouth.
Everyone thought the end of days would come from the Russians, zombies, a killer asteroid, or Mother Earth's own special brand of fury. Maybe a disease would spring out of the hidden reaches of some dwindling African forest and turn everyone into zombies. They'd only be half right. The disease came from the pigs, and once you died, you didn't come back.
Ebola, flu, plague – the newspapers bandied about name after name, but too many people were sick and dying to figure it all out, and they never did settle on a name before the newspapers stopped circulating.
Kendall surveys the slick heat of the desert he can see from outside the opening of the cave. Hot, scathing wind stings his eyes. There are six of them in this group, including Kendall. Most of them are asleep (or trying to) in the very far reaches of the cave, and Kendall thinks that they're almost too lucky to have found a cave this size.
The virus travels through air, the last issue of the LA Times had proclaimed. Wear masks at all times, don't get too close to people. It was hard to get around LA without coming into close contact with someone, and so most people holed themselves up in their houses. But people had to eat, and so it kept spreading.
Someone coughs from the recesses of the cave and Kendall's skin crawls. Probably means nothing, but the sound is enough to make him paranoid. He gets to his feet and stretches. He checks his watch, noting that they've still got four hours until sundown. That's the only time they can get into the car without burning themselves on the door handles and the patched leather seats. They'll head into town, grab some food, fill up the gas tank, and hopefully not run into anyone.
He strips off the wife beater he's been wearing before sitting back down, the hard rock unforgiving on his backside. He wishes he hadn't become the de facto leader of their ragtag little group, but he's the only one who can drive a stick shift, and somehow that's become all the qualifications anyone needed, after Stephen had left. Stephen was only supposed to be gone a week at most, but two months later, they've given up hope.
He can hear Erin murmuring in her sleep. James had found her, more than half a year ago, crouched behind the counter in some convenience store, pistol cocked and mascara smeared around her eyes. Everyone squeezes their eyes determinedly shut when the two have sex, but they're all lonely and can't stop listening.
Someone touches his back, softly, and he jerks forwards, heart slamming painfully in his chest. "What the fuck?" he hisses, just barely catching himself from yelling.
Logan's hand hangs in the air where it had been touching Kendall. "Sorry, man."
Kendall swallows deeply, settling back into his spot. "You don't have to be awake yet. We got four hours still."
Logan shrugs, his bare skin covered in a sheen of sweat. "I won't be sleeping again any time soon." He sits himself down next to Kendall, about a foot between them. It's too hot to sit any closer. Kendall takes a good look at him, and he looks pale underneath his tan. He's shivering, too.
When Stephen, Kendall and James had found Logan, it was about six weeks after most of LA went up in flames, and Logan was sick, shaking in a shop doorway darkened with something smelly. They didn't know what he was sick with, but they were sure he was contagious. He could barely lift his hand when they slid a bag of donuts toward him. A week later, they came back for another food run and Logan was still there. His eyes were clear, his voice was choked and raspy, but he wasn't sick anymore.
"Hey, man, are you sick?" he barely even whispers, afraid that one of the other four will hear and freak out.
Logan shakes his head, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on top of them. Kendall expects him to say something, but he stays silent.
Time passes, and the shadows from the squat trees in the desert get taller than their owners. Logan suddenly unwinds himself and walks to the mouth of the cave. He's only wearing a pair of threadbare boxers, and the sunburn he got the day before is an angry red on the tops of his shoulders in the dying light. He swipes a hand angrily over his face, fine tremors racing through him.
Kendall gets quietly to his feet, edging close to Logan like one would approach a skittish horse. "What's up with you, Logan?"
"I'm not sleeping anymore." Kendall waits. "Because every time I try to, I just keep thinking about what it would have been like to hold her."
Something twists in his chest. Everyone in their group has a life from Before, and Logan is no different. Kendall's not sure on details, but there had been a girl, and a baby.
"And my arms feel so empty." He gestures towards the sandy plains outside, like it's got his old life out there, hidden in a dune somewhere.
He struggles with himself, unsure what to say. Finally, Kendall places a hand gingerly on Logan's burnt skin. "We're here for you. I'm here." He doesn't expect it to mean much, since they've known each other barely a year, and he never knew that girl or that baby – Logan's kid – but Logan turns to him, eyes red and swollen but without tears because he's too dehydrated to cry properly. His lips are gnawed at and chapped.
Kendall pulls him into a hug, not knowing what else to do. Logan returns the embrace, half-heartedly. They stand there like that for a while, time stretching on and on, and it should be awkward at this point, but when he hears a soft little noise from Erin as James climbs on top of her, he figures both he and Logan are entitled to comfort as much as they are.